My legs carry me forward, the metallic floor cold and unforgiving beneath my bare feet. The air here feels different—tense, almost electric, as if something is about to happen. I don't know how long I've been wandering through these endless halls, but each step feels heavier, each breath more labored than the last.
The hunger gnaws at me, always there, always pulling me deeper into the madness. It doesn't matter how many creatures I consume, how much blood I spill—it's never enough. The more I eat, the stronger I get, but the emptiness remains, a hollow ache that refuses to be filled.
My eyes—blood-red now, from the endless cycle of killing and consuming—glint in the dim light as I round a corner. The faint hum of machines is the only sound, their flickering lights casting long, distorted shadows against the walls.
That's when I see them.
At first, I think they're more monsters, more grotesque creatures crawling out of the darkness to challenge me. But no... these are different. They stand upright, their shapes more familiar—*too* familiar. My eyes narrow as I take in their forms: two figures, standing side by side, their bodies clad in strange, metallic armor. They're holding weapons—blades and something that glints in the dim light, like guns, but different.
Humans.
Or something like them.
My breath catches in my throat. I've never seen creatures like these before. Not in this place. Their faces are mostly hidden beneath helmets, but their eyes... their eyes lock onto mine, and I see something there that I haven't seen in the monsters I've killed.
Fear.
One of them shouts something—words, sounds that bounce off the walls, but I can't understand them. The language is foreign to me, a jumbled mess that my mind can't process. It doesn't matter. I don't care what they're saying.
Because I'm *hungry*.
The hunger surges inside me, twisting my insides into knots, and before I can stop myself, I take a step forward. They raise their weapons, the movements quick, calculated. But it's already too late. My instincts take over, the same raw, animalistic drive that has guided me through this hellish place.
I *lunge*.
One of them fires. The sound is deafening, a sharp crack that echoes through the corridor, but I don't feel the impact. My body moves too fast, driven by the hunger, by the raw, unrelenting need to *consume*. I slam into the first figure, knocking him to the ground. His weapon clatters out of his hand, and I waste no time.
My hands wrap around his throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath the armor. He struggles, his eyes wide with terror, but I don't give him a chance. I *tear* into him, my teeth sinking into his exposed neck. The taste of blood fills my mouth, warm and metallic, and I bite down harder, ripping through flesh and muscle.
The scream that tears from his throat is short, gurgling, and then it's gone. His body goes limp beneath me, but I don't stop. I tear into him like I would one of the monsters, ripping chunks of flesh from his body, devouring him piece by piece.
The taste... it's different. Softer, richer. It melts on my tongue, each bite sending a wave of satisfaction through me. It's not like the monsters—their meat is tough, bitter, foul. This... this is a *delicacy*.
I like it.
I don't know why, but I do.
The second figure moves, raising his weapon again, but I'm faster. I throw myself at him, my bloodstained hands grabbing his arm and twisting it until I hear the satisfying snap of bone. He screams, dropping the weapon, and I slam my fist into his helmet, shattering the visor. Blood spurts from his nose, but I don't stop. I *need* this.
I grab his head and twist, breaking his neck with a sharp crack.
His body crumples to the floor, lifeless. My chest heaves with exertion, my breath coming in ragged gasps, but all I can think about is the taste of the first one's blood. My tongue runs over my lips, savoring the lingering flavor. It's sweet, almost intoxicating. I've never tasted anything like it.
I kneel down beside the second body, ripping open the armor to get to the flesh beneath. My hands tremble with anticipation as I tear into him, blood spilling out onto the cold floor. I bite down, expecting the same rush of power that comes with every kill, every meal.
But something's wrong.
There's no surge of strength. No rush of energy filling my veins. The hunger remains, gnawing at me, and the emptiness feels even deeper now, more pronounced. I stop, my hands covered in blood, and stare at the lifeless body before me.
Why didn't it work?
I killed them. I consumed them. So why do I still feel so... *empty*?
I tear another piece of flesh from the body, biting into it savagely, but the result is the same. Nothing. No power. No strength. Just the same gnawing hunger, the same hollow ache in my chest.
I *liked* the taste, but... it didn't give me what I needed.
My hands fall to my sides, the blood dripping from my fingers, and I sit back on my heels, confused. The humans—or whatever they were—are delicious, far better than the creatures I've been devouring, but it's just... food. It's not giving me what I need to survive. It's not filling the void inside me.
My mind races, trying to make sense of it all, but there's nothing to grasp onto. No memories, no understanding of what's happening to me, why I feel the way I do. I don't even know if these creatures are truly human. They look like it, but this place—this *lab*—is full of things that aren't what they seem.
I look down at the bodies, their blood pooling around them, and I feel... nothing. No guilt, no remorse. I don't care that I killed them. I don't even know if they were friends or foes. All I know is that they tried to kill me, and now they're dead.
I lick my lips, savoring the last taste of their flesh, but the hunger is still there, burning inside me.
Always there.
Always waiting.
I push myself to my feet, my legs feeling steadier now, stronger, even though I gained nothing from eating them. Their blood has stained the floor, and my hands are slick with it, but I don't care.
My mind is clouded with confusion, but the hunger drives me forward. There has to be more. There has to be *something* else in this place that can fill the void inside me.
I wipe my bloodstained hands on my ragged clothes, my breath still heavy in my chest, and take a step forward. The faint hum of machines fills the air once more, reminding me that this place is alive—watching, waiting, hunting.
I don't know where to go. I don't know what's waiting for me around the next corner. But I know one thing for sure.
I won't stop. I can't stop.
Because I'm still....*hungry*.