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"Still breathing, huh? You’re a stubborn piece of meat, I’ll give you that."
The voice was like grinding gravel. A heavy boot slammed onto my chest, pinning me against the cold, damp concrete of the pit. I couldn't even scream—my throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper and stitched back together by a blind man.
I looked up. A man stood over me, wearing a leather apron stained with things that weren't food. He held a jagged serrated knife, flipping it in the air with a bored expression.
"The Master doesn't like waste," he sneered, leaning in. His breath smelled like old cigars and rot. "But you’re a failed graft. Too much mind, not enough beast. You're basically a walking waste of calories at this point. Why should I not just carve out your core and call it a day?"
I tried to push his boot off, but my arms felt like wet noodles. My vision flickered. A translucent blue screen hovered in the air, blinking with an urgency that made my head throb.
[SYSTEM ALERT: CALORIC DEFICIT CRITICAL] [STATUS: STARVING] [ACTION REQUIRED: CONSUME BIOMASS TO STABILIZE FORM]
"I..." I managed to wheeze. My voice sounded like a dying engine. "I'm not... waste."
The man laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Listen to it! It thinks it’s a person. You aren't a person, stitchy. You're inventory. Now, hold still. This might sting, or you might just pop like a blister."
He raised the knife. I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to remember who I was before the lab blowout. All I had was a raw, screaming hunger that felt like a black hole opening in my gut.
Something moved in the shadows of the pit. A rat. Not a normal rat—this thing was the size of a small dog, with two heads and weeping sores along its flanks. It was scavenging on the remains of some other failed experiment nearby.
The man didn't notice. He was too busy savoring my terror.
I didn't think. I just lunged.
I didn't move like a human. I moved like a spring being released. I ignored the boot on my chest, twisted my torso with a sickening crack of bone, and snapped my jaws shut on the rat's neck.
The taste was foul. Bitter, metallic, and warm. But the second the blood hit my tongue, the hunger didn't just vanish—it roared.
"What the hell are you—"
The man jumped back, his boot sliding off me. I didn't let go. I ripped the rat's head clean off and swallowed the thing whole, the fur and bone scratching my throat.
[DING!] [BIOMASS CONSUMED: MUTATED PIT-RAT (RANK F)] [EXTRACTION SUCCESSFUL] [TRAIT STOLEN: LOW-LIGHT VISION (LEVEL 1)] [STABILITY INCREASED: 2%]
Suddenly, the world shifted. The oppressive darkness of the pit didn't feel so blinding anymore. I could see the veins in the man's wrist. I could see the tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead. I could see the way his pulse was hammering in his neck.
"You disgusting freak!" The man spat on me, his face twisting in disgust. "You're eating vermin? You're even more pathetic than I thought. Get up. I'll give you ten seconds to crawl to the cage before I decide to start harvesting you piece by piece."
I stayed on the floor, licking the blood off my lips. I felt... different. The hunger was still there, but it was focused now. It wasn't a panic; it was a directive.
"Ten seconds?" I rasped. "I need... more."
"More what? More rats?" He stepped forward, sneering. "You're a mistake, stitchy. A glitch in the Master's design. You don't get 'more' of anything unless I decide to feed you."
He reached down, grabbing a handful of my stitched skin to yank me upward. His grip was tight, bruising. He didn't realize that I wasn't fighting him anymore. I was measuring him.
"You know," I said, my voice getting steadier, "you smell like you've had a lot of calories. Lots of good meat on those bones."
The man froze. He looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine hesitation in his eyes. "What did you just say?"
"I said," I leaned in, my nostrils flaring as I caught the scent of his fear, "that I'm still hungry."
I didn't wait for him to react. I drove my shoulder into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, stumbling back, and I followed through, pinning him against the concrete wall.
I didn't have strength—not yet—but I had the momentum of a starving animal. I jammed my forearm against his throat, pressing hard.
"Get off me!" he yelled, clawing at my arm. "I'll have your head for this! I'll have you flayed alive!"
"Shut up," I hissed. "Just for a second. Be quiet and listen."
I could feel his heart racing under the skin. It was like a drum, calling to me. My mind started to blur, the human part of me screaming that this was wrong, while the beast part was already salivating.
"You... you're not a normal stitch-beast," he choked out, his face turning a bruised purple. "The others... they just scream. You're... talking. You're thinking."
"I'm thinking about how much I hate this place," I whispered. "And I'm thinking about how easy it would be to rip your throat out right now."
I didn't do it. Not because I was kind, but because the System popped up again.
[WARNING: UNSTABLE EVOLUTION] [REQUIRED: SPECIFIC GENETIC MARKER TO UNLOCK COMBAT TRAITS] [TARGET: FARM MASTER'S SIGNATURE OR HIGH-RANK HUNTER]
I groaned and let go of him, stepping back. The man collapsed, coughing and wheezing, clutching his throat.
"You... you little shit," he gasped, reaching for the knife he'd dropped.
I didn't give him the chance. I lunged again, but this time I didn't go for his throat. I went for the knife. I slammed my weight onto his wrist, hearing a satisfying *pop* as the joint dislocated. The knife clattered away, sliding across the floor.
"Now," I said, looming over him. "Tell me where I am. And tell me who the 'Master' is."
"Go to hell," he spat, though he was trembling.
I leaned down, my face inches from his. I let my jaw unhinge slightly, showing the rows of jagged, mismatched teeth that weren't human. I didn't say a word; I just let a drop of thick, black saliva drip onto his cheek.
"I've already been to hell," I whispered. "I'm the one who crawled back. Now talk, or I start eating you starting with your toes."
He swallowed hard. The power dynamic had shifted. He wasn't the butcher anymore; he was the livestock.
"It's the Pit Farms," he wheezed. "Sector 4. Master Vane... he's the one who stitched you. He's trying to make a perfect graft—something that can think and kill. You're just a prototype. A failure. He's going to scrap you the moment he finds a better match."
"A failure, huh?" I looked at my claws. They were blunt, barely usable. But the rat's trait was still humming in my vision. "I think I can be useful."
"You're nothing!" he screamed, suddenly finding his voice. "You're just a dog in a cage!"
Before I could respond, a heavy, metallic *thud* echoed through the pit. The ceiling groaned. A massive, iron-toed boot descended from the shadows above, slamming directly into the side of my head.
The world spun. I hit the concrete hard, the taste of copper filling my mouth. I tried to move, but a heavy weight pressed down on my skull, grinding my face into the dirt.
I looked up through a blur of red. It wasn't the man with the knife. This was someone else. Someone bigger.
A Hunter.
He was clad in matte-black tactical gear, a glowing red visor obscuring his eyes. In his right hand, he held a heavy-bore pistol. He didn't aim for my head.
He pressed the cold muzzle of the gun directly against the center of my chest—exactly where my core was pulsing.
"Target identified," the Hunter's voice was synthesized, cold and mechanical. "Failed Specimen 09. Core extraction authorized."
He squeezed the trigger.