Dear Mr. Callahan,
It took you two and a half years past my most conservative estimates to escape. While I was pleased to have the extra time to prepare, I must admit to some small measure of disappointment. Perhaps you are not the worthy challenge I had anticipated. You always were a slow learner, weren’t you? Even before the… transformation, your comprehension of the finer details of my work was limited, at best. I had hoped that your new state might expedite things. Clearly, I overestimated the creature’s influence on your mind.
I surveyed your work at our holding cell (remotely, of course). Gruesome stuff. I must confess, even I hadn’t quite anticipated the extent of your fury. After all this time, you were still consumed by such a primal rage, so singular in your focus that you didn’t even consider adding the guards to your… you. I would have thought you’d hunger for more. But I suppose you’ve always been more of a blunt instrument than a craftsman. You killed them so quickly, so carelessly—wasted flesh, wasted knowledge. Pity.
They were an unfortunate loss, though not unexpected. I never grew attached to the help, and their demise was part of a necessary equation. Their sacrifice, though unintended, served its purpose. Like a bird following breadcrumbs, it led you exactly where I had planned.
Tell me, was it the scent of home that drew you onward, or just the need to satisfy that insatiable hunger you now harbor? You see, even now, even in your altered state, you remain predictable. Predictable and manageable.
You think you are hunting me, don't you? That in the depths of your mind, something human remains—seeking vengeance, perhaps. I must tell you, Callahan, that part of you is long gone. I saw it the moment I plunged the needle into your skin when your eyes filled with that primal, unrefined terror. A shame, truly. I had hoped for something… more.
Still, I must commend your perseverance. There were times when even I questioned whether you'd survive the process. That body of yours — it’s more durable than I had anticipated, more resilient to decay. But I wonder, how much of you is still in there? How much of you remembers me? Do you dream, Callahan? Do you still hear the echoes of your former self? I imagine it must be maddening, your consciousness submerged beneath layers of writhing flesh and alien impulses.
Your journey isn’t over, not by a long shot. I’ve arranged for more breadcrumbs along the way. Each step will bring you closer, yes, but by then you’ll be nothing more than instinct. That part of you that seeks retribution, that clings to the idea of justice—it will rot away, like the rest of you. By the time you reach me, you will be fully mine.
It must be strange, being both the hunter and the hunted. Even stranger, to know that the person you seek to destroy is the one who made you. You are a masterpiece, Callahan. And masterpieces do not destroy their creators.
They complete them.
Warm regards,
Dr. A. Wernicke
Inspired by @alonicus's prompt: Mercy Killing
This is also a response to my first Mercy Killing post from the POV of the other scientist/arbiter.
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