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Orphanages Basement
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"Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude." — Hannibal Lecter
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As I made my way toward the headmaster's sleeping quarters, I sifted through the memories I'd gobbled from Ren.
Ren, for all his worthlessness, had occupied a surprisingly high position in the organization and not because he was smart and definetly not because he was strong. But because he spent every night getting his back blown out by the old fucker.
The headmaster was his lover and the 'method'. Poor bastard no wonder his eyes were so hollow before even meeting me.
The memories nearly made me gag. And I'd tortured people for fun, that's saying something.
But buried beneath the trauma and the questionable life choices was useful intel. Guard rotations, shift schedules, sleeping quarters. The full layout of this underground hellhole mapped out in my head, it felt like one of those sonar radars from subnautica.
Speaking of which as I prowled through the tunnels, I noticed something new. A new sense and pull. I could feel where biomass was nearby, I was practically a shark smelling blood in the water. Every heartbeat in this facility pinged on my internal radar.
I briefly wondered if I could sense heartbeats and blood flow, could I take it further? Heart rate spikes, blood pressure changes, sweat levels and breathing.
Could I turn myself into a human lie detector?
Hmm
I filed the thought away for later experimentation, preferably on someone who deserved it.
Anyways this was my chance to clean house on every guard, grunt, and complicit piece of shit who'd enabled this operation.
Even the matrons.
Especially the matrons.
Ren's memories painted them as worse than the muscle. The guards were just hired thugs,violent, sure, but transactional. The matrons? They groomed the children. Prepared them, broke them down mentally so they'd be easier to sell and smiled while they did it, gave the kids cookies and told them everything would be okay.
They were going straight to hell.
Up ahead, two guards stood at a checkpoint, looking bored out of their minds. Probably wishing they were anywhere else.
Wish granted, fellas.
I shifted, bones cracked and reformed. My skin rippled and reshaped. In seconds, I wasn't Dmitry anymore, I was Ren. The same slouched posture and dead-eyed stare, as well as the eye twitch that surfaced every few seconds like a nervous tic. My best guess is that he had jizz stuck to that eye lid so often it became a habitual tick. It's up for debate really.
Anyways
Was this level of caution necessary? Probably not. I could speed blitz both of them before their brains registered movement. Turn them into red mist and keep walking.
But where's the fun in that?
I liked playing with my food.
I approached the checkpoint, waving lazily. "Yo."
Guard One squinted at me. "Ren? The fuck you doing down here? I thought you were on disposal duty ."
I shrugged, channeling Ren's perpetual look of mild inconvenience. "The Headmaster wants to see me. You know how he gets."
Guard Two snickered. "Another late-night 'meeting,' huh?"
"Shut the fuck up," I muttered, exactly like Ren would have.
They laughed.
Then I split them in half.
Vertical and clean in one whole motion. My arms had reformed into blades mid-sentence, carving through flesh and bone like butter. They didn't even have time to scream only the sound of two wet thuds as the pieces hit the floor.
I absorbed what was left. Biomass, memories, the usual.
There wasn't anything interesting. These two were nobodies. Background NPCs with sad backstories and sadder life choices.
Moving on.
The matrons didn't know what hit them.
One moment they were sleeping peacefully in their quarters, dreaming whatever nightmares people like them dream. The next? Gone. Absorbed into my ever-growing collection of human disappointment.
Their memories were delightful. And by delightful, I mean they made me want to scrub my brain with bleach. Years of conditioning children for sale. Smiling through it all. Convincing themselves they were "helping" because at least the kids were fed.
Mental gymnastics worthy of an Olympic gold medal.
That night, under the cover of darkness, they all disappeared without a trace.
Living on through me.
Lucky them.
But the best was yet to come.
See, while sifting through the headmaster's network of depravity, I'd stumbled across a fun little detail.
He had a son.
A fourteen-year-old shit stain who lived in a chamber adjacent to daddy's quarters. And this kid? This delightful little psychopath? He liked to have "fun" with the orphans before they were shipped off. A warm-up act before the main event.
Fourteen years old and already a monster.
Like father, like son.
An idea formed in my head. A beautiful, terrible, hilarious idea.
…
The son's room wasn't even locked, it was some form of rich people arrogance, you gotta love it.
I crept inside like Santa Claus if Santa delivered trauma instead of presents. The kid was passed out on a king-sized bed, snoring like a congested pig, surrounded by comforts the orphans two floors down could only dream of.
Silk sheets, an actual pillow, and a mini fridge in the corner.
A mini fridge. In an orphanage. For the headmaster's son…
I hoped hell had a VIP section for this family.
I walked over to his bed and just... stood there, watching. Enjoying the anticipation. I've mentioned it before but there's something deeply satisfying about looming over someone who doesn't know they're about to die.
Should I wake him up first? Let him see it coming?
Nah. He didn't give his victims that courtesy.
But also... yeah. I wanted to see his face.
I leaned down and flicked his forehead hard.
"Wakey wakey, little piggy."
His eyes shot open. Confusion and then recognition wait, no, he didn't recognize me. He just saw a stranger in his room.
Then fear.
There it is.
"Scream if you want," I offered generously. "Soundproof walls, though. Daddy made sure of that." I tilted my head at a creepy angle. "Wonder why he needed soundproof walls so close to the children's quarters. Real mystery, that one."
The kid opened his mouth to scream, to beg, to call for daddy, who knows.
I didn't let him finish.
Three seconds later, I was alone in the room.
Well. Alone-ish. He was technically still here. Just.. redistributed.
…
I took a moment to rifle through Kenji's memories.
Fourteen years of being a spoiled, entitled, predatory little shitall downloaded into my brain, it was the world's most depressing Netflix series. His mannerisms, speech patterns, the way he called the headmaster "papa" when he wanted something and the way he'd crawl into daddy's bed after a "nightmare."
Disgusting. But useful.
I also learned something interesting: the headmaster had a morning routine. Wake up at 6 AM sharp. Breakfast in his quarters. Review the "inventory" reports while eating in other words he was a creature of habit.
I shifted into Kenji's form looked in the mirror and saw a pudgy face, cruel eyes, a punchable smirk and got to work.
First, the ingredients.
I focused on the biomass churning inside me. Ren, Hideki, the guards and matrons . . All of them swimming around in my biological soup, broken down into raw material.
Now, how to do this...
I concentrated for what felt like hours. Inevitably the biomass responded. It was like flexing a muscle I didn't know I had it was weird, uncomfortable, but instinctive. A chunk of my arm bubbled and separated, plopping onto the kitchen counter, I had created the world's most cursed meatball.
Huh. That worked.
I stared at the lump of flesh. It looked... unappetizing. Just a grey-ish blob of reconstituted human.
Presentation matters, Dmitry. You're better than this.
I spent the next hour cooking. And I use "cooking" loosely it was more like sculpting. Shaping the biomass into something resembling food. The Blacklight virus was surprisingly cooperative, letting me mold the flesh into different textures and consistencies.
Scrambled eggs. Made of Hideki.
Sausage links. Featuring Ren.
A lovely congee. A matron medley.
I even made toast. Regular toast. I'm not a complete monster.
By the time I was done, I had a full traditional Japanese breakfast laid out on a tray. It looked... actually pretty good? The virus had some kind of instinctive camouflage ability, the biomass had taken on the colors and textures of real food.
The smell was a bit off, but nothing some seasoning couldn't mask.
I picked up the tray and headed to daddy's room.
Knock knock.
"Papa?" I called out in Kenji's voice, pitching it slightly higher, adding a whine. "Papa, are you awake?"
A groan from inside. "Kenji? What time is it..."
"I made you breakfast, papa." I let some warmth creep into my voice. "I wanted to surprise you."
A pause. I could hear his brain processing his son, willingly waking up early? Making food? Being nice?
Suspicious, but not suspicious enough to refuse.
"...come in muffin."
I opened the door.
The headmaster's quarters were exactly what you'd expect from a man who sold children for profit lavish, overdone, dripping with wealth that had been squeezed from suffering. A four-poster bed. Velvet curtains. Gold trim on everything because subtlety was for poor people.
The man himself was sitting up in bed, rubbing sleep from his piggy little eyes. Same patchy beard and cavernous nostrils. The same face that made me want to commit violence.
Patience, I had to remind myself .The payoff would be worth it.
"Good morning, papa." I smiled Kenji's smile and walked over, setting the tray on his lap. "I hope you're hungry."
He stared at the spread, then at me, and back at the spread.
"You... made this?"
"Mhm." I sat on the edge of the bed, close to him. Intimate. "I woke up early. I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd do something nice for you."
The suspicion in his eyes warred with his ego. His precious son, showing affection? Putting in effort? Surely this was a sign of good parenting. He'd raised such a thoughtful boy.
Ego had won. It usually does.
"Well," he said, picking up his chopsticks. "This is... unexpected. Thank you, Kenji."
"Of course, papa." I leaned in and hugged him. Felt his body stiffen at the contact, Kenji wasn't usually this affectionate. But he didn't push me away. "I love you."
The words tasted like ash in my mouth. But the look on his face that flicker of confused happiness made it worth it.
"I... love you too, son."
He started eating.
I watched.
The scrambled eggs went first. He chewed thoughtfully, nodded in approval. "Not bad. A little... unusual texture. But good."
"It's a new recipe," I said. "Family recipe."
The sausage was next. He bit into it, grease dribbling down his chin. "Mm. What kind of meat is this? Is it pork?"
"Something like that." I said hiding a shit eating grin.
The congee. He slurped it loudly, like the pig he resembled. "This is actually quite good, Kenji. I didn't know you could cook."
"I had good ingredients," I said. "The freshest."
He kept eating and Inkept watching. The anticipation was delicious more satisfying than any meal I could have made.
About halfway through, he paused and frowned.
"Where did you get the ingredients for this kenji? The kitchen staff doesn't stock half of these items."
"Oh, I found them around." I tilted my head, let my smile widen just a fraction. "You'd be surprised what's lying around this place, papa."
He stared at me. Something flickered in his eyes the first spark of unease.
"Kenji... are you feeling alright? You're acting strange."
"Am I?" I blinked innocently. "I feel fine. Better than fine, actually. I feel... full."
The unease grew. He set down his chopsticks.
"Where were you last night? I didn't hear you come back to your room."
"I was around." I shrugged. "You know me, exploring. You know how I like to wander the tunnels and visit the other children."
His jaw tightened. "I've told you to be careful down there. The guards…"
"The guards are fine, papa." My smile stretched wider. "Hideki and Ren send their regards, by the way."
The color drained from his face.
"What?"
"Hideki." I pointed at the scrambled eggs. "And Ren." I pointed at the sausages. "They're right there. On your plate. Well, what's left of them."
Silence.
The headmaster stared at me. Then at the food. Then back at me.
"This isn't funny, Kenji. What kind of joke-"
"It's not a joke, papa."
I let the mask slip.
Literally. Kenji's face rippled and distorted, the features melting and reforming like wax under a heat lamp. The pudgy cheeks sharpened. The cruel eyes darkened. The skin tone shifted.
And then Kenji was gone, and I was myself again.
"Hi," I said, wearing a stranger's face but my own smile. "Kenji can't come to the phone right now. He's a bit... inside me at the moment."
The headmaster's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.
I gestured at the breakfast tray.
"Oh, don't stop eating on my account. You've still got some matrons left in that congee. It would be a shame to waste good food!"
As if on cue and honestly, the timing was perfect, I couldn't have planned it better the surface of the congee shifted. Bubbled. Rearranged itself.
Kenjis face emerged from the soup.
Just the face eyes closed, mouth slack, features perfectly preserved like a death mask floating in porridge. A little garnish of human suffering to complete the meal.
The headmaster screamed.
Finally.
I'd been waiting for that.
"There it is," I said, clapping my hands together. "The appropriate reaction. It you long enough."
He scrambled backward, knocking the tray off his lap. Congee splattered across the silk sheets. Kenji's face plopped onto the mattress, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
"WHAT ARE YOU?!" the headmaster shrieked. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
"Complicated question." I stood up, stretching casually. "Short answer? I'm the thing that ate your son. And your guards. And your matrons. And pretty soon..." I leaned in close, tendrils writhing beneath my skin. "I'm going to eat you too."
"GUARDS! GUARDS!"
"Dead."
"REN! HIDEKI!"
"Digested."
"SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
"Do you have shot term memory loss? Soundproof walls, remember?" I tapped the side of my head. "Great investment, by the way, it really came in handy tonight." I chucked amused.
The headmaster's back hit the headboard. Nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to hide.
Just him and me and the face of his dead son floating in breakfast soup.
"Please," he whimpered. "Please, I have money I can give you anything you want"
"You know, everyone says that." I sighed theatrically. "Money, power, connections. I'm familiar with all of it, its the currency of desperate men after all. But here's the thing..."
I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the bed. His feet dangled uselessly, hands clawing at my grip.
"I don't want your money. I don't want your power. I don't want anything you can give me."
I pulled him close, close enough to see my reflection in his terrified eyes.
"I just want to hear you scream."
And he did.
For a very, very long time…
…
I had two promises left to keep.
Well, one promise and one cosmic obligation, but potato potato.
First up: tribute to the eldritch bastard. Nyarlathotep had given me this beautiful new body, and apparently the price was playing interior decorator with blood and occult symbols. Fair enough, I'd had weirder payment plans.
I went back through every room, every tunnel, every corner of this underground hellhole where I'd left a body or more accurately, where a body used to be before I turned it into a snack. At each site, I dipped my fingers into the residual blood pools and got to work.
I scribbled the chaos symbol from Warhammer 40K. Eight arrows pointing outward from a central point, representing the corruption of order, the triumph of entropy, the fundamental truth that everything eventually turns to shit.
Also it looked cool as fuck.
I painted it on walls, floors, and ceilings. Even on the headmaster's fancy silk sheets right next to Kenjis still floating face. By the time I was done, the place looked more vibrant…
Nyarlathotep wanted tributes right? Here's your tribute, you tentacled drama queen. Enjoy.
One promise down.
Now for the important one.
Marcus's last wish. Burn it all down.
But first- the orphans.
Right. Those existed. Couldn't exactly flambé a building full of traumatized children. That would make me the bad guy, and I was trying to maintain some moral high ground here. A sliver, a small crumb, just enough to feel smug about.
I made my way to the cages first. The underground ones, where the "premium stock" was kept. A dozen hollow-eyed kids stared at me through rusted bars, too broken to even flinch at another adult approaching.
That pissed me off more than it should have.
"Alright, listen up." I crouched down to eye level with the nearest cage. A girl, maybe eight years old, clutching a ratty stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping her soul attached to her body. "I'm going to open these cages and when I do, you're going to run upstairs, out the front door, and keep running until you see police. Understand?"
She stared at me blankly.
"Nod if you understand."
A tiny nod.
"Good girl." I patted her head.
I ripped the cage doors off their hinges one by one. I didn't bother with keys the locks disintegrated under my grip like wet cardboard. The children stumbled out, legs shaky from days or weeks of confinement, blinking in the dim light reminiscent of baby deer learning to walk.
The kids kinda hovered around me so I had to channel my inner cavemenese.
"Go. Now. Front door. Run." I said.
They ran, slowly at first, then faster as survival instinct kicked in. A stream of tiny bodies fleeing toward freedom, toward fresh air, toward a world that had failed them completely but might offer something better than cages and monsters…
Upstairs was easier. The "regular" orphans were already asleep in their dormitories, blissfully unaware that their caretakers had been converted into my biomass reserves. I pulled the fire alarm, watched chaos erupt as kids and remaining staff scrambled for exits, and slipped out a side window before anyone could ask questions.
Within minutes, the building was empty.
Well. Empty of anyone I cared about keeping alive.
It was time for the finale.
I found a gas line in the basement. Ruptured it with a casual swipe of my claws. The hiss of escaping fuel filled the tunnels, mixing with the lingering copper scent of blood.
One spark and that's all it would take.
I walked back through the tunnels one last time, taking a mental snapshot. The chaos symbols gleaming wetly on every surface. The empty cages. The headmaster's quarters, where his half-eaten breakfast still sat on blood-soaked sheets.
I took it all in, ah, good memories. I thought fondly.
I reached the exit, stepped out into the cool night air, and turned around.
The orphanage loomed behind me a big, Victorian-style building that had probably looked charming once, before it became a factory for human suffering. Warm light glowed from the windows. I extended one finger. Let a tiny tendril of biomass spark against itself.
Fwoosh.
The flame caught instantly, racing back through the open door, down the stairs, into the gas-filled tunnels below. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the windows exploded outward.
Fire erupted from every opening, every crack, every gap in the old building's facade. Orange and red and hungry, consuming wood and stone and secrets with equal enthusiasm. The chaos symbols would burn too, atleast most of them, but that was fine the message had been delivered. The tribute had been paid.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens started wailing.
I didn't move, but just stood there, watching the flames dance, feeling the heat on my new face.
Rest easy, Marcus. Promise kept.
The authorities would be here soon. Or more likely, Public Safety this was Japan, after all, and a building full of occult symbols and missing children probably fell under their jurisdiction. They would call foul play, devil stuff, weird shit, stuff that regular cops weren't equipped to handle.
Good. Let them come. Let them find the ashes and the symbols and wonder what the fuck happened here.
By the time they arrived, I'd be long gone.
Because this orphanage? This was just one location.
The headmaster's memories had painted a much bigger picture. A network of cesspools, ten other facilities just like this one, scattered across the country. Located in different prefectures and cites, same front and all just different headmasters.
And apparently, the rabbit hole went even deeper. Their were government contacts, buyers in high places. Whispers of something called the "aging devil" and a plan involving ten thousand children.
Ten. Thousand.
I didn't have all the details yet. But I had names, faces and locations. A roadmap of human misery just waiting to be followed.
The scheme ran deeper than I'd thought. Deeper and darker and more fucked up than even my cynical ass had expected.
But that was fine.
I had time, the power, an ever-growing collection of faces to wear.
And I had motivation.
Ten locations
Ten burning buildings.
Ten chaos symbols painted in blood.
The headmaster was just the appetizer, it was time for more bloodshed.