Unnatural Instinct: Free

2.

'What the hell is it?'

'Who knows and who cares? It's a monster. That's all we need to know,' I say, twisting my mouth in disgust as I nudge it in the ribs with the toe of my boot. It doesn't move.

Myself, along with several other fighters, are standing in the detention shelter. It's a little tight in the small room but all of us are eager to see exactly what we've caught. Two men are holding torches which flicker sharp, glaring light against the stone walls and upon our grim faces. Some of us are covered in blood, others have torn clothes; all are covered in grime.

I shift my gun from one arm to the other as I stare down at the monster. A comrade beside me spits on it. The monster doesn't move, lying on its side, curled up around its gunshot wound. Its long dark hair covers its face.

'Good shot by the way, Derrick,' a comrade says, slapping me on the back.

I grin. Damn right it was a good shot. One in a million. I got it right between the branches as it flew over. I can still recall the grunt of pain as I made contact, the loud snapping of branches as it fell and the satisfying thud as it hit the ground.

'But what about the other one?' speaks one of my comrades. 'The one that really killed those men. That great big red devil with the horns. It got away.'

'Don't speak of it,' I quickly snap. 'It never existed. This is the monster we were supposed to catch.' I turn on my comrade, glaring at him, making sure my warning is getting through. 'This is the monster that steals our children and terrorises our forest, do you hear? The women and children don't need to know that thing got away. The thought will only terrify them. Besides, it won't come back. It was shot.'

'Only in the shoulder,' speaks another comrade.

I turn to glare at him next. 'I shot the monster. This monster. The only monster.'

He and I stare at each other for several moments, before he finally lowers his eyes. 'As you say.'

I briefly glare around at the rest of them but nobody seems intent on questioning me further. Good. I turn back to the monster.

'Do you think it'll understand us? It looks like a man.'

'I bet it does,' I say. The thing with the horns understood us, after all, throwing curses at us as we chased it through the forest. 'Oy! Roll onto your back and let us see you or I'll bash you with my club.' I brandish my shotgun.

The room quietens as we wait for a response. Slowly, the monster obeys, rolling over slowly and with great difficulty, the ropes restricting its movement. The room hushes into silence. I can feel the fear of my men like a prickling against the back of my neck. I did not realise how truly big it was until now.

'It's not a monster,' a comrade whispers. 'It's a demon. It's a demon to that red devil.'

'We should kill it!'

Several men roar in agreement.

'No,' I say. 'We should keep it alive. Study it. What if there are more out there?' I stare down at the creature. Its skin is so black it looks like it's been burned. Its ears are strange, tapering into points at the tips. As for its wings ... where to start with those? Black. Bat-like. Leathery. I see a claw. No. A talon. Long, sharp and curved, located at the tip of its left wing. Big enough to savage its prey. The monster's eyes are slightly open but it won't meet my gaze. Smart. I wouldn't want to meet my gaze either. Not if I wanted to keep my balls.

Speaking of which ...

'Take its pants off. Let's see if it really is a man.'

Two men approach, unsheathing their knives, the blades glinting brightly against the sharpness of the flickering torchlight. The monster doesn't move as they cut through the fabric. Once they're done, they step back, staring.

My comrades were right. It is definitely some kind of man. Long, muscular legs. And between those ...

I frown. The monster is big. Too big. It's even bigger than me. I don't like that. I don't like that one bit. I should be the one with the biggest dick in the village. I am the one with the biggest dick in the village.

Monster or no monster.

I tighten my grip on my shotgun, suddenly feeling enraged. 'I think we should make it pay for what it's done.' Lifting my foot, I stomp the monster right on its balls.

The monster roars, its eyes snapping wide open as it brings up its knees to its chest and rolls back onto its side, curling into a ball. Its hands are tied up so it can do nothing to protect itself as I kick it repeatedly in the back.

'Roll him back over,' I snap.

My comrades do and I continue with my attack, teeth gritted, hands fisted, as I stomp it in the chest, in the abdomen, between the legs again. Next, I boot its wound. The monster roars again, then chokes, its teeth gritted, its eyes wide, so white in the darkness. Tears are leaking down its cheeks, leaving behind glittering wet trails.

'Speak, monster. Speak! Beg me to stop!'

But it doesn't. It won't. Apparently, it won't give in. I hate that even more than its big size and huge manhood. Everyone and everything should fear me and do what I say.

Kick after kick and still it won't submit. Finally, I give up, staggering back, panting. I suddenly realise how quiet it is around the room. I glance at my gathered men. They're silent and refusing to look at me, their eyes on the floor or looking away.

I scowl at them all. 'Tend its wound. Chain it up. Give it some water. I want it alive.'

And with that, I storm out of the shelter.