This is Subject 342, or whatever the heck they're calling me now. I've heard 'Monster', 'Snakeman', 'Freak', etc. I still don't know what they've done to me. What I was, what I am and what I'm yet to become.
As for that human, I've found his typewriter and read all his little stories. I know he's supposedly innocent now, he wouldn't lie in a personal journal, but my instincts know he tampered with it the stuff. Such an insignificant fool. If I knew he overlooked the formula, I still would've killed him. He's dying next to the collapsed stairs. Something wanted me to eat him, but I think that's going too far.
These instincts, This body...I can barley think of anything rational to type on here, and typing with these claws is kind if difficult too.
Maybe he can turn me back if I revive him, but I don't care. He's already ruined my life enough.
All I can think of now is escaping the facility. There are bodies everywhere, and I've locked everyone in the mess hall. They'll die of my venom and of starvation, eventually. Serves them right, to be stupid enough to trust that man. They all should of known better. Nothing matters to me anymore. Forget humanity.
-Subject 342, signing off
YOU ARE READING
Subject 342 (Outdated)
RandomAn ambitious young scientist records his horrific experiences from the early days of his lab, where a genetics experiment in cellular regeneration went horribly wrong.
