The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

Chapter 5 (Set in Junkenstein's P.O.V.)

The old scientist rounded the corner, slowly entering the laboratory. He rubbed his two gloved hands together, a smile cracking against his face and bushy white eyebrows rising on his forehead the more he looked around beneath his goggled eyes. The stray hairs on his chin and jaw were proof that he had not taken care of himself properly, the dark bags under his eyes that managed to poke from under his goggles were another sign of proof. His wrinkled forehead was beaded with sweat, some of his hairline was crusted with old oils and anyone could see that natural facial oils soaking his skin that he was too busy all the time to even wipe off as well as the few smeared splotches of dark blue ink he had on his cheeks and chin.

Overall, the mad scientist really did look like a mad scientist at the end of the day.

His peg leg smacked against the cobblestone with every step he took, the old scientist hobbled around the floor while looking up at the coffin raised on a slab of metal. A twisted grin spread across his ghoulish skin, eyes were hidden away by bright blue lens and his hair exploded into what looked like white fire. He cackled, rubbing his rubber-gloved hands together before hunching over, his nose twitching with anticipation.

"How long until we're ready?" the scientist barked, not even paying attention to the minions scrabbling around him.

"Not long sir!" one shouted from above.

The doctor cackled, howling with laughter as he yanked on his white hair, his feet smacking against the cobbled floor.

"Will this work, Junkenstein?" a female asked from above.

Junkenstein turned around, releasing his hair and scanning the castle's tower until his eyes landed on a familiar face: The Witch.

Junkenstein scoffed, waving her off with a single gloved hand and leaned his weight on a table full of empty inkwells, broken quills, and parchment both blank and drawn over with sketches and words that could not be read by anyone but Junkenstein himself.

"Of course it'll work, darl'," Junkenstein snorted. He waved a hand over to the corner to reveal a large, round figure standing still by the window, watching the snow whipping around outside. "I made that thing come to life from parts of seven other men and then some." He turned back to the witch and crossed his thin arms over his scrawny chest. "I think I can bring back one measly man for you."

"Such pride for your work, Junkenstein," the witch sighed. Her pale fingers came up and twirled a blonde lock, letting it go so it could bounce around. Her blue eyes were pinned to Junkenstein himself. "But weren't the first few failures?"

"Until you came along! You're here! It'll work for fuck's sake!"

"And how can you be so sure?"

"Because you want him back." Junkenstein hobbled over to the coffin on the metal platform and slowly drilled his fingers against the old wooden lid, wood, and rot moving away. Junkenstein wrinkled his nose at the sight, such a monster was treated so wrongly. How sad. "For what, I don' care, but if it'll get that debt off ma back, then hell with it."

Junkenstein moved his hands to pry open the lid when the witch tutted him, smacking the edge of her broom against the pillar she leaned upon.

"Don't do that. Leave him in there," she ordered.

Junkenstein waved her off again and hobbled away from the coffin to his prized creation in the corner.

The thing was massive. More than seven feet tall, a hulking figure stitched together by Junkenstein's own two hands. Green skin highlighted by the white snow outside, his soulless black eyes staring off into the distance. Junkenstein modeled everything after a pig, as he thought pigs were cute. So a large pushed up nose and a big, round belly was surely sewed on tight. He barely had any clothes on, Junkenstein only gave him what he could and it was only his old clothes he wore when he was the Thane's fool.