About the Author: Jordan Simon (Creative Writing, Class of 2019) is at home in the realm of ink and paper. He typically writes short stories of varying genres, though his most preferred is horror. Capable in poetry and comfortable with anything relating to fiction, he is a well-rounded writer with a bit of a soft-spot for the dramatic. He hopes to use his degree to further himself in the journalism field, where he hopes to write articles and art pieces for a newspaper or magazine one day.

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Beneath the roots of a great city was a very secret place. It was a laboratory, old and worn. So old, in fact, that very few would likely even remember of its existence. Decades ago, it had done its part as an underground bunker, in the event of nuclear attack. Now though, in times of peace, it was all but forgotten. It was the perfect setting for shrewd individuals and unconventional experiments.

Drip

One such man existed. He was a cruel, selfish, creature corrupted by the horrors of war; as hideous in his heart, as he was in the face. For someone like him, common gestures like mercy and kindness were merely signs of weakness. Only those, willing to make great sacrifice were worthy of living. Even if those sacrifices were not inherently his to make. People like him would do anything to get what they wanted. Everyone else was expendable. Those like him would cross lines that no human being should ever dare venture, and they would do it with a smile. Not because they had to, or because it was some kind of responsibility that they had to undertake. No, people like him; people like Noire would do it, simply because they could.

Drip

He stood, proudly, before his most recent subject. A too-wide grin twisted onto his disfigured features as he inspected his most…stimulating experiment. Sauntering over to a console, he punched in a couple of numbers, occasionally glancing over to a small notepad to his right, before turning back to the object of his interest.

Drip

This little pet project of his had become quite the investment. It was a hassle to get his hands on one as small as this, and even more of a chore to keep alive. Not to mention all of the trouble he’d be in if he were caught. Yet, for all of the inconvenience that this particular experiment could bring upon him, he could not help but be excited. After all, where is the fun without a bit of challenge? Chortling to himself, strolled over to a small, dingy cart, and extracted a syringe, full of a sickly green substance, from one of its containers. Briefly inspecting it for sterility, he returned to his previous position, lazily and expertly flipping it along the way.

Drip

His new toy thrashed about, its wrists straining against leather bonds as it struggled; it let out little soprano-whimpers that did naught but stretch his too-wide smile even further. Patting its petite shoulder, he flashed chipped, yellow teeth, sharp and jagged. “Now, child… just think of…puppies! ” With that said, he jammed the syringe roughly into the child’s neck, eliciting a cry of pain, and slammed down on the plunger. His guest twitched as Noire stepped away from him, back to his cart. It took all of 8 seconds, before the child began to wail. “Ah, as I thought,” the man mumbled, an eyebrowless ridge rising in thought, unheeding of the small child’s wails. “That sample was far too potent for your undeveloped body.” He shrugged. “Ah well, no harm done,” he said, flippantly, even as the kid screamed its throat dry, veins bulging and flesh tearing away to make room; small roots and twigs sprouted from its skin, piercing through kid’s flesh and leaving small rivulets of blood to fall to the floor. He watched, disappointedly as they rapidly grew and fell away

Drip

He passed a short glance to his charge. “Hm, are you dead, child?” he began, procuring yet another syringe. “If you can hear me, do, well, anything!.” He cackled, approached the youth, his hideous face once more stretching into a cruel, rubbery grin as he neared them. By now, its flesh had torn and popped away in many different places, revealing coiled roots and crimson leaves which repeatedly died and grew anew, blanketing the corpse. The child had screamed itself hoarse, and was now just staring blankly, into the dim light, right above him. For a moment, the man thought his charge truly dead.

Then, surprisingly, its wounds started to seal themselves shut. The roots seemed to coil inwards, and the twigs broke off as flesh sealed, leaving unblemished skin, if a bit raw. Just as suddenly, the juvenile seemed to snap back to reality, glaring at the man with fear in his eyes.

Drip

Noro smirked, widely at that. “My, my, little one,” he cooed, “You really are a resilient one.” He shook his head in awe. “To think: you managed to not only survive the exposure, but integrate it, entirely.” He raised the new syringe -this one filled with a clear liquid-,staring at the horrified child with hungry eyes. “Yes, I think you’ll do nicely for what I have in mind.” He stroked the child’s hair, delicately.  “I will make you beautiful…” He breathed. Mad eyes met terror-filled ones as he  stabbed once more into the neck and squeezed the plunger.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The walls echoed with screams.