Tristan Leighton’s lungs burned. His mouth was wet with thick, crimson blood. He was hunched over, his abdomen with a ripping feeling inside of him. The glorious blue eyes he had were blood shot
and wide, staring at the space in front of him and the dirty brown hair was matted and in his eyes, obscuring his vision only slightly. As his palm slide across what would have been his
stomach, something blocked his way. It was sharp and wet with his blood.
And it was sticking out of his gut.
Once again, a gush of blood spurted from his mouth. Now he could make out figures. Figures that were rushing toward him, screeching the same words over and over again. He begged them silently not
to come toward him.
“Tristan! My God! Tristan, what the hell happened?” Carmen’s voice only made his body soften and become more vulnerable to pain, as beautiful as it was. She tried pulling at the javelin plunged
into him unsuccessfully.
Within seconds, something had changed. His senses, his feelings, his pain. He looked up at her, and grimaced painfully. Within seconds, he jumped at her, his teeth ripping at her. He’d never felt a
hunger like this before. The awful crunching sound filled the atmosphere as he fed on his once beloved’s flesh and bone. Moments later, he ran off the track field into the massive forest in the
nearby state within minutes.
Winter had come along several months later, and Tristan, now the monster he’d become, hunched over his legs in a fetal-like position, letting the snow drift over his thin and pale body. He hadn’t
eaten in months. The urge was strong, but he held back as much as it hurt.
The sound of frozen leaves and ice crunching filled his ears immediately. He looked up, his eyes dead and glaring into the noise’s direction. His throat and his stomach were both growling. The
pupils in his eyes shrunk and thinned immediately. The scent of blood filled his nose.
Doctor Schaefer immediately saw the pained boy and rushed toward him. He felt no mistake whatsoever. He knew what he was.
“Let me help you, I’ve heard you, Tristan.” The accent in his voice was thick and German. He edged himself closer, one hand in front of him and another in his pocket. As the new Tristan sprung
forward, Schaefer jabbed him with a powerful taser –gun, unlike anything the police would have to use, making Tristan slip into unconsciousness once again.
He woke up, heavier and feeling the need to move more muscles in his body. Large, steel bars were in front of him, trapping him into a metal cage with streams of blood licking against the sides.
“You are awake, my boy!” Tristan recognized Schaefer and lashed at him unsuccessfully and reached for him through the bars. Schaefer backed up, his sly grin still covering his face.
“What in the hell did you do to me?” Tristan growled. He stopped. His voice was deeper and more powerful than before. Something wasn’t right.
“Only a couple of successful tests, my handsome chimera,” Schaefer turned and grabbed papers out of a folder. “You remind me so much of my son.” Tristan stayed quiet, eyeing Schaefer. He turned
back to his cage and bent down, showing black and white photos to him. Though they had a lack of color, they were perfectly clear.
They were before and after photographs. The before photograph was of a thin and unconscious Tristan, lying half naked on a metallic table with a tag tied to his ankle. “PROJECT 3-1-7” the tag read.
Then the after photograph. Tristan didn’t seem to have changed at all until he glanced at it again. Almost two meters long and attached to the bottom of his back was a scaly trail, curled around
his right leg. But that wasn’t it. There were still many more pictures that Doctor Schaefer held. The before photo on the second paper was the same as his after photo from the first test. The after
photo was just as shocking. No longer did he have human legs, but legs of an animal’s; a large dog’s. More pictures. His arms became unnaturally long and thin and his chest furry and ragged. He
wasn’t prepared for the last set of pictures. He was no longer Tristan Leighton. His head was no longer his, but the head of an unholy looking lion with the horns of a ram, or the devil,
curling over in the back.
Tristan’s only reaction was to lie down and think it over. “That cannot be me,” he sighed, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“But it is,” Schaefer disappeared again and came back with a mirror and showed it to Tristan. His whole appearance was identical to the creature in the photos. “I created you from pre-made
chimeras. You were originally a human and were injected with the DNA of a wolf, unlike other wolves. You remember the javelin, no? The DNA did not take long to kick in. Shortly after, I tracked you
down and brought you here for further tests. You are the chimera from chimeras!” Schaefer dropped the mirror and outstretched his arms in success and amusement. Tristan went blind with rage
and jumped at Schaefer. The same crunching sound from that unfaithful first day filled the air yet again.
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