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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MrSharks202 on 2024-10-29 17:05:57+00:00.
Justice demands flesh. It always has, I’m just the physical incarnation of that brutal fact.
They keep me chained up in the back room of the precinct. I’m their fucking hunting dog, a cannibal monster designed in the pits of hell to find criminals, born to inhabit this horrendous ability. They think I hate being chained down here, being used like a pawn. They use my crimes as blackmail for my skills. They think I’m a hostage, but I live for the hunt. The carnal passion of pursuit, the bottomless pleasure of a successful hunt, and the kill – oh the lovely kill. I am alive only to kill.
Yes, justice does demand flesh, and I am the reaper that hunts it. Memories are locked behind sinew and blood, and only I have the jaws to extract the truth.
I know exactly when it’s time. I can smell the fear fester in the air. It’s a boiling aroma that drips down the walls of my cell, pungent and hot. They hate me, all of the officers look at me like a Lovecraftian horror – and they should.
The lights crack on in the hallway and I can see the shadows of footprints from under my door. It’s a crowd, must be a big case. They swing open the entrance and I’m greeted by the usual frowns and scared, beady eyes. A collection of officers ready to let lose their cursed dog of war.
The captain is sweating. He wipes his forehead with a labored motion and scowls. “Get ready Hound.” He shines his flashlight on me and reveals my rabid state. “You hunt tonight.”
He’s a tall man, stoic with his emotions and convinced that I think he isn’t scared of me. He’s better than most at hiding it, but I can smell it. I’ve known the whole time, he reeks of fear.
Beside him are the usual assortment of hot-head deadbeat cops who think they’re cool for being on a case with the Hound. Some of them ask for cases like this, all in the hopes of being right where they are now, looking at me, gawking. They cluster in tightly next to each other just like sheep, timid before the truth. They don’t even realize how strong their prey instinct is. On the inside, they themselves are wishing that they didn’t take the case. I can see how they look at me, with my massive features and dogged appearance, they think I want to eat them too. Maybe I do.
Finally I see some new faces, young cadets who probably showed some sort of promise so they were thrown onto the case to see if they’ll break when dealing with the Hound. I am their test, and they’re failing. One shudders at my sight, another has no reservations of just looking away. Meek, all of them. Man has lost the predator that buries itself in our chest.
I stand up and walk towards them, towering above all of them. “Who are these supple ones?” I say while stroking the face of one of the young cadets, taking a large whiff of his ineptitude. “Are they my treat after I catch the killer tonight?” I see them shake, glowing with abject fear in their eyes as they glance over to the captain for help. What stupid things.
“Enough of that.” The captain huffs. He fixes his belt and keeps his voice stony. “We have to hurry, we’ve got a couple bodies in the locker for you to eat.”
This is the hard part, the part that I dread everyday. Cold meat, it never gets easy. I would rather the flesh of a freshly killed body, still beating with blood and sizzled in the horror of their own demise. The taste is repulsive, but the act of tearing flesh from bone makes my soul rattle with ecstasy. I am alive when my world is dead.
“Hurry Hound, we think the killer has someone as we speak.”
I see the cadets looking at me with wide eyes. They’d never seen me do this, they’d only heard stories of the Hound’s ‘gift.’ I’ll make sure they see it clear as day. I sink my teeth into the cold leg of some long-dead woman, making sure that those pups see the ferocity and animalism of my bite. I lift my chin into the air and let the velvet liquid stream down my neck, staring at those cadets and letting them see the satisfaction I get from becoming feral.
With another bite I black out, I’m sent back into a cold room, tied up to a chair and screaming for help. Before me stands a man, short and strange looking. He’s wearing rounded glasses and smiling the toothy grin of an arrogant man. He burns my feet with a iron rod and I see his face twist in sexual pleasure, he wants me to keep screaming so he does it again. Over and over he abuses me so that he can feel pleasure, his eyes roll back and I see the demon inside of him, I see what really makes up his demented soul.
I’m out of the delirium, falling to the ground out of exhaustion. Dying dreams are mentally taxing.
“Eat the others,” The captain demands. No one else has the backbone to tell me to continue, only the captain understand what real morality is – Necessity. “We have to find him.”
“No,” I say while rising to my feet, dizzy and swaying. I can feel the wicked grin glimmer across my face as cold blood drips from it. I take my hands and run it along my neck, collecting the ichor and taking another lick of it. “No, the fool made on vital mistake… He let her get a smell of him.”
This is it, this is the dream, the delight! I’m dashing across the city, running with feet that move without my telling, bounding like the winged angels of heaven. Everything about it is autopilot, all instinct. I feel the blood that was born to hunt pulse in my veins with hot fervor, my sight tunnel visions into blurry streaks that pass by on my way to the killer. Nothing matters to me in these moments besides killing, I can smell him in the air and it invigorates me. My muscles pump for action and my jaw is grinds from excitement. I am in heaven.
Behind me I can hear the cop cars desperately trying to keep up, they’re buzzing across the streets with horns ablaze telling people to get out of the way. They think I’m heading straight to the killer, but they do not know. In an instant I turn off into an alley and disappear, dashing through passage ways and through buildings, quickly I angle away to loose them. I can hear the shouting voices from my belt. Hound! What are you doing! Wait on us!
They’ll catch up eventually, they’re tracking me, but all I need is a minute. This moment will be mine, this kill I will keep.
I arrive at the warehouse, his stench is everywhere and it inflames me. It’s a tall dark building with busted windows and swinging chains. He’s in there, I know it. I prowl around the sides so he doesn’t notice me, knowing that I have only a little time before the cops catch up. The hair on the back of my neck raises up, my fingers curl with anticipation. I am close.
Inside I see him, working ruthlessly on some poor sap tied up to a bed. He’s doing the same thing he did to the lady I ate, torturing them for his own perverted pleasure. I see the eyes roll back, I see darkness, real and hopeless darkness. I can’t help myself.
I plunge from the edges and latch onto him, dig into him. It is an incredible, ruthless bloody slaughter as I tear his skin to shreds. I hear his shrill screams and it’s music to my ears, a symphony that makes my soul shudder with electricity. His fear, it permeates through every inch of the room and it’s the most delightful thing that I’ve ever smelt in my life.
He’s screaming why why, who are you? Please stop. But I do not care. I rip into him and start consuming him, feeding from him in the most delightful manner. I listen to the screams with more pleasure than you could ever imagine.
The cops are here, they’re yelling at me to get off of him. They’re pulling and yanking at me but I am not done, right before six men get me off I rip out his heart. I pull out from his wretched chest a lump of pulsing flesh, a useless device for a man so twisted. They watch in horror, unable to stop me as I dig my teeth into it, twisting and shredding. I stare at the man as I eat his heart, watching the life leave his eyes. There was no light there to start, I simply watch darkness become emptiness.
The captain is yelling at me. He’s telling me how they needed him alive, and how they cant make him serve justice now. I look around at the young cadets, the sheep who see me covered in live blood. They cower when they turn to see the mangled mess of what was once the killer. They see the real me, the real Hound. They see the animal, man’s rightful and ancient state.
They will go home tonight and they will feel sick, something in them will stop them from eating, stop them from sleeping. They will shake it off as just trauma, just the PTSD of being a cop in the hard streets. But that’s not why they’re sick, that’s not why they won’t be able to sleep well for weeks. What they see in me is the truth. They see that it is not me that is an animal, but them. I am a human, fully actualized and realized, the universe’s ideal predator. I do not shy away from the ferocity that swells in my chest. They see that what they are is weak, prey. They go to bed and they fear the fragility of their own soul, and pray that whatever is in their chest goes away.
Cowards.
The captain yells into my ear, telling me that I can’t just kill like that, that justice has to be served. He tells me that I’ve done a bad thing, and that they won’t let me out for a long time now. But the captain, I know him. He has accepted parts of the dark truth. As he screams at me, as he throws his fists and spits with rage, he is happy. He wanted the criminal dead like I did. I am his vessel for passion. If he could’ve done the same thing, I have no doubt he …
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