Lovely Slop

Oh boy, I can't wait to get my next patient! The anticipation is killing me! Peyton really should hurry as I am not to be kept waiting. My patients before me all seem to be happy, but you can never really tell what their eyes are really saying. I'm holding one of my tools, shakily waiting over my desk, studying it intently. I write down the name of my next subject. Brendon, I think his name was. Peyton should have him here by tonight and no objections, I'm sure. My office is white with a little window, showing the main lobby, enticing others to watch. Although the entrance is free, the website costs 2 bitcoins to get onto. It's live feed, best quality around. I get hundreds of viewers each night, ready to view my works and I never disappoint. Peyton is my main and only co-worker. He comes in only to watch with the others in the main lobby after delivering a guest.

There's a knock at the door. I go to answer it, but it's opened by itself. Peyton strolls in with a grin stretched across his face. "I got 'em." he said. "Oh good, even if you're five minutes late, I'm sure the viewers won't mind." Peyton rolls the patient in, the cotton floor wadding under the wheels as he's pushed into the room. He's thrown onto a chair, which latches tightly around his wrists and ankles. He struggles to get free, but he's still woozy from the ride over. You see, I work in the mental ward and double as the official "executioner". With the official title and all, I'm not pressured by the police or neighbors. They are way to far to hear any of it. I've lost most feelings of humanity I guess. I don't plan on giving mercy and after the first few showings, the government figured that out. They don't visit anymore, they just give patients to Peyton and I make sure they're dealt with. Their vomit stains are still present in the lobby. Not my fault they couldn't take it. I've planned for seven lobby guests.

Peyton picks the bag off of Brendon's head and the chat boxes explode. "Get him! Use the saw again! I hope I can record all the sound this time." and so forth. As soon as the bag is lifted, Brendon's eyes dart to all corners of the room. The room is soundproof as to the actual patients don't hear anything. "Listen, Brendon, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. You have been sentenced to death by the government for a triple homicide that led to the death of your wife by knife, death of firstborn child by gunshot and death of younger twin by throwing him off of an apartment building. We both know you don't deserve redemption. I plan to keep it that way." Brendon's eyes dilate as he realizes what's about to happen to him. "The government doesn't care what I do or how I do it, as long as you're in a body bag, or most of you is, I still get paid. So, here's what I'm going to start off with." I hold up the a small clamp in my left hand. I hear small cheers from the other side of the glass, knowing what the clamp means. I move the clamp over to his arm, now tensing with fear and wanting to escape. I wrap it around his arm, just touching the elbow. The clamp is metal with coils all around to force it into place along with a metal bar to tighten. As I twist it into place, Brendon gives me a confused look. It's soon put to waste as the grip gets as tight as it can, locking his arm in place. I don't stop there, oh no. I continue to tighten it, watching the camera as I go. His hand starts going blue from the lack of bloodflow and I continue. "Stop! STOP! PLEASE!" he screams as his elbow starts to grind under the metal. He yells as the metal shatters the lower part of his arm, still tightening, a small ripple is seen around his wrist. Blood pours out slowly at first, but then goes to a rush as some muscles, tendon and even bone shards are forced out of it. His screams have reached their max and he struggles against his restraints. I smile as the blood spurts to the floor, staining his clothes and mine. I slowly remove the clamp, seeing the deep bruise I left along with a contorted hand still twitching. I set the clamp to the side. Brendon still trying to struggle free as small mumbles leave his mouth. I move over and pick up needle from my desk. The syringe is clean and ready for anything. I know what I'm going to do. He thinks he knows. I walk over to the other side of my desk and retrieve a glow stick from the drawer. Taking some scissors, I cut the end off. Then, taking the syringe, pick up some of it from the tube, careful not to spill any on me. I maneuver over to a microscope and place some of the liquid on a tray. I then proceed to extract another liquid of my own design. It consists a modified form of the flu. Although not airborne, it is able to be transferred by blood and direct contact. I walk over to the camera and say my usual line. "Zombie virus, test number 221. Changes from previous; glow stick juice instead of small pox." I walk over to Brendon, who is now crying and begging for his mother. I set the syringe off to the side and prepare a baseball bat. "In order for the plague to be not dangerous to me or anyone else, I must break your appendages. He freezes as I ready the bat aimed for his left leg. He screams even before I hit him. His leg snaps and I can see the indent through the pants. I move to the next one. Crack! To his arm. Crack! I stop. He vomits on the floor and woozily looks up to me. I walk over with the syringe and jab it in the side of his neck. After about two minutes, his veins start to glow as the liquid travels to his brain. He screams one last time and his head drops. I look towards the camera and smile. "Come back for part two to see the result of my experiment. No charge to anyone!" I shut the camera off and wait.

Three hours pass and his body twitches.

Two more pass and his hand starts clenching and the bones start moving in place as to test themselves. I turn the camera on after seven hours. "Welcome back my friends! It seems like this time, this time out of all the others, it is a success!" "Now my friends, it's time for me to get down to business. Bring in subject number 201!" Peyton leaves the room and comes back with a scrawny man, clearly starved. He throws the man in the room and I exit, leaving my desk and camera on, but keeping my formula close. The creature in the chair looks up to the small man. He groans loudly as he strains against his metal chair. One arm lifts and rips out of socket, leaving only a small nub left. The same goes for all of the appendages, until he is fully free and falls to the ground. The scrawny man tries to get up, but is too weak and cannot make it more than a few feet. "Brendon" is now moving towards him, mouth agape and the scrawny man slowly accepts his fate, just as Brendon sinks his teeth into the man. The man lets out small, raspy gasps as he tries to move, but is dead within seconds. "I'll continue tomorrow." I said, closing the curtains. A couple say aww and the others seem too excited to leave their seat and come back tomorrow.

Overnight, I threw Peyton in there with them. He wasn't too strong anyway, so he was taken down pretty easily after I broke his ankles. The computer was still on, letting all who wanted, watch. I let open the stall in the morning. They slowly moved out, limping and struggling to move along the floors and I opened one of the cells to the ward. A man walked out, confused, but soon grasped what was going on and was quickly overtaken. One by one, I let the patients out, only to be attacked by the last one. The last door opened and the patient sprinted out, but tripped and snapped his neck on the rail.

Now for everyone else.

I ran out the door of my asylum, propping it open with a chair and table. I listen with glee as my patients are tearing through the halls, their yells getting louder as they find the exit. I get in my jeep and speed down the road, smiling. I make it onto the street and see the sign I'm looking for.

Water Treatment Center.