[h1] [color=ed1c24][b]The Monster[/b][/color][/h1]

The woman's heart was pounding in her chest as she sprinted through the desiccated halls of the abandoned tenement building. It was the kind of place anyone should be afraid to be in, especially at this hour - dark, unsafe, filled with disreputable characters. But that was not why she was in such great terror.

Charles stepped after her, slowly, methodically, not matching his frantic quarry in pace nor demeanor. The woman - the [i]creature[/i] - had seen the face of the monster, the Thing mothers warn their children about when they tell them to be good, eat their vegetables, go to bed without a fuss.

Her fear was intoxicating, and the grim faced man breathed it in and steadily willed his body to grow.

The thing in front of him stole a glance back at her pursuer, and the sight of the tall, strange, almost-human thing steadily following her drove her to new heights of terror - and speed. That was fine. He'd catch up when he caught up. 

Finally, their terminal dance reached a close when the woman, the thing, rounded a corner and smacked into a cement wall. This section of the tenement had been cordoned off, and she was cornered by the beast.

Hands shaking, voice letting out small, involuntary whimpers, she turned to face her pursuer and saw only darkness, stretching into the hall through which she had run seemingly forever. As she tried to control her breathing, her eyes and forearms began to glow orange, hands generating small, sputtering balls of fire. 

"I'm not afraid of you, do you hear me? I'm not afraid!"

Those were the words she chose to fling at the shadows, as so many had before. As usual, they were lies.

All was still for a moment, and then it tore out of the darkness.

It was maybe nine feet tall, sinuous and strange. It undulated like a snake as it sprinted, its foot-long claws like warped, bladed fingers dragging on the ground. It's face was a grim mockery of humanity - white, staring eyes and a mouth full of jagged fangs. It shrieked, just once, the sound of a wounded animal, of a knife in the dark, of everything the woman did not know.

And then Charles Metzger was on top of his quarry, and all that was left was the wet work. [i]Inhuman,[/i] he thought as his claws tore flesh and bone. [i]Insect,[/i] he thought as he sank his fang's into the screaming woman's shoulder. [i]Disease,[/i] he thought as his prey's mortal struggling slowed and finally, stopped.

Charles stepped back from the body, already twisting back to his facsimile of humanity. He did not deserve to wear this, this mask of normalcy, of purity - but as long as he had work left to do, he would have to endure the guilt.

When his transformation was complete, the grim man pulled a smartphone from his blood-spattered suit pocket, snapped three pictures of the grisly scene in front of him, and put it back. Then, whistling no particular tune, Charles turned to exit the tenement building, making his way to where his car was parked outside.