Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here again with a new one-shot mine. I know I am not a stranger when it comes to the weird, dark, and abstract, but I have dug inside of my inner Mannequin, Ichor, Darling, and Osiris's Angel writing to present my newest horror creation, Beast. Many overlook Captain Falcon I feel and do not give him proper or mature stories. While this here can be considered a stretch in that, I wanted to try my damned hardest to not make him some guy to laugh at, but to fear, to cower from. I've gotten some inspiration from a few other horror writers in the fandom on this one, to prep for my newer stuff in 2016 which will push the limits of my already expanding mind. Please do enjoy Beast.

Drip. Drip. Drip. He groaned, his eyes dancing together as he watched the rising pool of morphine bubble up in a test tube firmly clutched in his hands. "Exhibit XYZ gets the fiftieth special treatment of the drug today. Do not believe it'll work, but she's my cat, she's my guinea pig and if I say she's taking this damn dose, she's taking it!"

He laughed with mirth, the innocuous dripping giving him comfort. His precious in the basement was going to need all the comfort she could get, and he couldn't blame her. Twenty five years of medical school led to this, where days were tirelessly filled with walks down wooden, creaky steps, into damp and dark holes that reeked of excrement and rotten flesh. Invigorating.

"I choose to ignore it." he whispered quietly, shifting in his chair. The amber hue of the lights above gave the pallid test tube an aquamarine color. He snorted then, at that thought. "She'll love the color blue, won't she? Maybe it'll... dull the pain some- add a shining, redeemable quality. Maybe she thought I did it for her out of the nonexistent kindness of my heart. Wouldn't be the first time, certainly not the last."

He eyed the number of needles and knives on his left, each to a varying degree of sharpness... meaning a multitude of painful stabs, snips, and shears. He giggled like a school girl, being giddy for what comes next was always a general response. She was going to have a field day, one that could not be averted any other way.

A red marker tallies another victim... or as he called it subject, as he wasn't murdering anyone here, heavens no. In the name of all holy science, his practice was formal and practical. So people lost a few pints or gallons of blood on the way there. Was not his problem, now was it?

Doctor Falcon Kirchner howled with joyous insanity, echoes booming off of his sterile white walls. He spun in his chair, a cube void of color and emotion causing the dizzy memories to return full speed on a rushing tide of laughter and he tumbled out of the chair, banging his knee, swearing profusely, and sat back up as if nothing had happened.

"I am getting that raise. I am getting that raise. I am getting that raise. I AM GETTING THAT RAISE!" Falcon repeated to himself, before unleashing a scream. He banged on the desk, a needle flipping in the air and nicking his finger. His left eye twitched, one droplet of blood slipping out from the epidermis. He plucked the needle from his skin, the pain was unnecessary weight. Emotions were unnecessary weight to him. All human life was. Ones who did not follow the code needed to be eliminated. Natural hair color. Natural eye color. Names that made wholly sense in a world of generics. The girl in the basement was not, and never will be one of those people. For that reason she needed to die.

The medical institution deemed him unfit for his practice, such precision on patients had never been exhibited before by a student or even a paid doctor on a check sent out at the end of every two weeks. Accidental disembowelments were often in his line, or the surgical removal of an eye because it respond to light the wrong way. Falcon enjoyed those surgeries the most. Cascading pools of crimson beneath his fingertips was a cooling moment he could never forget. If the blood decided to dry over and scab, it was even better. Hard, scratching nails raking down precious souls backs... no wonder his nickname during medical school was the Red Practitioner, or more fitting even than that, The Bird of Prey. Such poor prey, he would coo, while cupping a patient's face. He'd then sneer, sending a knife straight into their chest.

Falcon Kirchner was not insane. He spoke that multiple times to himself, day in and day out. He needed stress relief. This was where his stress relief came from. He rose, sick and tired of the mind games he knew she was playing on him in the other room. All those pitiful cries for help, all those damned souls he'd send on their merry way... pah, people didn't deserve his mercy. Cutting only half of the jawbone off was nice, he often had the desire to rip the entire bone structure in one wrench of his wrists and clenching of his fingers.

The first victim was a poor boy, one filled with sarcastic, bitter laughter up until his moments of death. Hollow amber eyes that sneered, onyx hair that foreboded misery... the case was special. Falcon made a mental note to never return to men or boys of any kind during his practice. One soul to another, it was wrong. Females on the other hand... he could've cared less.

They did everything wrong. Everything. Their smile, their laughter, the way they'd walk up and down the street, holding their damn hot pink rhinestone purses and the diamond encrusted dog leashes wrapped around something that only, barely resembled a fluffy cloud mixed with a drenching wet mop. The sharpness of their nails, that mocked the true artistic use of needles, and how it was used as a weapon. Needles weren't weapons. They constructed societies, toppled dynasties, eroded away at archaeological finds... oh no, Falcon could not stand when one misused the denotation of needles. Women especially.

He hated the way they dressed... so- so provocatively. One who had no shame in their revealing their outer body shouldn't be ashamed of revealing their inner body. Organs were beautiful to look it, no matter who held them inside. Falcon despised the flapping and uncurling of the skin when digging inside to find his artifacts. Why there was so much excess shit in the way, he couldn't explain. And that was a shocker to him, for science could explain everything that made the world run. But, of course he believed that. Falcon Kirchner was a scientist for crying out loud.

Falcon cracked his neck, sighing contently. His new toy was going to be so much fun to operate on. He was ready to do a real life game of Operation, instead now girlish screams acted as the buzzer, and there were specifics he really wanted this time. A single strand of navy hair, the cornea of the almost perfect spherical eyeball... oh, this one was going to be good. Good was not broad enough to even explain it, making Falcon's blood sizzle and rile up. Adrenaline pumped through his body, although he wasn't even the one in danger.

He opened the door to his basement, down the first step, then the second, third... fourth until he ultimately lost count of how many he lumbered down, how many times he scratched at the walls so his nails turned putrid cardinal with the chilling drops of blood down his knuckles... such a problem with travel now these days. People were always getting hurt.

The basement smelled of chloroform and pine cones. He frowned. Although one of the weirder smells he had encountered since being down in the basement and countless number of times, he couldn't remember what was hinting off the pine cone scent. His eyes flickered to the sound of heavy breathing. He grinned. "Ah. It's her perfume. Autumn smells in the whole wrong season. My favorite type of idiot."

Fumbling for a light switch, the room is flooded with brightness, and the newly unwrapped toy of Lucina Kirchner is revealed to him. She's staring at something unknown, trying to comprehend she is in a dream- this isn't real, and if hits me hard enough I'll wake up from it. He laughed, this was no dream. Her navy hair was down, dyed multiple colors in a mad pattern of bright hot rose, deep amaranthine, joker radioactive green, and warm biscuit yellow. Falcon scoffed. "She looks so damn ugly. Must do something about it."

A staunch blood flow streamed from one eye, and she was whimpering so loud, so fucking loud that he can't even take a breath without her interrupting him. The manners of some people. He chose not to hear her, instead going to the operating table. Falcon Kirchner's pride and joy. Knives of all shapes and sizes cause tingling sensations in his hands, just to grip their handles and hack downwards and across chests and dig deep into flesh... So fucking beautiful.

His hand lingered on the hammer for a moment. "Do I want to... would this be a prolific choice for me?" he thought to himself. He paused momentarily, thinking of how his wife would want to be killed. Slow and torturous with bubbling blood pools frothing at her mouth or quick and easy- one rapier gunshot to the head... decisions, decisions. Falcon shook his head in dissent. Pain it was then. There was no other option. For all the pain she put him through, Lucina Kirchner would view it as a blessing.

He grabbed a pair of scissors, a chair, and placed it in front of her. She recoiled from him, Lucina's steely eyes surprisingly brave yet terrified, almost like a puppy who really, really, really wanted to protect mama when he knew there was no way in hell he'd survive. Falcon tilted his head, outstretching a gloved hand and touching her against the side of the cheek. She shuddered greatly, eyes shrinking, whimpering returning to full volume.

Falcon licked his lips. "Despite me having an awful compelling urge to vomit at the sight of your hair, everything else about you is phenomenal, gorgeous in every way. You're so pretty... my dear Lucina. Aren't you? Don't you agree with me? You always did that, you know? Would laugh and laugh... but now look where you are, hmm," his expression became sultry and serious, a menacing frown darkening his bright eyes. "Everyone loves you, I bet. Because you're so damn pretty. How many men did you have intercourse with today my love? Before I caught you of course... wanting to oh so desperately leave me because I wasn't doing a damn good enough job!" he screamed, slapping her across the face. The chair fell back, and Lucina shrieked behind the tape gag, blocking most vocalizations of protest.

He leaped onto the chair, shaking it vehement rage. "Why must you be such a slut? Aren't I good enough? Answer me!"

Lucina closed her eyes, crystalline tears streaming down her face. A whimper emits from the gag... "Please..."

"Complimenting you seems to do work, doesn't it," Falcon hissed. "Sure then, I can keep the game up. All night long if I have to, sweet pea. You could be a model. A model. One who'd make money. That'd be a good job, huh? I could help you become one. A bit of makeover would be in order first."

"Like..." comes the muffled response.

Falcon set his chair back up right, reaching into his back pocket to grab the scissors he placed there from the upstairs. "Nothing too major, my pretty. A snip of hair there, an accidental ripping of three inches of flesh. Then I'd take pictures, gruesome in depiction, but beautiful in display. Why, you'd be a famous martyr in the world of art!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

He stopped, realizing that her gay rainbow colored hair would not be good for the press reception, he'd be too out of the box. The shorter, the better. "I need to give you a haircut. One chainsaw cut and the head comes flying off. If there is a headless bust or stature of Lucina Kirchner, so be it," he hissed through clenched teeth. Falcon got close to his wife, seizing her hair with infuriating strength. She just made him so... so mad. "Hair is too long for my liking."

The doctor starting cutting away, singing some Deck the Halls as he acted his role play of a twisted barber. "Deck the hall with your damn navy hair. La, la, da dum blood. You can cry all those tears. La, la, da dum blood. I just want to make you bald. La, la, da dum blood. Deck the hall with your damn navy hair. La, la, da dum, da dum blood." He snipped a little too fist, catching her right ear.

Lucina clenched her fists, the only movable part of her body, as besides the tape gag, binding rope kept her pinned to a chair, forceful and violent. "You son of a bitch." she growled in one quick spurt. Somehow, he managed to hear that.

"Whoops," Falcon chuckled. "Cut a bit of your ear off there, my dear. Happens all the time. Wouldn't you know? You helped me experiment my nightmare fluid on that first poor boy all those years ago. Doctor mistakes, we all have them. Why do you have the need to cuss at me with such profane and foul language? He didn't curse me out when I was digging inside the mesh of his brain. Then again... perhaps he was already dead as I was digging inside his brain... oh well, can't ask him, now can I?"

He wheeled back from her, eyeing his creation. Lucina Kirchner was reduced to a flower pot, where a wilting flower surrounded by soiled dirt and mangled weeds stood in the wake of a nasty hurricane. Falcon drummed his chin. "Actually, I rather like that," He took an inhale of the chloroform air. "Isn't this smell just so wonderful though? I could fall into a dreamless sleep, one where erotica acted as nightmares and nightmares acted as erotica. Dear child, don't fool yourself for a minute that you're done. I simply must fix that face. The angle of the crooked nose, the bent bridge, the uneven of the ears... the tears dabbling your eyes and cheeks. No, we mustn't have that in our album, dearie Lucina."

The navy haired woman is gone, wailing and screaming at the top of her lungs. The Kirchner basement wasn't that far below the ground, someone had to hear her. Falcon chuckled. "Still don't get it, do you," he teased. "No offense about the face, but I can make you a whole lot prettier. The years in surgery school can help. I can't decide if I'd like to do the left side... or maybe the right side. Or the nose! Why, it is the first to go."

Lucina shook her head. "No. You can't do this."

"Why not? Isn't this what you always wanted," Falcon tilted his head. "To die at the hands of your creator? Oh my simple stupid girl, that is such a shame," He gripped the scissors tightly in his hand. "But, I have to wait for a better time. Darling, we cannot spare more idle chitchat. You know I like my work better when the subjects are dead."

Without warning, he grabbed his wife by the neck, before using his free hand, which was his right, to drive the scissors straight into the place where the Adam's apple would be. Lucina began shaking uncontrollably, head swiveling back and forth like a merry-go-round. To make the deed much faster, Falcon then grabbed her head, and twisted violently, breaking her neck.

A light gasp came from Lucina, and silence drowned out the noise in the basement. The racket of the thumping chair ceased to a halt as the life drained from Falcon's wife. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop went her blood to the floor. Falcon admired his work.

He leaned in close, knowing that she couldn't hear him if he even tried. "My dear Lucina Kirchner, thank you for uncovering my inner beast."

Laughing, Falcon wrenched the scissors out of Lucina's neck, before slitting his own throat with them.

The couple fell ceremoniously to the floor. Their days of torture were over. Falcon Kirchner met his inner beast, Lucina Kirchner met her inner doom. In a cycle it went, till two new souls would replace the old. Such a beast it came out, manically and violent.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip, drop went the blood.

Did I go above and beyond once more this time, or was I even more mellow? I am keeping this Rated T for now, but if you feel it is too graphic I'll be fine bumping into the Rated M category. This may be the last time this year for 2015 you'll see me post something not contest related where I have to conform to rules and somesuch in this fandom, and then 2016 will be on the horizon for bigger, better, scarier, abstract, confounding, puzzling, enigmatic, heartbreaking, and coarse stories and one-shots that'll make my old stuff seem like child's play. Thank you so much for reading, and please review. Let me know what you thought!

~ Paradigm