Just a Taste


Doug stuck his hand in the box and immediately pulled it out. "Ow," he said. He licked the side of his index finger as if it had honey on it. Doug had always loved the taste of blood. The first time he tasted blood he was hooked. The thick metallic tasting goo sliding down his throat. That had been decades ago.

In the time since then he had become a man of science. A man that focused on advancing technology past the expectations of all. He had done that and exceed his own goals. Doug's biology work had ensured the survival of thousands through new medications.

But Doug's aims had changed over the last few months. Doug had begun focusing on creating new life. Not life in his own image, he didn't have a God complex. Instead he focused on creating the ultimate hunter. An animal that would obey his every command. An animal that could strategically attack and incapacitate any thing he chose to hunt. In the past dogs had been used to hunt but they had long sense fallen out of favor. This would put dogs to shame. The tenacity of a wolf. The patience of a Tiger. All of the most admirable traits of the deadliest animals.

There was one small issue. Doug's monster had just gotten the first taste of blood. Like Doug, the creature loved the taste. It took a moment for the creature to assess the taste but it liked it. Soon it was sniffing for more. Soon eyes turned to David.

No larger than your average golden retriever the creature had surprising strength. Soon it was ramming the sides of it's small steel box. Snarls intensified. Sensing no change in it's situation, the creature changes the approach. It rolls into a ball and wimpers as if it were hurt. Hoping that Doug would open the box, freeing it for another taste.

Doug sees his creatures new taste for blood. He's pleased. But, it's too early. The creature doesn't obey yet. It's a ball of primal rage. Letting it free now would simply lead to Doug's death. He knows this, the creature knows it. Doug scribbles some notes in his journal. This is subject number 134. It has a taste for blood.

Doug takes a small tube and slides it through an equally small hole in the box. Slowly he turns a nob releasing gas into the box. Slowly 134 loses it's vigor followed by consciousness. Five minutes, he calls it. None of the other subjects have lasted more than that. Soon it will be time for dissection. He'll see what cells can be harvested and begin work on 135. Hopefully it develops a taste for blood as well.