Butcher

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We've got him now," Butcher said as they walked, a cruel smile spreading across his leathery, skeletal face. His white teeth gleamed in the dim light of the lantern. Butcher dug into a pocket for his key and inserted it into the iron door. He turned the handle and heard the heavy click of the lock echoing down the corridor. Torchlight danced across the stone surfaces, casting an eerie glow on the floor where a shallow puddle of blood lay. Hundreds of limbs, heads, and torsos were stacked in the corners, their macabre presence a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within. Gaige thought back to his days as a medical student when he had used Butcher's facility for research purposes. He told himself it was for the greater good, but the memory still lingered, tainted by the realization that some men were bound by no morality. He cared for the sick, those afflicted by the Wastes, and yet every time he returned to this place, his resolve began to fray. The horrors they perpetrated here seemed to seep into his soul, leaving him questioning whether there was any good left in the world. "I told myself nothing," Gaige whispered to himself as Butcher approached him, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "Look at that pile, Gaige," Butcher said, his voice dripping with malice. "He's still alive, the bastard." A terrible sound emanated from Butcher's lips, a noise that passed for laughter in this forsaken place. Gaige squinted, and then he saw it: a torso with a head still intact, surrounded by iron stumps where limbs had once been. The air was heavy with the stench of death and decay. Butcher continued to speak, his words dripping with sadistic pleasure. "The lads and I have taken notes when you perform, doctor. It's a marvel what a man can endure before he dies." Gaige saved lives; Butcher took them. Yet in this twisted world, perhaps they were one and the same. He walked toward the writhing thing, its eyes burned out, mouth sewn shut. A faint moaning escaped from the tortured soul, and Gaige felt a wave of hatred wash over him – for Butcher, for this city, and most of all, for himself. With a swift motion, he drew his sword from the handle of his cane and slit the mutilated man's throat. Blood spurted forth in a fierce gush, and Gaige knew that Butcher had fed him fresh prey. Butcher turned to Gaige, a feral grin spreading across his face. "You can take him," he said, pointing to the iron-stumped horror. "For you just slaughtered him fresh." With a sense of urgency now driving him forward, Gaige asked, "I'll need something fresh if you have anything." His mission weighed heavily on him, and every moment counted. Butcher's eyes still lingered with fear as he turned from the torchlight to face Gaige. The noise that passed for laughter erupted from his lips once more. "I'm going to need something fresh," Gaige repeated, his words taking on a sense of desperation. Butcher's grin grew wider as he pointed to the iron-stumped horror. "You can take him," he said, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure.