The laboratory in our basement is a mess of ethical issues. Tissue samples are everywhere. The walls are covered in blood stains, only we aren’t quite sure how they got there. In it’s tank, it stares at us, neon eyes watching and fifty fins making sure it never quite stops moving. The experiments went wrong. When I lie in my bed at night, I hear it calling out in gargled whale song that echoes down the entire street. It sings of pain, and it sings of beauty, and it sings of death.
iM GONNA FUCKIGN PISS MYSELF