Chapter 1: Pilot

My name is Kip. I am crazy and I love it. I love to make others fear me. It makes me feel good every time I see that someone is scared for their life in front of me, and it feels even better when I stab them with my knife and bite into their flesh.

Though, it's hard to satisfy my craving for blood when I've been in prison for the past eight years. It sucks being in here. I've been here since I was nineteen; which makes me around twenty-seven now, and I still don't exactly know what this place is. It's kind of like an insane asylum, but the people in here are murderous criminals one hundred percent of the time, and they are a whole new level of insane. I'm not like them. I have control of my actions, and I can think clearly. If I didn't have a craving to kill I would be a perfectly normal human being. Actually, not perfectly, because I'm fucked up either way now that I think about it.

One of the pros of being in this place is that my room is exceptionally big. I have walls and a steel door, so it blocks out the screams of the other prisoners outside. But I'm still in horrible conditions thanks to the guards occasionally coming in and giving me a beating, and starving me to death. I don't mind though. I think pain feels good, and the food here sucks so I'm happy when they don't feed me. They think they're so smart, trying to get me weaker. But since I have so much time to myself I just work out all day. None of the other prisoners would think to do that.

I'd like to be prepared if a chance to get out of here comes up. And the shackles around my wrists and ankles help with some of my workouts. Lately, it's been harder to hide my muscles and abs through my black t-shirt and pants since my arms were exposed and my shirt was getting tight. Despite working out all day every day for eight years, I was still sort of skinny thanks to starvation and being as tall as I am. I'm six foot six and it definitely adds to how scary I can be.

I'm glad this prison gave me black clothes because it was my favorite color, and it matched my pale skin, black hair, and black eyes. My hair was long enough to cover my face, but it was still short enough to look cool. I had tattoos all along my left arm and some on my back. They were mostly of skulls and death references, and I had scars all over my body from all the fights I've been in. I also used to have a lip ring, but they took it out when I first came here. Fucking bastards.

Some nights when the moonlight leaks through the bars of my window, I can't help but laugh uncontrollably laying on my rusty bed frame and dirty mattress. It creeps me out how I can't stop. But I'd have to say that the worst part of being in this place is the constant voice in the back of my head screaming for sex. It gets louder every day and the only thing it lets me think about is thrusting into a woman while biting her neck. I am painfully addicted and going without it for eight years is torture enough. It's not my fault I'm addicted. If anything it's my father's.

It would be an understatement to say that my childhood was shit. My mother was on meth and a bunch of other drugs while she was pregnant with me, and tried to kill me when I was three. She later committed suicide when I was six and that wasn't even the worst part. My father was an alcoholic and beat me too many times to count, and raped me every day for most of my life. Then when I was eighteen he tried to kill me and shot me in the shoulder.

I then beat the hell out of him and stabbed him repeatedly with a knife until he stopped screaming. Seeing his blood made me feel amazing, and tasting it made me even more crazy about eating him to the bone. It was his fault. The only thing he ever fed me was raw meat. I then left that place forever and continued to murder others for a taste of them.

Thanks to my father, I thought rape was normal, and started doing it myself. Thanks to him, I was sexually active. However, I did do my best to pleasure my victims before I killed them. A luxury my father never gave me. For some reason, I get off on my victims secretly liking what I do to them. It's a pain in the ass to do, but I like it so much and have even gotten good at it.

Later in my life, I found out there was such a thing as someone actually wanting to fuck you back, and I didn't believe it at first. But even if that was a thing, who would ever want to do that with me? So I continued my crime spree until I was eventually caught on camera eating someone and got arrested. That's how I ended up here.

I hate it here. I hate being enclosed in a lifeless cement box, cold as hell, and starving out of my mind. Every day is the same and I want out. I was laying on my bed in the dark having a sleep paralysis episode and I really didn't give a shit. It was normal for me. I wasn't afraid of anything anymore so it wasn't bad. I usually didn't sleep because of all the nightmares I'd have so my eyes are always black around my eyelids.

Most people can't figure out what's wrong with me. They usually assume I'm on drugs, but I'm not. Since I was born addicted, it takes a lot more to get me into a high, plus I always suffer from a massive migraine afterward so I just drink alcohol to get up. But now I have neither. It sucks. And I can't move as my sleep-deprived eyes are seeing spiders crawl all over me.

I didn't care. They were actually kind of cute. Their legs were creepy and I loved it. Then one crawled onto my face and I realized this one was real. I could feel its weight on me and it bit me on the cheek. I smiled. 'How cute.' I thought as I closed my eyes. 'I never had a spider make its way into my cell before.'

There was no point in trying to get it off. I was still in the middle of my sleep paralysis episode so I couldn't move anyway. Plus I liked getting bitten or stung by things. It reminded me that I was alive. Sometimes I forget that from being in here so long. I started to drift off. 'If it's still here in the morning I'll let it live with me and call it Fangs. Perfect name for a spider right?'

Black entered my vision and the next thing I knew, the sun had risen and I woke up to light entering my room. I sat up and realized the spider wasn't on me anymore. I looked up to see that he had made a web up in the corner of the ceiling above my bed and it was sitting on the wall next to me. I held out my hand and he crawled onto it. He was a pretty big spider.

He fit in my palm and you could see his teeth. I smiled and petted his abdomen. I don't know why, but even though I kill people as easily as I would blink, I could never bring myself to kill an animal or an insect. Maybe because I don't have anything against them, or maybe it's because they're the only things that have ever given me a chance to have a friend.