Day 2: Cannibalism
(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of hunger pangs/cravings, eating/drinking, gore, implied murder, talk of death/dying, blood/organs, disembowelment/dismemberment/dissection, knives/surgical tools, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
(This plot is meant to take place before the Horror Route at the beginning of ISWM Part 2. A little while ago, I made a few EgoPats to act as parallels to Mark’s characters. One of them is actually part of this story. You can find more information about him here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob he and Murdock work for, go here. Murdock/Murderplier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’re interested in my personal headcanons on him, go here.)
Day 1 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7
It was very typical for one to be excited or impatient while awaiting a delivery. Especially if that delivery involved food.
Caliban knew that type of excitement and impatience all too well. Though he supposed those emotions weren’t the same as most people’s. His definition of “food” was much, much different than that of the average person.
He paced around his living room, feeling an odd combination of happiness and frustration. Following a normal diet eighty percent of the time may have been boring, but he needed to do so in order to stay healthy. Nights like this happened about once a month or so, and the goods he’d be receiving would last a nice, long while if they were correctly stored. However, Caliban could still only afford to satisfy his cravings a few times per week.
So, when nights like tonight came around, he always had to remind himself to savor them.
At the sound of rustling, Caliban turned his head to look at the hutch that took up nearly half of his living room. Setting it up could’ve very well driven a man to drink, but the struggle had been worth it. His little confidant deserved only the best.
Snare lingered by the entrance, standing on his hind legs to paw at the wire screen. Caliban sat down on the sofa, then reached over to unlatch the door and pull it open. The hare clambered out and easily leapt onto the sofa, curling up on his owner’s lap.
Caliban gently stroked Snare’s back. “Are you hungry, too? Don’t worry, he’ll give me the signal soon enough.” He sighed. “I wish I knew what was taking him so long.”
Though he’d never tried his hand at any drugs, his instincts told him that what he most craved was a lot like one. It was filling and savory, obviously, but whenever Caliban got to take care of that one part of his appetite, he just. . .felt something. For whatever reason, he couldn’t describe it, but he knew that the feeling had similarities to a high.
The doorbell-esque sound of a cellphone ringing broke his meditation. As Caliban flinched, Snare bounded across the sofa to the end table, using his paws and nose to push the phone towards his owner.
“Thanks, buddy,” Caliban chuckled. He tapped the phone’s screen to read the message he’d just received.
I’m here. You gonna do your part of the job or what?
As if on cue, Caliban’s stomach began growling. (It’d actually been growling for the better part of the day, but he’d been trying to tune it out.)
Caliban felt a frightening smile etch its way across his features as he typed out a reply.
Is Soylent Green people? Don’t worry your pretty head. I’ll be right down.
He gathered Snare up in his arms before he made his way down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door behind them. He entered his walk-in closet, pushed a few boxes aside to reveal a well-hidden door in the corner, and was suddenly maneuvering himself down the steep, concrete staircase that led to an area that had long-since been condemned.
The lights flickered as Caliban entered what used to be a security office. The desks and filing cabinets he’d found down here had been replaced by an oven, a refrigerator, a huge chest freezer, a chamber vacuum sealer, a utility sink, and a block kitchen island.
Three people were already down here, waiting for him (well, technically two people were waiting. The third one—who was lying on a tarp, currently being supported by the aforementioned island—wasn’t quite capable of waiting. Or doing anything, for that matter).
Murdock leaned against the wall. He twisted the chain of his necklace between his gloved fingers, turning the brass pendant into a blur as it spun to and fro.
“Finally, he arrives!” Murdock announced.
“You’ve only been here for a couple minutes,” Caliban pointed out. He set Snare down on the floor, then looked over the corpse on the island. His clothing was covered in bloodstains, the thick, red liquid still oozing onto the tarp. Caliban grabbed a few buckets from one corner of the room and placed them around the island, just in case the blood wound up making more of a mess than anticipated.
Murdock continued. “And? Time is precious! You can never get enough of it!”
“Well, is theirs almost up, or. . ?” Caliban drew closer, gesturing towards the person Murdock was standing beside. They were someone Caliban didn’t recognize; for some odd reason, their features were difficult to describe. They’d been sat down on a folding chair, very clearly unconscious yet not bound or gagged in any way.
Murdock shook his head. “Nope. They’re not for interrogation.”
“Then why did you bring them here?” Caliban asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Two bodies would’ve kept the pantry full for months!”
“For once, I wouldn’t recommend that,” Murdock smirked. “This is part of their training, not hazing.”
Caliban tilted his head, glancing at The Newcomer before he put two and two together.
“. . .Oh! Alright, my mistake,” he laughed. “If you were gonna let them tag along, why didn’t you tell me earlier? You know I’m always happy to help with demonstrations.” While he spoke, he went through the island’s drawers, producing oils, seasonings, a plate, a leather chef roll and a stainless steel case. He set a grill pan on the stove and turned the dials, igniting two of the burners.
“It was a last-minute decision on my part,” Murdock admitted. “The target managed to knock them out before I killed him. I did think about dropping them off at the base, but then I figured this would be more convenient for both of us.”
A startled scream suddenly tore through the air. Caliban returned his focus to The Newcomer, discovering that they were now wide-awake. He also discovered that Snare had apparently climbed into their lap and was currently nipping at their nose.
“Whoa, hey! No! Snare, get down!” Caliban commanded as he rushed over. “Heel, Snare! Now!”
Snare stopped biting in favor of hopping down to the floor. He obediently sat at Caliban’s feet.
As Caliban scooped up his pet, he gazed at The Newcomer, almost automatically meeting their deep, gray eyes (which would’ve sold for an absolute fortune, considering how uncommon that color was). The Newcomer braced themself against the folding chair, and it wouldn’t have taken a psychic to guess that images of a Monty Python movie were flashing through their brain.
“Sorry, sorry! I hope he didn’t scare you too much,” Caliban told them. “He usually doesn’t do stuff like that unless I tell him to.”
The Newcomer blinked at him. “Attack bunnies are a real thing now?” They eventually muttered, still breathing deeply.
“They are around here,” Murdock replied. The Newcomer craned their neck to face him, mouth gaping open in surprise.
“Murdock? How—what happened? Did he get away?”
Murdock chuckled, shaking his head. “You made a rookie mistake. But don’t worry; you’ll still be able to help out with this job.”
“Where are we?”
“You’re in my basement,” Caliban answered. “Well, okay, it’s technically not a basement, but it’s underground, so it kind of counts.”
The Newcomer’s expression shifted from panicked to confused as they glanced around the room. Their eyes caught the panel of glass near the door, which offered a good vantage point of the platform outside.
“Wait, hold on—that’s one of the old subway tunnels,” they proclaimed. “I thought they’d all been abandoned a long time ago. After that one flood.”
“Correct! Before my house was a house, it just so happened to have been built on top of this particular one,” Caliban explained. “Still not sure how the realtors could’ve missed the passageway that leads down here.” He glanced over his shoulder, nodding to the stairway.
The Newcomer continued to stare at him (or at Snare. It was hard to tell).
Before they could say anything else, Murdock placed a hand on their shoulder, prompting them to slowly rise from the chair. “You’ve been coached on taking out targets, but you still need to learn about what to do after the fact.” He then gestured towards Caliban.
“This is Cal. He’s the first guy I think of whenever I’ve got a body to dispose of.”
Caliban jokingly clutched at his heart. “Aww, ‘Doc! It’s one thing for you to bring me dinner every month, but now you’re thinking about me, too? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Murdock barked a laugh. “Ha! You wish!”
“Dinner. . ?” The Newcomer repeated. Their eyes widened as they looked around Caliban at the island, as they finally realized they were in the same room as a corpse. Their face paled as they slowly looked back at their mentor’s accomplice.
Caliban offered a toothy grin in response, wondering if they could see their reflection in the silver cap where one of his canines used to be. “There’s plenty of methods for making people disappear, but I personally think this one is the least wasteful.”
The Newcomer swallowed a lump in their throat. “‘Waste not, want not.’”
Caliban chortled as he set Snare down. “I like this one already!”
Murdock smiled, then cleared his throat. “Alright, that’s enough chit-chat. We’ve got work to do.”
“Right, right.” Caliban nodded. He swiftly crossed the room to wash his hands before donning the black gloves and pinstripe apron that hung near the sink. After that, he approached the island. Murdock guided The Newcomer over, gently pushing them to stand at the other side of the island, opposite of Caliban.
Caliban hauled a jacket off of the corpse, then carefully undid the buttons of the corpse’s shirt. As he’d suspected, an unnecessary amount of stab wounds adorned the torso.
“So,” Caliban began, peering back and forth between Murdock and The Newcomer. “How exactly did this happen?”
The Newcomer glanced at Murdock, who nodded at them. They then reached out to point at two lacerations on the corpse’s abdomen. “I got him in the stomach a couple times, but, uh, I guess I didn’t move away from him quickly enough.”
“That’s where I came in,” Murdock piped up. “After they went down, I went for his lungs.”
“I assumed so,” Caliban replied. “How long did he last after that?”
“Five minutes, I think.”
Caliban whistled. “That must’ve been a sight to see.”
Murdock did that thing where he was half-nodding, half-shrugging. “I wanted him to suffer, but I couldn’t drag it out as long as I would’ve liked.”
The Newcomer chewed their lip, gazing down at their shoes. “Sorry. . .”
Caliban opened the steel case while simultaneously unfastening the leather chef roll; the former revealed organized rows of surgical tools, and the latter exposed a collection of butcher’s knives. All of these instruments were clean, but the nicks here and there on the blades attested to the fact that they’d been well-used and well-loved.
“Let’s say you need to hold onto your target for whatever reason,” Caliban began. “First things first: you’ll probably want to remove the internal organs. They’ll just speed up the decay, and trust me, rot is a smell that will get you unwanted attention.”
He took a scalpel into his hands and held it towards The Newcomer.
The Newcomer began to reach for the scalpel, but hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”
Caliban smirked, tilting his head. “You’re afraid of a little blood?”
“Obviously I’m not,” The Newcomer protested hotly. “I’ve just. . .never opened up a person before. And, well, this is your. . .food. . .for tonight, and I don’t want to mess anything up.” They trailed off sheepishly.
Always one to appreciate sass, Caliban snickered. “Well, thank you for being considerate.” He paused, thinking. He fished around the case before bringing out a Satterlee saw. “How do you feel about division, then?”
The anxiety left The Newcomer’s face with disturbing speed. “Oh, yeah. I can handle that.”
“Great! That’s the second rule for messy work: a body is relatively easier to hide when it’s been cut up into sections.” Caliban beamed as he passed the tool over to them. “Go ahead and start on the arm and leg on your side. Once I’ve gotten my entree out, I’ll get out of the way so you can remove the other two.”
As The Newcomer followed these instructions, Caliban glided his scalpel about the body’s chest, making a deep Y-incision. He pulled the flesh back until it was hanging like the sides of a book with a broken spine. The pinkish-red muscle he exposed glistened under the light.
He took his trusty (yet uncreatively named) rib shears, hacking at the bones it was meant for and placing the pieces of said bones off to the side. Upon sight of the heart, he grinned, licking his lips. He used a pair of metz scissors to sever the atriums, aorta, and superior vena cava. Once the arteries were removed, he hurriedly carried the organ over to the stove, where it landed against the grill pan with a sizzling splat.
Caliban paused, then went back to the corpse to collect its thymus, which he soon put beside the heart. (He would’ve liked to prepare it more—sweetbreads were typically best after being marinated—but his jaw was itching and his stomach was churning and he needed to eat some pieces of a human-person and he needed to do it soon.)
The grilling would take some time, so Caliban could afford to go back and forth between the stove and the corpse. He dug through the island’s drawers and brought out a handful of large plastic bags. As he began slicing away at the liver, he called over his shoulder, “‘Doc? Could you check the buckets, please? How full are they?”
“Sure,” Murdock replied. He paced around the island, then declared, “There’s a good amount in one of ‘em.”
“Can you get my drink started, then?” Caliban asked.
Murdock gave a melodramatic sigh. “Oh, fine. But only because your hands are full.” He took one of the buckets and carried it across the room, pouring some of its contents into a silvery, odd-looking machine in the corner. The device whirred and rattled at the press of a button.
“What’s that?” The Newcomer, who’d looked up just in time to watch, inquired.
“A gift from my partner.” Caliban remarked as he shoved the dripping liver into one of the bags. “She commissioned some underground mechanic to make special adjustments to a blood collection mixer; now it can process blood until it’s suitable for digestion. She gave it to me on our elopement anniversary.”
“She also apparently calls it The HumaniTea 2000,” Murdock pointed out, snickering.
Caliban sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes. Yes, she does, and I’m still not sure how to feel about it.” (This was somewhat a lie, actually. He’d managed to love R.D. even more than he already had for coming up with a title like that.)
“Wow.” The Newcomer stated. “She sounds awesome.”
Caliban smiled softly. “She really is.”
R.D. was out of town on important business—selling and collecting certain chemical samples for her future experiments. He couldn’t wait for her to get back.
He carried the bag o’ liver over to the vacuum chamber to be sealed before depositing it into the freezer. This process was repeated with the rest of the corpse’s organs (kidneys, spleen, intestines, the whole shebang. Except for the brain; that would take a lot more time to remove, so he’d have to save it for later).
All the while, a tantalizing aroma quickly filled the room. It wasn’t like beef; maybe a bit similar to pork, but only by a bit. It was completely and utterly unique. And delicious.
“They’re all off,” The Newcomer announced. Caliban turned to see that, indeed, the corpse’s limbs had been neatly detached from the torso.
“You work fast,” Caliban complimented.
The Newcomer smiled, although their expression was clearly conflicted. Not nauseous or existential—just uncertain.
Caliban knowingly chuckled, looking over at the grill and back at them. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”
Having been caught off guard, The Newcomer suddenly found the adjacent wall extremely interesting. “I. . .guess so.”
“Are you hungry? There’s plenty here if you’d like some.”
“Ah, no thank you,” The Newcomer coughed. “I—I appreciate your hospitality, but I’ve never had a very big appetite.”
Caliban shrugged as he returned to the heart and thymus. “Understandable. We’ve all got different tastes.”
Murdock groaned. “That better not have been intentional!”
“So what if it was?” Caliban instantly challenged as he garnished the organs with black pepper, sea salt, and a bit of garlic. “What, you’re the only one allowed to make morbid puns?”
“I should be,” Murdock scoffed. “Since I’m the only one capable of executing them properly.”
“I find that a bit hard to digest,” Caliban argued, immediately grabbing his favorite cleaver from the leather roll.
Murdock responded by fishing his butterfly from one of the many pockets in his coat.
“What do I need to do next?” The Newcomer interjected, piping up before their mentor could start twirling his weapon. “About the limbs, I mean.”
Caliban, neither taking his eyes off Murdock nor lowering his cleaver, said, “There should be some butcher paper in the drawer you’re standing by. Just wrap them up and put them in the freezer.” He paused. “Actually, leave one arm out.”
“Why?” The Newcomer asked.
It took a few seconds before Murdock slowly returned his butterfly to its place. Caliban squinted at him, then exchanged his cleaver for a skinning knife.
“The bones need to be separated from the meat,” he explained, handing the new blade over to The Newcomer, who nodded and set about their new task.
Soon enough, the heart and thymus were finally ready. After Caliban transferred them from the grill to the plate, he swiftly approached the refrigerator, grabbed a can of Diet Coke and poured half of it into a chilled glass.
A light on The HumaniTea 2000’s console started flickering, punctuated by loud beeping. Caliban raced to put his soda on the machine’s drip tray. Freshly processed blood flowed into the glass, dark red swirling throughout black, carbonated liquid. He gently shifted the glass in his hand to mix his beverage, then took a sip.
Such a strong, coppery flavor should’ve been expected to clash with the delicateness of sugar, but in Caliban’s humble opinion, the way they mixed together was delectable.
He carried his drink over to the clear end of the tabletop, setting it down next to his plate. Without any further delay, he took a fork and steak knife into his hands and began slicing away at his supper.
Caliban crammed the first piece into his mouth and automatically felt himself start to relax. The taste that coated his tongue was rich, salty, tender. He gave a contented hum as he chewed, already carving off his next bite. A voice in his head begged for more, more, moremoremOREMOREMORE—
A soft thud caught his attention; he knew from experience that it was Snare, who was stomping one of his little feet. Caliban glanced down to see the hare staring up at him with excited amber eyes.
“Oh! Hold on, buddy,” he told his pet. He turned his attention to The Newcomer.
They’d sliced a few good chunks of flesh away from the arm, and had already wrapped those chunks in layers of paper.
“That should be enough,” Caliban stated. “But there’s one more thing to do.”
The Newcomer looked a bit surprised, but still nodded. “Alright?”
Caliban reached into the tool case until he found a small, angled bone saw and a pair of sharp tweezers. He moved them towards The Newcomer. “Cut those fingers off.”
“Don’t forget to pull the nails out,” Murdock added.
“Didn’t you say that was a torture method?” The Newcomer asked.
“It is, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it after the target’s dead.” Murdock shrugged. “Plus, you can always do some torturing when you’re up for your first kill.”
With that, The Newcomer spent the next couple minutes shearing at the corpse’s knuckles. Once the fingers were off, they held them towards Caliban. “Are you gonna treat these like mozzarella sticks?”
Caliban laughed. “I have before, but not tonight.”
The Newcomer tilted their head questioningly. “Why’d you have me cut them off, then?”
“Give one to Snare.” Caliban gestured towards his pet.
The Newcomer’s eyes widened. They took a step back.
Caliban rolled his eyes. “Relax. He won’t hurt you again. He only bit you earlier because he probably thought you were dead.” He reached down to scratch Snare’s ears. “Fingers are his chocolate; give him one and he’ll be your friend forever.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me,” The Newcomer snarked. After some more convincing, they eventually approached the hare. They held one of the fingers above Snare’s head, to which he stood on his hind legs, pawing at it.
“Sit,” Caliban commanded, firm but not unkind. “Snare. C’mon, buddy. Sit.”
Snare obeyed, the adorableness of his twitching nose not taking away from how surprisingly exasperated he looked.
“Good boy!” Caliban nodded to The Newcomer, who then dropped the finger. Snare immediately snatched it up, holding it between his paws as he nibbled at the flesh.
“Breaking the laws of nature and still looking cute, ” they mused.
Caliban raised an eyebrow. “Rabbits are complete herbivores. Hares are omnivores and scavengers. Haven’t you ever watched a nature documentary?”
“No,” The Newcomer answered stalwartly. “Because the human side of the world is already nasty enough. I’m not gonna watch baby animals dying!”
“Fair point,” Caliban admitted. “But you have to realize how ironic it makes this.”
“‘Ironic?’” A grim, sly, sarcastic smile spread across Murdock’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
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