The Creation of a Monster: Orochimaru's Experiment

A cold, empty plucking noise echoed calmly but irritatingly through the damp atmosphere of the lair. The air was clear, the stone brick hallways singing their deep groaning song, and the specimen was ready. Drip, drip, drip. He must have left the tap in the cleansing chamber halfway on. A bitter sigh seeped from the tight lips of Orochimaru's peeling, poor excuse for a face. It would have to wait. Besides, there was much to be done. He slowly licked his top lip, letting his excitement dribble through his veins, as he pulled out a rusty scalpel. His saliva was bubbling. It had been a long time since he had cut open a body so fresh. But he had to hold his grim ecstasy. He needed to focus.

Before him, on a dimly lit stretcher, lay a small heap of fresh bodies, and their skin was still lukewarm, smooth enough to be used. He liked to think of the flesh as his paint, waiting to become a masterpiece. And they would, in time. He gently pulled a cotton towel from a stone shelf beside him, careful not to disturb the various books and pots he had stored on the wall. Swiping the rust from the towel, Orochimaru reached down to the closest body, a young woman, and slipped the scalpel into her shoulder. It was adrenaline for him, piercing fresh flesh. He made several clean slits in the same area, ignoring the defrosted blood that silently oozed its way out of the incisions. When he finally finished placing the slits, a wild mess that spread across her upper half, he hastily joined the "dots" with the knife until a sprawling shape was visible on the surface. With recently disinfected hands, he pinched the corner of the shape, and lifted it, until a large blanket of skin was in his hands. He struggled not to smile at the sight of exposed organs. Carefully laying the sheet of flesh on a table, Orochimaru proceeded to do the same to all 5 of the bodies.

Drip, drip, drip. (Still writing this)