"Stop sobbing. You look pathetic," he said harshly.

The girl whimpered, crawling even farther into her corner. Even in the dim light, he could see the fresh blood glistening on her skin. Her thin features stood out even bolder because of it. The bruises under her cheeks blended in with the dark wall.

The man gave a bored sigh, and fired his pistol. He purposely missed- his bullet was inserted in the wall a whole foot away- but did it to prove a point. He did it to prove that he was the one in charge.

He did it to prove he could easily kill her if she didn't listen.

"Stop sobbing," he repeated. "And come on; the others are waiting for you."

The girl stood, shaking, the red brown liquid falling to the floor. "Yes, Daddy," she whispered, and followed him out the door.

"Where is she? What did you do with the Elizabeth?" the inspector was shouting, his pudgy face only inches from the man before him.

The man made a noise, and the inspector leaned back in surprise when he realized that the man was laughing. No, clearly it wasn't laughter; it was a giggle, like a little schoolboy laughing at his greatest prank.

"Her name was never Elizabeth," he said, still smiling. The inspector couldn't help but compare the man to a child: he had messy blonde hair, blue eyes, and had the overall appearance of a child, though he was dressed in professional looking slacks and a lab coat that was a snowy white. His black dress shoes tapped against the metal chair he sat in in a rhythm that seemed sporadic pattern.

"Her name was…"

The man tightened his grip as he led the child out into the blinding hallway lights. She squinted against the light. The man bent down, a towel in his hands, and wiped off the blood in the halls. It wasn't really as bad as it had looked; they were tiny cuts that had just run down her arms. The man was nice to her; the only thing he had ever delivered to her was the brown shirt and matching shorts she wore now and the bruises.

Some of the other experiments weren't as lucky.

He led her down the halls. The girl never really did stop crying, but at least now it had died down to a whimper.

Children could be ever so bothersome, especially the ones her age.

"…Experiment 37."

"What?! Experiment?"

The man gave another schoolboy laugh. "It's just a title, sir. No, no, this girl you call Elizabeth was so much more than a mere title."

The inspector watched as the man rocked back in his chair. His eyes were closed, and the smile was still on his lips, as if recalling a pleasant day on the beach with his family.

He looked as if he was recalling anything other than the murder of the innocent five year old named Elizabeth Puckett.

They stood before the steel door. The man placed in the number combination, and watched as the door slid easily open. Inside the room, the other scientists moved around, reading numbers on sheets of papers, filling up the injections, fixing up the machines, or simply talking in gossip like conversations about the experiments. A few scientists noticed the girl and the man, and they paid their respected nods and false smiles to them.

The man shoved the girl forward. She gave another cry, but said nothing more.

"What did you do to her?" the inspector demanded, though he expected nothing other than an elusive response. That was all he had been getting from the man, and he was dangerously close to pulling out his service pistol and shoot a few rounds of lead into the smirking, childish being that sat only a table away.

The inspector closed his eyes, taking in another breath of stale air. He needed to calm down. Yelling and bloody thoughts wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to breathe, to calm down. Just relax.

He quickly attached the girl to the table, the metal cuffs tight enough to hold her still, but loose enough to keep her from bruising herself if she decided to provide a struggle. The girl did decide to struggle, her childish grunts of effort bouncing off the walls.

The man didn't think wrong of her for doing so. This was a special room, after all.

This was the room where they dissected the patients they were finished with.

The man took a needle filled with florescent green liquid that looked bubbly. He took it and placed it in her neck.

"What are you doing?" the girl demanded. But it was too late; the venom was already in her bloodstream. She wouldn't feel a thing in about ten minutes, and be unconscious in an hour.

The girl would be dead in about three hours, but the man would have already killed her himself long before then.

The inspector gave a small sigh, and sat down in his chair. "Look, I just want you to know that everyone knows you did it," he said. "We all know you did something to Elizabeth, or else we would not have the evidence that we do."

The girl was unconscious and dead by the time the doctors had gotten rid of the blood. The man, now dressed in basic surgeon scrubs, rose up the scalpel.

"Ready when you are, Doctor," a man nearby said.

The man smiled, though the gesture was lost under the mask. He brought the scalpel down and began the work.

The inspector tried to look for emotion in the man's face, but only saw that satanic smile. "There's nothing that's recording us. It's just you and me in here," the inspector begged.

The man laughed. "I'm a scientist, Inspector. I pay attention to details."

"Then tell me some details about Elizabeth!" The inspector snapped, and was standing again. This time, he had his service pistol drawn.

"What do you want to know?"

He was cutting carefully, removing only the parts that would better his research. He gently pulled away a small portion of her cerebellum, placing it into a container filled with a dark orange fluid.

"Nice technique," a nurse commented.

The man gave her a sideways glance. "What can I say?" he responded playfully. "This isn't brain surgery."

There was laughter all around, and the man returned to the cerebellum.

This was quite an interesting specimen.

"I want to know what you did to her. I want to know what you did with the pieces that weren't at the scene. I want to know where the hell you and those other sick fucks you hired put the rest of her."

The man was driving, and whatever parts they didn't need were behind him.

"That's a simple question."

He was walking, footsteps echoing off the brick walls. The alley ended, and he put down the bag.

"The more important pieces…"

He was the only one there. He was the only one who took the time to make the monument. And a monument he made.

"… are located…."

The man was back at the tedious task of placing all the parts on their respected shelves was done. Admiring his handiwork, the man took a step back. All the parts were organized, each piece alphabetized by both name and location. He closed his eyes, picturing his monument.

The monument he made from his daughter's severed limbs.

"… at the Monster Hospital."

When the cops arrive, they were greeted by a grizzly scene. Her limbs and ribcage were placed on the wall, and it only took a moment for them to realize that they were placed how they would appear in the actual human body. Her scalp was placed at the top, along with a few facial features that they hadn't kept. A black trash bag was at the base of it all. When they opened it up, all the warm blood inside came flooding out…

Bang. Bang. Bang.