He wasn’t born, he was created.

The scientist who brought him to life saw himself as a God, creating life, defying death. In his eyes, the end justified the means, so he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt as he crept into cemeteries at night, digging up graves. He gathered fresh corpses, picked the best body parts, aiming to create the perfect specimen.

Large, strong, athletic, muscular, gorgeous — all the best that the corpses had to offer, all the most beautiful parts that served their vanity when they were alive. The scientist connected them, sewed them together, fused the blood vessels. Bit by bit, limb by limb.

And the scientist was so proud of his creation that he nicknamed it ‘König’. King among humans, superior to them. Well, he soon found out how ironic this name was.

When his creation was brought to life, awoken from its slumber of death and decay, the scientist realized his mistake. And he was horrified by it.

König was not a superior human, the flawless and perfect creation that the scientist had hoped for. He was sentient, but turned out clueless, awkward, and stumbling around on the borrowed legs like a newborn fawn.

The scientist realized he would have to teach it everything… explain the world to it, the nuances of emotions and feelings, the complex ways of human behaviour. And… the scientist understood that had become so focused on the ambition of creating life, acting like God in his hubris, that he failed to consider the implications of a living monster. He was not prepared for the responsibility of his creation. So he began resenting it.

König suffered, abused and hated by his creator. He was called ‘a monster’, ‘repulsive’, and ‘ugly’, so he cut eye-holes in an old shirt, and used it as a hood to cover his face. He was confused, not understanding what he did wrong to deserve such hate. The world around him was scary and foreign.

And eventually, the scientist, not able to deal with his hideous and monstrous creation anymore, abandoned König.

Left alone in the world, König wandered without purpose. He was drawn to the cemeteries, perhaps because he came from the graves, and those places were the only in the world that felt somehow familiar to him.

And one of those nights, as König stumbled through a cemetery, he saw you. A being so unlike him, beautiful and pure, placing flowers on a grave. He approached, slowly, lips behind his makeshift hood parting to let out an incoherent moan that meant to be a greeting.

When you saw him, first you froze, and then you took off running.

But König couldn’t bear to be alone anymore. So he began chasing you, not realizing how threatening it seemed to you.