The streets were dim, save for the light cast from the streetlamps, alit with flame. The creature, though hulking, was wandering aimlessly like a lost fawn with no mother or purpose. His pale hands tremble with each step, his lungs filling painfully. He's alive but at a steep cost. His shirt is stained a deep crimson from the attack on his creator.

His wandering ends as he sees someone alone, throwing flowers into a lake. Curiosity strikes the creature, as he walks stiffly towards the disturbance in the peace. The sight before him is beautiful and innocent as he nears.

"What are you doing with those plant parts?" He asks with a low voice, not remembering the word for flower. He didn't remember anything though, his body a myriad of other men, an amalgamation made by a scientist who thought to play God.