Official story from Killer Instinct 2013:
Story: Having endured agonizing procedures to remove his freakish cybernetic implants, Sabrewulf feels no closer to reclaiming his humanity. Barely clinging to sanity, he nurses an addiction to ancient medicines and artifacts which seem to slow his descent into savagery.
Fan-made story for 2013:
SYMPTOMS HEIGHTEN
Today is the third day seeing patient, Christopher London. Patient suffers from depression, anxiety and it appears to be an anger in which he struggles to subdue.
“Would you, could I get you a glass of water?”, asks Dr. Emerson. “Before we begin?”
The subject, Christopher London sits in a leather chair, slumped over in a weakened state with his head down. He nods, denying the offer. Dr. Emerson has been seeing Christopher every Monday for the past two weeks. In a dimly lit room they sat. Inside a house some would describe as a mansion, while others would call it a castle. Christopher on the other hand may have called it a prison without bars. It was home to someone.
Traveling off Monroe Street in the Northwest side of London, England there was an entrance that was surrounded by an enormous black gate. Victorian in style and having the appearance to be several tons in weight, the gates hadn't opened in years. The sound of rusted metal against metal crept through the surrounding bushes, shrubs and trees when the gates would be slowly awakened after many years of silence and exile. Despite ones age, this sound was enough to make any grown man check his surroundings inside a moonlit night. His eyes alert, his heart still as he focused to control his breathing. Once you calmed down and took a deep breath you would realize that the outside was where you would feel most safe. As Dr. Emerson slowly approached the door, he slowly began to look up. With what must've been twenty-five windows within Christopher's manor, the only light to be seen was what looked to be a single lit candle near the top floor window. The feeling of fear began to fade as Dr. Emerson approached the front door. This just wasn't what Dr. Emerson had expected.... or was it exactly what he was afraid of? He had worked in the town for many years. He had his own practice and rarely ever had to go to a patient.... making this an unsettling first for a long time. After walking up the six final concrete steps, Dr. Emerson has reached the front door. With one hand holding a briefcase and the other in his black trenchcoat pocket, Dr. Emerson reached out of his pocket to knock on Christopher's door. Worry began to race through the Dr'.s mind... “Were the rumors true?”
Sitting in recluse, resident Christopher London awaits his Dr.'s visit. Harnessing a certain stench of old damn spirits, Christopher awaited wearing dark blue jeans that appeared to be twice as old as him. With his cuffs rolled up just high enough to expose dress shoes in which looked to be handed down by an ancestor. He also wore a dark brown and red, long-sleeve flannel button-up shirt with three buttons missing. Christopher stood behind a leather chair gazing out an arced window in to the night. Prompting early memories that led him to this point in his life – flashbacks were an enemy of a dark past. What he had done and what he had become... it wasn't something he could hide from. He knew this internal battle he was facing would be his demise, but that's why he entered in the first place. “Was it worth it? Was it all worth it? How did it come to this...?”
Clutching the leather chair in front of him, without realizing, he began ripping the leather with his grip. The flashbacks, the torment, the cries of mercy... there were heavy sins within his soul. Heavy sins to taunt the side of him he had worked so hard to control. His sanity was slipping. He had only hoped that the letter he sent to Dr. Emerson would free him from his mentally mangled state... as he knew deep down it was only going to get worse.
Just as Dr. Emerson knocked on Christopher's door, without much pressure at all, the door slowly creaked open. Seeing the internal structure of the house made Dr. Emerson gasp. As though the house was a Colosseum, the door crept open allowing a shroud of moonlight to hit the back wall. It was revealing a spiral staircase bordered by pillars with walls decorated with scenic landscapes. As Dr. Emerson slowly approached the staircase he noticed a large, blank and discolored spot on the right wall where a portrait must have hung. In his practice it was quite common for patients to remove any haunting memories however they could. While some patients would lay certain picture frames face down, others would remove them completely. When Dr. Emerson reached Christopher's candle lit room, Christopher was still standing by the leather chair. By this point, Christopher's eyes were clenched shut with tears running down his face. Running from his flashbacks was all he could do... run. As Dr. Emerson entered the room, a side view of Christopher with tears streaming down his face and a gasp was enough for the Dr. to confirm that his symptoms had heightened. He had lost his family. He needed help dealing with his loss. He was alone, helpless and struggling to live a normal life. Dr. Emerson sat his briefcase down and patted Christopher on the shoulder, “Have a seat, Chris”, doing what he could to comfort him. Slumped over with tears in his eyes, Dr. Emerson asked Christopher, “Has it gotten worse?”.
“I can still see their faces”, said Christopher.
I can still hear their screams and cries for him to stop.”
“Chris, it's been almost three years... these things take time. However, I would recommend that we take a bigger step in a new direction”, said Dr. Emerson. I would like to have you check in to the down town clinic. There you will be in the presence of others who need help and you will have others to talk to who may be able to relate. Treatment would begin immediately and you could start living a more normal life.”
Drowned by his grief, the thought of ever living a normal life again was purely fairy tale. He asked for help. He got desperate... and now the Dr. he went to for help would be releasing him from his prison. For Christopher, nothing felt better as they both walked outside. Looking back at the large, empty estate, Christopher was being anything but released from a prison.
LOSING YOUR SOUL
Just one week later and Christopher seemed to be doing better already. He was new at the clinic, away from his large, dark Colosseum where any sound would not be heard by anyone. The clinic offered everything he needed to escape his troubled mind. It was a rather large brick building roughly 27 miles from where he lived... where his family once lived. It was a peaceful environment where all of the guests wore white... he was in a psychiatric ward. He was doing well as the Dr.'s observed him. Dr. Emerson was particularly proud of his patient, Christopher. However, regardless of how far he had come there was still a thick layer of denial Dr. Emerson could see. A colleague of Dr. Emerson began asking about his patient since Emerson's focus has been almost obsessive. He began asking Dr. Emerson questions about Christopher. When Dr. Emerson told his colleague that his patient was from the manor off of Monroe Street, his colleague was quite intrigued.
“Isn't that where those murders took place years back? Legend has it, the family that once lived there fell victim to a werewolf attack... leaving no survivors..”, Dr. Emerson's colleague said.
Dr. Emerson didn't know a whole lot about his troubled patient, but the pain he possessed was starting to make sense.
“The rumor is that the government had been experimenting with animals; in this case, a werewolf... and it got loose... or it was turned loose.”, his colleague said.
“It's all starting to make sense now...”, Dr. Emerson said. “Living in that house where his family was murdered was too much for him to handle mentally. That's why the large framed portrait was removed from his wall. That's why he came to me for help!”
“Wouldn't this have happened much sooner?, his colleague asked. “Living like that for how many years before seeking help?”
“He has only recently returned home”, said Dr. Emerson. “He had been away on business and had only recently came home... and it turned out to be more than he could bare...”
Christopher would eventually start to come around talking to other patients. It was only ever small talk until an older man began talking to Christopher regularly. They would have friendly conversations and play board games together. Until one day the old man began asking about his family.
“Got a wife? Kids?”
Christopher just froze and started to panic... he was speechless. Suddenly, the Dr.'s raced over to give Christopher pills to calm him down. Just then, the old man began to taunt, “Wha'ja kill'em?”
The old man started to laugh as he was only joking, and Christopher, being restrained by the clinic's security, looked straight at the old man. His arms and his fists clenched... his torso began to tighten. His eyes suddenly became very focused as he stared at the old man. The old man kept repeating the same thing, taunting him, “You killed'em! Haha!” as the clinic's security drug the old man back to his room. Suddenly, Dr. Emerson's colleague approached him in a panic.
“There was never a Christopher London living at that address! There isn't a Christopher London in all of London! The man who lived there was named “Count Von Sabrewulf!”
It wasn't the first or second part of his colleague saying his name that shattered the night... it was the third. Immediately after Dr. Emerson's colleague spoke “Sabrewulf”, Christopher London, as he referred to himself had begun to turn back to Count Von Sabrewulf. Drops of blood began hitting the floor. The clinic's security began screaming. All of the other patients began running back to their rooms... but it was too late. What seemed like forever, happened in a few short minutes. Once the first attack happened... there was no stopping him. Count Von Sabrewulf had returned.
There was a werewolf that attacked the Monroe Manor, but it never killed anyone. Count Von Sabrewulf had been bitten by a rabid werewolf, an experiment of the government. As he slowly turned, he began losing control...his family fell victim to him. He began running from his own life.
He entered a competition that promised him a cure for his condition, but little did he realize that he could never live with his human form knowing what he had become... Sabrewulf. Watching the spectacle behind glass, Dr. Ermerson was helpless and horrified. While his colleague dialed 911 for Dr. Emerson, it was already too late. It all started coming together now... Dr. Emerson knew who was responsible for this. As Sabrewulf began approaching the glass, Dr. Emerson gave out one final cry, “ULLTRAAAATECH!!!”
And yes, I wrote this. I've always loved KI but since I don't own an Xbox One I wanted to express my interest in the game otherwise. I wanted to take the story, extend it and twist it.
Thoughts?
Story: Having endured agonizing procedures to remove his freakish cybernetic implants, Sabrewulf feels no closer to reclaiming his humanity. Barely clinging to sanity, he nurses an addiction to ancient medicines and artifacts which seem to slow his descent into savagery.
Fan-made story for 2013:
SYMPTOMS HEIGHTEN
Today is the third day seeing patient, Christopher London. Patient suffers from depression, anxiety and it appears to be an anger in which he struggles to subdue.
“Would you, could I get you a glass of water?”, asks Dr. Emerson. “Before we begin?”
The subject, Christopher London sits in a leather chair, slumped over in a weakened state with his head down. He nods, denying the offer. Dr. Emerson has been seeing Christopher every Monday for the past two weeks. In a dimly lit room they sat. Inside a house some would describe as a mansion, while others would call it a castle. Christopher on the other hand may have called it a prison without bars. It was home to someone.
Traveling off Monroe Street in the Northwest side of London, England there was an entrance that was surrounded by an enormous black gate. Victorian in style and having the appearance to be several tons in weight, the gates hadn't opened in years. The sound of rusted metal against metal crept through the surrounding bushes, shrubs and trees when the gates would be slowly awakened after many years of silence and exile. Despite ones age, this sound was enough to make any grown man check his surroundings inside a moonlit night. His eyes alert, his heart still as he focused to control his breathing. Once you calmed down and took a deep breath you would realize that the outside was where you would feel most safe. As Dr. Emerson slowly approached the door, he slowly began to look up. With what must've been twenty-five windows within Christopher's manor, the only light to be seen was what looked to be a single lit candle near the top floor window. The feeling of fear began to fade as Dr. Emerson approached the front door. This just wasn't what Dr. Emerson had expected.... or was it exactly what he was afraid of? He had worked in the town for many years. He had his own practice and rarely ever had to go to a patient.... making this an unsettling first for a long time. After walking up the six final concrete steps, Dr. Emerson has reached the front door. With one hand holding a briefcase and the other in his black trenchcoat pocket, Dr. Emerson reached out of his pocket to knock on Christopher's door. Worry began to race through the Dr'.s mind... “Were the rumors true?”
Sitting in recluse, resident Christopher London awaits his Dr.'s visit. Harnessing a certain stench of old damn spirits, Christopher awaited wearing dark blue jeans that appeared to be twice as old as him. With his cuffs rolled up just high enough to expose dress shoes in which looked to be handed down by an ancestor. He also wore a dark brown and red, long-sleeve flannel button-up shirt with three buttons missing. Christopher stood behind a leather chair gazing out an arced window in to the night. Prompting early memories that led him to this point in his life – flashbacks were an enemy of a dark past. What he had done and what he had become... it wasn't something he could hide from. He knew this internal battle he was facing would be his demise, but that's why he entered in the first place. “Was it worth it? Was it all worth it? How did it come to this...?”
Clutching the leather chair in front of him, without realizing, he began ripping the leather with his grip. The flashbacks, the torment, the cries of mercy... there were heavy sins within his soul. Heavy sins to taunt the side of him he had worked so hard to control. His sanity was slipping. He had only hoped that the letter he sent to Dr. Emerson would free him from his mentally mangled state... as he knew deep down it was only going to get worse.
Just as Dr. Emerson knocked on Christopher's door, without much pressure at all, the door slowly creaked open. Seeing the internal structure of the house made Dr. Emerson gasp. As though the house was a Colosseum, the door crept open allowing a shroud of moonlight to hit the back wall. It was revealing a spiral staircase bordered by pillars with walls decorated with scenic landscapes. As Dr. Emerson slowly approached the staircase he noticed a large, blank and discolored spot on the right wall where a portrait must have hung. In his practice it was quite common for patients to remove any haunting memories however they could. While some patients would lay certain picture frames face down, others would remove them completely. When Dr. Emerson reached Christopher's candle lit room, Christopher was still standing by the leather chair. By this point, Christopher's eyes were clenched shut with tears running down his face. Running from his flashbacks was all he could do... run. As Dr. Emerson entered the room, a side view of Christopher with tears streaming down his face and a gasp was enough for the Dr. to confirm that his symptoms had heightened. He had lost his family. He needed help dealing with his loss. He was alone, helpless and struggling to live a normal life. Dr. Emerson sat his briefcase down and patted Christopher on the shoulder, “Have a seat, Chris”, doing what he could to comfort him. Slumped over with tears in his eyes, Dr. Emerson asked Christopher, “Has it gotten worse?”.
“I can still see their faces”, said Christopher.
I can still hear their screams and cries for him to stop.”
“Chris, it's been almost three years... these things take time. However, I would recommend that we take a bigger step in a new direction”, said Dr. Emerson. I would like to have you check in to the down town clinic. There you will be in the presence of others who need help and you will have others to talk to who may be able to relate. Treatment would begin immediately and you could start living a more normal life.”
Drowned by his grief, the thought of ever living a normal life again was purely fairy tale. He asked for help. He got desperate... and now the Dr. he went to for help would be releasing him from his prison. For Christopher, nothing felt better as they both walked outside. Looking back at the large, empty estate, Christopher was being anything but released from a prison.
LOSING YOUR SOUL
Just one week later and Christopher seemed to be doing better already. He was new at the clinic, away from his large, dark Colosseum where any sound would not be heard by anyone. The clinic offered everything he needed to escape his troubled mind. It was a rather large brick building roughly 27 miles from where he lived... where his family once lived. It was a peaceful environment where all of the guests wore white... he was in a psychiatric ward. He was doing well as the Dr.'s observed him. Dr. Emerson was particularly proud of his patient, Christopher. However, regardless of how far he had come there was still a thick layer of denial Dr. Emerson could see. A colleague of Dr. Emerson began asking about his patient since Emerson's focus has been almost obsessive. He began asking Dr. Emerson questions about Christopher. When Dr. Emerson told his colleague that his patient was from the manor off of Monroe Street, his colleague was quite intrigued.
“Isn't that where those murders took place years back? Legend has it, the family that once lived there fell victim to a werewolf attack... leaving no survivors..”, Dr. Emerson's colleague said.
Dr. Emerson didn't know a whole lot about his troubled patient, but the pain he possessed was starting to make sense.
“The rumor is that the government had been experimenting with animals; in this case, a werewolf... and it got loose... or it was turned loose.”, his colleague said.
“It's all starting to make sense now...”, Dr. Emerson said. “Living in that house where his family was murdered was too much for him to handle mentally. That's why the large framed portrait was removed from his wall. That's why he came to me for help!”
“Wouldn't this have happened much sooner?, his colleague asked. “Living like that for how many years before seeking help?”
“He has only recently returned home”, said Dr. Emerson. “He had been away on business and had only recently came home... and it turned out to be more than he could bare...”
Christopher would eventually start to come around talking to other patients. It was only ever small talk until an older man began talking to Christopher regularly. They would have friendly conversations and play board games together. Until one day the old man began asking about his family.
“Got a wife? Kids?”
Christopher just froze and started to panic... he was speechless. Suddenly, the Dr.'s raced over to give Christopher pills to calm him down. Just then, the old man began to taunt, “Wha'ja kill'em?”
The old man started to laugh as he was only joking, and Christopher, being restrained by the clinic's security, looked straight at the old man. His arms and his fists clenched... his torso began to tighten. His eyes suddenly became very focused as he stared at the old man. The old man kept repeating the same thing, taunting him, “You killed'em! Haha!” as the clinic's security drug the old man back to his room. Suddenly, Dr. Emerson's colleague approached him in a panic.
“There was never a Christopher London living at that address! There isn't a Christopher London in all of London! The man who lived there was named “Count Von Sabrewulf!”
It wasn't the first or second part of his colleague saying his name that shattered the night... it was the third. Immediately after Dr. Emerson's colleague spoke “Sabrewulf”, Christopher London, as he referred to himself had begun to turn back to Count Von Sabrewulf. Drops of blood began hitting the floor. The clinic's security began screaming. All of the other patients began running back to their rooms... but it was too late. What seemed like forever, happened in a few short minutes. Once the first attack happened... there was no stopping him. Count Von Sabrewulf had returned.
There was a werewolf that attacked the Monroe Manor, but it never killed anyone. Count Von Sabrewulf had been bitten by a rabid werewolf, an experiment of the government. As he slowly turned, he began losing control...his family fell victim to him. He began running from his own life.
He entered a competition that promised him a cure for his condition, but little did he realize that he could never live with his human form knowing what he had become... Sabrewulf. Watching the spectacle behind glass, Dr. Ermerson was helpless and horrified. While his colleague dialed 911 for Dr. Emerson, it was already too late. It all started coming together now... Dr. Emerson knew who was responsible for this. As Sabrewulf began approaching the glass, Dr. Emerson gave out one final cry, “ULLTRAAAATECH!!!”
And yes, I wrote this. I've always loved KI but since I don't own an Xbox One I wanted to express my interest in the game otherwise. I wanted to take the story, extend it and twist it.
Thoughts?
