There is always one who comes before. The river that becomes a stream. The sapling which becomes a forest. The dream that becomes ambition. We are all of us an after. There will be another after me, perhaps, if I let it linger and tarry too long.
The one who came before let it tarry too long. He slipped back and forth into the miasma of hunger that the Beast gives. I only know him by the body I found. It was his disappearance that lead me to the Beast. There were ashes where his journal had once been. Dark inked stained the pages, illegible now that the fire had carried secrets to his grave.
It was his chains I found and his elaborate traps about the old warehouse that made me wonder what one such as myself would keep here. It is not so uncommon for our kind to keep the darkest of things in binds. War is inevitable. And death comes easier to or enemies when we can draw the madness from their own kind and wield it against them.
This is what I thought the Beast was. A weapon to forge. The man who found the Beast's foible was in the second floor of the warehouse, beside a modern spray painted gang symbol. Their guns pointed East, guiding my gaze to the body.
I've seen too many bodies to let them disturb me. The glimpse into my future before I knew it would be mine was unnerving. Death had come with screams of anguish. The smell of perforated intestines penetrated the air. Another hunter gone.