Germany. Night time (ish). Dr. Sigmund Freud strolled down on his way home, smartly tapping his cane on the cobbled stones. The good doctor thought of his recent research, and how he had helped so many patients with their recent problems. His research on psychoanalysis and dream interpretation would surely help millions of people cope with their problems. If only I could—
A shrill scream cut off his train of thought. It came from ahead, near the baker's shop. The doctor, as if untouched by the white in his hair and beard, lurched into a sprint. He gripped his cane in his left hand as he ran to the source of the disturbance. Another scream permeated the dusk. Sigmund skidded to a halt as he came to the mouth of an alley. It was here that the disturbance originated. Looking down among the filth and offal that littered the dark path, he saw the outline of a man and woman.
The woman, in a simple dress with an apron covered in the detritus of flour and dough from the bakery, struggled against the obviously more powerful man. From what he could see, the man was not that physically imposing, but had little trouble manipulating the woman. Fangs gleamed with an unnatural, some might say unholy, light.
"Have you given thought," Sigmund said after clearing his throat, "as to why you must feed on blood?"
The creature, for it was not human despite its resemblance to a man, turned to regard Sigmund with baleful, red eyes. Idly Sigmund wondered about the physiology of such creatures, and whether or not such changes in the body also precipitated mental conditions. It would be an interesting area of study if he could carry on a civil conversation.
"What did you say to me, meat?"
"Ah, yes, the rendering of a human to basic components. In this case the objectification to food. Though, to be more accurate, meat is inapplicable as you do not consume the flesh. Rather, you should use blood sack, or something similar in order to render it to that which gives you sustenance.
It sneered, the upper lip pulling back to reveal the full length of that one incisor.
"Very interesting. Is this actually predatory behavior or a need to establish sexual dominance in the presence of a potential mate?"
It looked at Sigmund without comprehension in its dead eyes. A shame. Most of the monsters could hold quite a bit of discourse, but this one appeared quite limited in its mental faculties. "Do you think you would be willing to undergo electric shock therapy? It might have interesting results on your brain chemistry."
"I will destroy you. Slowly. Just for the effrontery of interrupting my meal."
"Ah, excellent, you are intelligent after all. However, I believe that you have suffered childhood trauma to exhibit such aggressive tendencies. Was it, perhaps, the act of your transformation? I understand desanguination to be quite difficult."
"Old man, I have lost patience with you." He cast aside his victim, and charged toward Sigmund.
"Impatience, aggression, sexual control. With the trauma you have suffered, clearly you have a need to exert your dominance. Typical that you choose to do so not just in a confrontational manner, but also as a sexual act with a reluctant partner. Hmm, tell me, have you suffered ill treatment at the hands of your mother?"
The brute rushed forward, careless of the danger he did not perceive. Sigmund took his ease until the brute was almost upon him, the monster's superhuman speed did not faze him in the slightest. Sigmund pulled on the knob of his cane, revealing a blade of pure silver that almost gleamed in the night. Sigmund didn't have to do more than aim the weapon at the proper place. The beats's momentum did the rest. It impaled its heart on the blade, then fell. Sigmund guided the fall so that it would not snap his blade in the fall. Pivoting smoothly, an act quite graceful for his advanced years, he withdrew the blade as the monster fell. Cognizant that the monster would recover despite the grievous injury, Sigmund withdrew a stake from his overcoat and impaled the man, plunging it through the wound and into the earthen floor of the alley below.
The monster struggled and gurgled against the wood that seared his body, but to no avail. It was pinned as surely as if Atlas had set the weight of the world on the monster. With a swift motion, Sigmund slit the monster's throat, slicing with a physician's expertise. The spray came nowhere near him, and it silence the monster's gurgling struggles.
He walked away, whipping out a wine-colored handkerchief to remove the blood from blade. With a casual toss he left the handkerchief in the alley, then replaced the sword.
The woman cowered before him; he made no motion, but spoke in a slow, calm voice. "I am a doctor. I can help you with this trauma. Tell me, how do you feel?"
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