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He knew something was wrong. Millions of years of evolution and instinct told him so. Although not of a species known for self-reflection, Ramone knew this to be true. He was eating far too much and far too often.

He had adapted to his home in the dark, his eyes adjusting to the near perfect lack of light, his sense of smell learning to filter out the stink of offal and excrement. He had lived despite the cruelty of the big creature who yelled. Ramone did not understand the relationship between the one who tried to kill him and the small pink one who had nurtured him, but in his limited capacity, he hated the big one.

The big creature had sent him to this purgatory of the dark. The small one had given him food, sand, pebbles and a rock to sun himself. The big one had given him terror, a fear of death in the swirling water. Well, Ramone had persevered, eating what he could find. The food had been small but nourishing.

He had only required a little when he was a baby but as his girth increased, so had his appetite. Still, there was that instinctual part of him that knew it was wrong. Some hunger was to be expected but to be this ceaseless and never-ending? It wasn’t right. At his size, at his obscene size, he should only have to eat well once and rest for the remainder of the year.

Instead, he was hunting all night, every night. Even during the day, he hunted. He had little time to rest, to allow his body to recover from the rigors of the quest. Maybe someday the hunger would cease, but tonight, as he slid his massive body into the cool chemical tasting water, he knew he would hunt again.

Shrill voices headed his way, ringing against his ears. Ramone was patient, as were all those of his species. Still, it was nice that he would not have to wait long to feed.