A Centopeia Humana 2 -

Martin looks into the lens. He smiles—a shy, awkward smile.

Then she screamed. "You disgusting little freak!"

He converted the garage’s disused sub-level into his operating theater. He tied his victims to stained mattresses on the floor. There were no anesthetics. Martin believed pain was "the adhesive of the soul."

Martin lived in his mother’s basement in East London. The walls were stained with damp, and the only light came from a flickering CRT television. He was a small, sweaty man with thick glasses and a breathing problem. His job was collecting tickets at a concrete parking garage, a world of grey echoes and exhaust fumes. a centopeia humana 2

He didn't have surgical tools or a sterile lab. He had a rusty staple gun, a roll of duct tape, a set of dull kitchen knives, and a stolen wheelchair.

The second was his neighbor, a noisy gossip who always complained about the smell from his basement. The third was a security guard who caught Martin sleeping on the job. Martin didn't choose randomly; he chose people who had humiliated him. Each kidnapping was a petty revenge, a stitch in his masterpiece.

"Full sequence complete," he whispers. "Now… for the sequel." Martin looks into the lens

He didn't connect mouths to anuses. That was Dr. Heiter’s primitive method. Martin, in his twisted logic, connected mouths to colostomy wounds he carved directly into the stomachs, creating a shorter, more acidic route. He called it "The Centipede 2: Direct Bypass."

His first victim was the prostitute who worked the corner near the garage. He offered her £50 for a "private session" in his soundproofed storage unit. Her name was Gina. She never saw the staple gun.

Martin turned his camcorder on her. "You go in the front, Mum." "You disgusting little freak

The filming was erratic. He used a heavy VHS-C camcorder, his thumb constantly over the lens. He would whisper-mumble to the camera: "For Mr. Six. He will see. I am the true fan."

The climax came when Martin’s mother, suspicious of the smell, waddled down into the sub-level. She held a rolling pin. She saw the twelve-person centipede writhing on the floor, a chain of moaning, weeping flesh. For a moment, even she was silent.