This post contains no material regarding psychopaths (well, I’ve written that disclaimer prior to penning the rest of it so it seems like quite a tall order to live up to. Especially as I already seem to have devoted the first few lines to the total lack of psychopaths. Allow me to clarify, I am not planning to build this thing up to a veiled metaphor regarding a newly deceased murderer. ‘Kay?). It’s about whimsy and magic and the inner workings of the pharmaceutical industry. Buckle in.
Time was, all the adverse effects that drug companies had to really worry about were those mounting piles of corpses and the creation of flipper babies. Now they get blamed for every Bigfoot and Nessie that has to be released into the wild for legal protection. It’s a lot easier than dealing with the fallout of the general public finding out that you have indeed devised a cure for baldness but it regresses you into a Chewbacca-esque creature with less capabilities regarding communication and basic hygiene.
For a while, the elegant plan of dumping their mutated experiments in the middle of a desolate moor was more than good enough for the malevolent tinkerers with nature. But then the area got that much busier and tourists started snapping images of the unnatural monsters. If they were found then their origins might, somehow, be uncovered.
It was time and past to round them all up. They could be stuck somewhere else once all the fuss had died down. In the meantime they could be dropped in the sealable pit. Perhaps a fight to the death for the baying mob of their shareholders (sworn to secrecy of course) would do wonders for company morale and the bottom line? Anyway, that’s getting ahead of the plan. Have to face down with the freaks first and entice them into the van.