Prologue: This chapter takes place years before the main story of Monster
Corporation.
Amsterdam, Royal Palace (Paleis op de Dam), June 23, 1953 – 6:30 PM
The royal palace shimmered like a jewel beneath the soft light of a summer evening. One by one, sleek black cars rolled up to the grand entrance, each carrying some of the world's most powerful and influential people. It was a gathering of the elite, a constellation of wealth and authority. Overwhelmed but determined, butlers and valets rushed from guest to guest, doing their best to keep up with the tide of demands. "Hey slut, glasses for me and my wife!" One of the guests, a heavyset man in his fifties, with a balding head and a fortune built on real estate investments along the southern coast of the United States, barked at a young woman working the reception that night.
"I'm sorry, I'll be with you in just a moment…" The woman, who looked visibly anxious from the overwhelming number of guests, tried to slip away through the crowd. But the man seized her wrist roughly, stopping her from escaping.
"Where do you think you're going? My wife and I are thirsty—does it just go in one ear and out the other with you? Do you even know who I am, little brat? Someone needs to teach you some manners."
Raising his hand toward the young woman, who was frozen with fear, a strong hand suddenly grabbed his wrist and stopped him mid-motion.
"I don't think that's very wise behavior in a place like this, especially on an occasion like tonight. Have you forgotten why all these people are here?"
"Don't make things worse for yourself. Wait quietly for your drink, and maybe use this time to make some new connections—that's your greatest skill, isn't it, Mr. Wood?"
The man stood beside him. The difference in height was obvious. Mr. Wood was about six feet tall, already tall compared to most guests, but the man who stopped him stood at least at seven feet tall. His long white hair was tied back, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through him. His muscular frame showed through a slightly unbuttoned black shirt. His presence was so commanding that, even after he finished speaking, it took a full five seconds before Mr. Wood finally replied.
"Y-you…"
The usual confidence in his voice had vanished. He couldn't even finish a sentence, stumbling over every word like a frightened child.
"How dare y—"
He was cut off again. But this time, it wasn't his nerves that interrupted him.
It was something far more bizarre.
"We're going to play a little game, you and I."
The tall man was now gently patting Mr. Wood's head, like one might comfort a toddler. His wife and the waitress looked on, wide-eyed and speechless. Then, leaning down, the man whispered something into Mr. Wood's ear.
Suddenly, Mr. Wood began to sweat.
First a few drops. Then more. And more.
Soon, he was drenched, soaked in panic. Without warning, he yanked off his pants, tore off his shirt, and tied his necktie around his head like a bandana.
Then, with a wild scream, he dashed into the crowd, running, flailing, shouting nonsense at the top of his lungs.
Guests turned and stared, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or back away.
Security tackled him hard, pinning him to the floor before dragging him out of the ballroom.
His wife, still frozen from shock, finally snapped out of it and ran after him.
"WAIT! THAT'S MY HUSBAND!"
Her voice rang out, raw and desperate, as the stunned crowd parted in silence to watch the madness unfold.
"How?" The young waitress asked softly, looking at the man. But he didn't answer. He simply turned away and began to walk off.
"Your name… please… at least tell me your name." Her voice wasn't commanding, it was more like a quiet plea, almost desperate.
The man stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. "You're funny," he said. "But since you insist… it's Victor. Victor Steers."
He chuckled to himself and walked away, leaving the waitress standing there, more confused than before.
Despite the strange incident, the evening carried on as planned. The guests were soon invited inside for the next part of the event.
The interior of the royal palace was vast and breathtaking. White walls stood tall and elegant, their design a clear echo of another era. Dozens of chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm golden light across the hall.
The tables, far too many to count, were perfectly arranged, each one adorned with fresh bouquets and golden candelabras. Every setting had its full set of silverware, placed with precision.
As the guests entered, their chatter filled the space, a lively buzz that echoed beautifully through the timeless walls.
Once everyone was comfortably seated, a small army of servers in three-piece suits and white gloves appeared, carrying trays with the first course.
To any outsider looking in, the room might've seemed like the very image of joy and elegance, laughter bouncing between crystal glasses, the soft clink of cutlery, the hum of conversation…
But—
"For God's sake, someone end this farce."
Despite the noise all around, a voice cut through the chaos. It was a man in his middle years, nothing remarkable about him. His suit, his haircut, his shoes, the way he looked, even his watch, were all completely ordinary. Yet, there he stood, staring at the crowd with a mix of confusion and dread.
Everyone heard him, no doubt about it. But everyone chose to ignore him, pretending the party went on as usual.
"You're all crazy… Yes… all of you. Every single one of you."
His voice had shifted, gone was the worry, replaced now by raw anger.
"Those bastards… those bastards took everything from me. They killed my wife… my son… And now you want me to accept them? To see them as part of society? Go to hell… all of you…yes… all of you… DEATH TO THE MONSTERS!"
With a swift motion, he pulled a gun hidden beneath his suit. Still, the other guests barely flinched, their indifference thick in the air.
"HEY… I...I'M g....goi...."
Watching the strange scene unfold, the man nearby seemed to lose his composure. His anger was clear, yes, but now it was tangled with confusion too.
"Can you count to three?"
The question came from a girl no older than eleven, standing close by.
"WHAT… WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? YOU WANT TO… DIE… IS THAT IT?"
His threat was almost laughable, tangled up in his stammering, but that didn't stop him from pointing the gun at the child.
The girl showed no fear. Instead, she looked the man straight in the eyes.
Panicking, he shifted the gun's aim to her.
Still holding the pistol on her, the man seized a brief moment of clarity and said through rising stress, "HEY… I'M NOT JOKING!"
"One."
The girl, unfazed by the weapon or the threat, began to count.
A wide smile spread across her young face. It wasn't a sly smile, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she seemed to see this whole thing as nothing more than a game with the attacker standing before her as simply a new friend ready to play.
"HEY!!"
His hands shook harder and harder as he tried to keep hold of the gun.
"Two."
He didn't dare say a word anymore, as if even the smallest sound from him would unleash the thing he feared most.
"Three."
At the end of the countdown, she reached out her hand to the attacker, still wearing that same innocent smile.
"I… I…"
The sound of his pistol hitting the floor echoed all the way to the back of the room.
With a sudden movement, the man collapsed to the ground, curling into a small ball, trembling.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…"
As he repeated the word frantically, tears began to fall. At first, they were quiet, almost invisible, only noticeable if you were close enough. But as he kept whispering it again and again, the water poured more and more.
In that growing lake, the only reflection was a smile… a smile, just a damn smile.
The girl gently stood up from her chair, then lowered herself to his level.
With a soft gesture, she began to stroke his hair like a mother trying to soothe her child.
"Why?"
"Why do you want them to be fully part of our society?" the man asked.
"Why? That's a funny question." She tilted her head slightly to the right, looking genuinely surprised.
"Funny, you say…"
"Well, funny… let's say ridiculous, but kind of amusing." She gave a small chuckle after her comment, though her amusement didn't spread. With a gentle movement, she pulled her hand away.
"Everyone deserves a chance, even monsters. This treaty is meant to give monsters and humans the same opportunities in life. By breaking down these barriers…"
"You really think people will just accept that? They've never forgotten, never. The Night of Blood, the Great Plague, and many others. Monsters have no place beside humans…" The man struggled to stand, his legs heavy and each small step painful.
"So?" the child asked calmly.
"Die, filthy monster."
"A brute like you has no place in this new world."
With a swift step, the girl pressed herself against the man. He struggled as best he could, but it was useless.
Despite the obvious difference in size, the little girl held on tight.
"LET GO OF ME YOU LITTLE SHIT, LET GO…"
The man's words died in his throat.
A strange liquid dripped onto his polished shoes.
The smell was unbearable.
His face went pale, as white as a sheet. He stopped struggling and stood frozen, eyes locked on the horrifying scene before him.
The child's skin was melting away.
Within seconds, the strange liquid soaked through his tailored suit. The once clean and shining floor was now flooded with a gruesome mix of flesh, organs, and melted bone.
The man, who had just moments ago seemed frozen in place, unable to speak, unable to even blink, suddenly dropped his head sharply toward his arm.
His arm was melting.
His previous paralysis changed into a frantic panic. He fought harder than ever before, his screams and sobs echoing through the entire building.
His body kept dissolving. His right arm was now nothing more than an unrecognizable puddle on the floor.
The girl had completely melted away. What had once been an innocent child was now just a heap of organic remains on the ground.
Taking advantage of the chaos, the man tried to run as far as he could, but collapsed violently to the floor.
His right leg had completely melted away.
He crawled, crawling through what was left of himself, each passing second pulling him further away from his former self.
His vision blurred, his movements on the ground growing slower and slower.
In one final motion, having accepted his fate, he turned his head slightly to the right.
All the guests carried on as if nothing had happened, a constant background noise echoing faintly through the melted remains in his ears. He could just barely make out passionate conversations, laughter, and the clinking of silverware.
The man looked one last time at the scene; all the guests continued as if oblivious, all except one.
Just one.
One pair of eyes.
His piercing blue eyes.
One alone watched him.