I know that look of disgust in your eyes. You can't hide it from me. I have seen all its expressions in many faces like your own. I am intimately familiar with rejection. Yes, these scars and stiched woulds are terrifying to behold. Were I truly alive, they'd be enough to kill me. But I am not alive. Not yet. Not in a way you know it. A fire burns within me that animates this dead flesh, these legs have wandered the far regions of the Earth, these hands have killed men. And I walk with purpose. You will not stand in my way. These hands have killed men.
"Like one who on a lonely road doth walk in fear and dread, and having wants of turning around walks on, and turns no more his head, because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread: Frankenstein!"