The Allergist

The Allergist spent a lot of his time in a near-catatonic state, in one corner or another in the Slums. The substance he created - which caused allergic reactions in others - had a different effect on him. It was his food and his drink. It kept him alive. Alive, to fill his purpose.

He was in one particular hiding place when he heard a sneeze.

"This damn hay-fever keeps getting me," someone complained.

"So glad I dodged THAT bullet," someone else said. The Allergist perked his head up to get a closer look.

"You're not allergic to ANYTHNG?" the first person said. He sneezed again.

"... I thought so, when I was a kid... but then I found out that my mom just didn't like it when I ate too much chocolate."

They moved away, and the Allergist couldn't hear anything else they were saying. But the face of that man was burned into his brain.

He got out of his hiding hole, brushed himself off, and started looking for some real food. The Allergist had a mission. He would teach this lucky bastard what it was like to have allergies.

It took some searching to find the man again, but in the end, he trailed him back to his home, a duplex on the edge of the slums. The neighbor wasn't home when he got there, not that the Allergist noticed. When whoever lived next door did get home, they would hear some strange noises through the wall. Maybe voices, maybe crying, but most of all...sneezing.