 Dr. Ritter waited patiently and quiet, thinly veiled disgust, as his imperial majesty, Emperor Maximilian the Great, greedily shoveled his meal down his cavernous gullet. Dr. Ritter had secretly harbored the hope that the reckless speed of which King Max, as the staff had taken to calling him eight, and the rarity with which he bothered to use his enormous supernumerary teeth would eventually result in him choking the death, but so far there had been no such luck. Dr. Ritter supposed that if the creature's horrid table manners hadn't gotten him killed yet, then his anatomy was probably sufficiently non-human to render choking a mute concern. Despite his scientific training and years of experience with the Foundation, Dr. Ritter was unable to view his assigned subject objectively. When he sat across from the bloated form of King Max, he saw only a monster from a fairytale. Not a modern Disney-fied fairytale eater, but an old European fairytale where children were eaten alive and not all villains got what they deserved. At roughly thirty-six hundred pounds, Max was over two and a half times the weight of the heaviest human on record, coming closer to the size of an adult male hippopotamus. It took fifty-four thousand calories a day to maintain that size, and the Foundation was more than willing to oblige him. It was considered likely that he knew the locations of other SCP-3288 hives, which the Foundation desperately needed to prevent his kin from eventually overrunning the planet. Torture had proven ineffective, as it often did, so they decided it would be best to try a more hospitable approach, providing a royal guest with any and all reasonable requests. They addressed him, more for the comfort of the staff than its own dignity, in a modified comparison that had originally been meant for a horse. They had let him keep his crown since the carbuncular outgrows of flesh holding it in place meant that it could not be safely removed without surgery. They even gave him a throne of sorts, having placed his mobile body over a hole on the floor that led straight to his personal septic tank. This too was more a necessity than courtesy, as both the volume and vehement of the King's imperial stool was beyond the kin of ordinary plumbing. Food, however, was always King Max's most pertinent demand. In spite of his pretensions and nobility, he proved not to be a very picky eater. The bulk of his diet now consisted of rice, oats, and pasta supplemented by cafeteria leftovers that had passed their used-by date. With a robust immune system and stomach acid as strong as a crocodile's, there was very little the corporate king could not stomach. And stomach it he did, seventy pounds of it a day, enough to feed some people for a month. Though most of his fare was either cheap or rotten, his majesty did have one particular addiction for which no substitutions could be made, and the foundation was forced to cater to it if they wanted his cooperation. Each and every day, King Max reminded the foundation why they had dubbed his species Homo Anthropophagus. A literal pound of flesh, often from D-class who had died in a line of duty, and whose corpses the foundation had no better use for, was presented to the king as his reward for good behavior. It's sick in Dr. Ritter, all of it. He tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind, console himself with how many lives it could save if they could finally get this monster to disclose the location of the other hives, but it didn't work. This abomination had been gorging itself to superhuman obesity on innocent children for over half a century before they had found it. And now that it was in containment, they were still giving it human flesh? Weren't those D-class more human than this thing was? Didn't they deserve better? Didn't this bastard deserve worse? Dr. Ritter showed little sign of his inner turmoil, merely pushing up his glasses and clearing his throat before he began the interrogation. Does his Imperial Majesty find himself in the mood for some after-dinner conversation? I'd very much like to hear more about the Empress of the Black Forest. Ah, the Empress. Magnificent creature. Most noble of us all. Much mused as he wiped his face with his now-filthy comparison. I had the privilege of seeing her before I swallowed my eyes, you know. More than ten feet tall she was, yet slender as a sapling. One eye pale blue, the other moonlit silver. Vanity's her greatest vice, as a vast collection of wigs made from the scalps of her prey. Not that she'd ever let her femininity keep her from carnality. She'd delight in the violation of others, men and women, nobles and peasants. It's all the same to her. I made the mistake of scoffing when she said she could rape a man, and my poor aides hasn't been the same since. King Max tossed his head back and ranker his laughter. If I hadn't been both impeded and impotent from my girth, I'd have paid her back in kind. Rest assured. That's... Dr. Ritter stopped to swallow the lump in his throat. That's most fascinating, Your Majesty. I'd very much like to meet her for myself someday. I assume her manner is in the Black Forest Mountains. Do you happen to know where exactly? Max chuckled deeply at the question. The ruling class does need to keep in touch with one another, of course. But I'm afraid my living arrangements, decent enough though they are, are not yet quite decadent enough for me to betray my fellow royals. Dr. Ritter sighed, a feeling of dread welling up inside him. What more do you want? Like meat, of course. Right now, I'm lucky it was even fresh. I want something to play with, something that puts up a bit more of a fight. A child of four or five years wants a fortnight? That will empty your orphanages, surely. I'll settle for cripples, practically doing you a favor. I'll... Dr. Ritter began. I'll see what I can do. That's what he was supposed to say to the king's demands, no matter how obscene. He was to report all the bridge requests to his superiors, and they would decide, with their coldly utilitarian rationality, whether or not feeding this thing live children would be worth it. And what if they said yes? I'll... I'll see you in the ground before I feed you children, you monster, he shouted, slamming his fist on the button to activate the UV flood lamps that have been placed to subdue the king, should he ever become hostile. Max howled in agony and terror, as the light instantly burned his unpigmented skin. Dr. Ritter grabbed the comparison and yanked it off of him, maximizing the king's exposure to the abhorred light. You tell me where the other hives are now, or I will burn you to a cinder, you fat fuck. As with all previous attempts at torture, the king just screamed and pleaded for mercy. Dr. Ritter, you are not authorized to use enhanced interrogation on the subject, a voice chastised him over the intercom. He hissed immediately, or you will be removed by force and subjected to disciplinary measures. It was nicer than to give him a warning, not smart though. He jammed the door shut with his chair to buy himself a little extra time. Now I'm finally going to see you choke. He picked up the sheet the creature had been wearing and rapidly tied it into a crude noose. Then he placed it around King Max's neck and pulled, bracing his feet against the nearest picture for leverage. He strangled a monster with all his might. Max gargled as his airway was force closed. He clawed at the noose with his stubby fingers, but couldn't get a grip. Security was banging at the door from the outside, trying to force their way in. It would only take them seconds, and Dr. Ritter needed minutes. Nonetheless, he would not stop pulling on the noose. When the door slammed open and the guards tackled into the ground, he knew it hadn't been long enough for Max to suffocate. He just spared for a moment, fearing he had thrown his career away for nothing, until he heard the guard inspecting Max's curse and frustration. God damn it, it's dead. What do you mean it's dead? Its heart gave out. Too much stress for it, I guess. A wave of relief washed over Dr. Ritter, even as he was dragged from the cell in handcuffs, a victorious grin spread across his face. Dr. Ritter, you have been brought before Dispinary Committee, or the unauthorized termination of SCP-3288-Alpha. The Committee headsets sternly, looking and sounding like the headmistress of a boarding school. Due to SCP-3288-Alpha's authority and status among SCP-3288, it's likely your actions have caused the Foundation a rare and possibly unique source of strategic intelligence regarding a potential SK-level threat to human society. Do you understand these charges? I know exactly what I've done, Dr. Ritter said, standing proud and without a hint of remorse in its voice. Whatever their practical reasons for indulging the creature had been, the moral absolutism in Dr. Ritter's own conscience had finally won out. When before his conscience had hardly let him sleep, it now told him that the countless people killed to feed King Max were avenged, that no more innocent lives would be sacrificed to the horrid people-eater, that Max had been a monstrous and evil fairytale villain, and that made him the hero. I slayed the Goblin King.