A Centopeia Humana 2 -

The second was his neighbor, a noisy gossip who always complained about the smell from his basement. The third was a security guard who caught Martin sleeping on the job. Martin didn't choose randomly; he chose people who had humiliated him. Each kidnapping was a petty revenge, a stitch in his masterpiece.

The climax came when Martin’s mother, suspicious of the smell, waddled down into the sub-level. She held a rolling pin. She saw the twelve-person centipede writhing on the floor, a chain of moaning, weeping flesh. For a moment, even she was silent.

His mother, a monstrously obese woman, spent her days screaming at him from the top of the stairs. His only comfort was a battered DVD of The Human Centipede . He watched it every night, rewinding the surgery scene, memorizing the sutures. For Martin, the film wasn't grotesque; it was beautiful . But he felt it lacked ambition. Three segments were a joke. A real centipede needed length. Twelve, he decided. Twelve made a "Full Sequence."

The Sequencer

His first victim was the prostitute who worked the corner near the garage. He offered her £50 for a "private session" in his soundproofed storage unit. Her name was Gina. She never saw the staple gun.

He converted the garage’s disused sub-level into his operating theater. He tied his victims to stained mattresses on the floor. There were no anesthetics. Martin believed pain was "the adhesive of the soul."

Obsessed with Tom Six’s first film, a lonely, abused parking garage attendant named Martin decides to create a "superior" version of the Centipede using twelve victims, recording it all on a grainy camcorder to send to the director. a centopeia humana 2

Martin looks into the lens. He smiles—a shy, awkward smile.

Then she screamed. "You disgusting little freak!"

Martin turned his camcorder on her. "You go in the front, Mum." The second was his neighbor, a noisy gossip

The horror wasn't just the physical act. It was the waiting . The garage was cold. The rats were bold. Victims would pass out from shock, only to wake up screaming as the digestive juices of the person in front of them began to burn their raw throat.

The filming was erratic. He used a heavy VHS-C camcorder, his thumb constantly over the lens. He would whisper-mumble to the camera: "For Mr. Six. He will see. I am the true fan."