Cybernetic: And the Forgotten

Godwin Tulla awoke in total darkness and already on his feet; he couldn't see but could tell his clothes were soaked through and that, wherever he was, it was cramped. He fumbled about, looking for a light or a way out, running his fingers along the wall, relieved to find it wasn't anything as sturdy as a prison box. He firmly knocked and pressed his ear to the wall; waiting for some kind of movement or response and, when he was confident that no one was in earshot, struck at the walls. He managed to tear open his prison and found himself in a devastated apartment.
It was clearly a tenement, but even that hardly excused the mess that he was seeing. He realized that he had been sealed within the wall of this room. He looked down at his hands in horror, only just noticing that they were red with blood. Tulla sprinted toward a mirror and gasped at his reflection; blood covered him entirely, he strained his mind as he tried to remember what happened and the sudden rush of recollection nearly made his legs buckle.

He killed them. All of them.
Tulla remembered the irate gangsters: how he butchered and torched them. He recalled in sickening detail when he finished with the three, turning on the homeless in the alley that hadn't run away. If his memory was correct, and it was damn near perfect, he killed thirteen more people before closing any wounds he sustained, climbed into a nearby tenement, and carefully insinuated himself into the walls of an abandoned room.
It would seem he hadn't forgotten his bag in the chaos, since it was laying by the rotting bed-frame; he quickly changed into an alternate set of fatigues and stuffed his bloodied clothes away into his pack.
If this was anything like the other times, he was sure he left no survivors and any surveillance equipment is more than likely destroyed; he hurried back onto the street

It was another beautiful day, though it did little to cheer him up; the screams of the people he killed still echoed in his thoughts so loudly he couldn't think of anything else. It was early in the morning, listening for sirens, he watched hawkishly for police officers on the move; when nothing could be heard, he reasoned that local authorities hadn't been notified yet.
Tulla took a deep breath and exhaled, renewing his resolve. He was careless last night and wouldn't make a mistake like that again; he was going to do his research on the area, intent on avoiding trouble and getting on with his life. He was sick of hurting people.
Though if he was being honest, Tulla was just glad that the beast had contented itself with addicts and criminals in the alley and not, say, hunting suburban families.

The big man walked aimlessly, just letting his thoughts settle before he would deal with room rentals and property acquisition; he whispered litanies as he relaxed his mind, entering a sort of meditative state and exercising some control over the excess of emotion that plagued him. When he was finished he walked with renewed purpose and buried apprehensions, confident that he could keep a cool head in front of the sellers.

If he was lucky, he could disappear and finally be forgotten.