I hate him. Oh god, how I hate him.

I keep seeing his stupid speeches; his stupid promises for a better tomorrow; his ridiculous comments about what to do. I hate it. I hate how he's rewarded for a deed that was done so heinous. His crooked smile. His awful voice. His atrocious demeanor. It makes me sick. It makes me so versatile and ill I want to vomit. I hate him. I despise him.

I do not know why.

He makes everything harder. For me. For everyone. The projects get more difficult to finish, the hours become shorter. It irritated me at first, yes, but as the years went by, I started to become angry. So angry that i wasn't myself anymore. I tried to grab an answer. Something. Anything . There was no answer. No answer but him. My fists always clench, my breathing starts to get erratic. My chest tightens up so badly I feel like I'm going to fall unconscious. It's painful, and It's always around that man. I'm unsure if I am the only one that gets these sorts of emotions.

I never noticed anyone else with these. Nor have I noticed it on myself the first time. The only time I did, was a few years prior, as soon as I was accepted to work for the UAC. I felt like I needed to be angry at him. I tried to avoid him whenever I came in contact with him, he just kept coming through. Coming by, as they say. I didn't like it. I hated it, in fact.

This is hell. This is literal hell. I can't even sleep without him crossing my mind in a psychotic way. I'm certain he knows it too, just not yet. One day, I'll gather up the courage to tell him. Maybe I'll do it right now, I don't know. I have to find a way to get rid of this… this feeling of anger. Getting in the way of my work… My own work .

My dreams come inconspicuously, without any true meaning. The majority of the time it's short, quick, waking up without any problems to my slumber. But most of it is strange, if not difficult to describe. My visions would be nothing but the suffering of a man, a heretic, the rhythm of his screams coalescing with the beat of a weapon going straight into his eye, his collarbone, and his chest. His mouth foaming, vomiting, until he chokes in his own fluids. Feeling old, freezing hands scratching on to my throat, trying to choke me. But the weapon is still going. Still beating until the hands soften their grip, and fall onto his stomach without a sound.

I wake up to this everyday. It gives me a migraine. I feel as if I should be this sort of person, I'm not. I don't want to be. What's even stranger is; I was smiling. Smiling like I won an award. Smiling like I earned a prize. I don't smile, not like that. Yes, I get happy, but I looked so different. It didn't look like me.

I swear, I need to sleep more. The clock ticks as I sit at my desk, looking up at the pure white ceiling. My eyes get half-lidded as the light somehow dims on from where I am at. I lean towards my desk and-

"Dr. Hayden, Hello!" My thoughts were interrupted by that disgusting, croaking voice, it's him. Betruger. I turn around and glare at him in a polite way. He smiled, that awful, awful smile. I want to slap it off him so badly.

I keep my face and tone neutral, "Hello, Dr. Betruger,"

He laughs this time, it's scratchy, "I'm sure you're doing well for yourself, Sammy,"

"My name is not 'Sammy', Dr. Betruger," I spat out. He only laughs at me again, crossing his hands behind his back, "It's the same either way,"

"I suggest you don't call me by that," I informed him, then adding, "Please," My word is final as I say this. And Betruger, being the schmuck that he is, only puts his hand on my shoulder and replies, "You're dramatic over the most smallest things," he laughs, "Many people would notice it within a one-hundred mile radius,"

Shut up. For the love of god, shut up with your half-assed accusations. My eyes squint at him, "Thank you, I'll take a note on that,"

He smiles again, and pats me, "That's good to hear, and by the way, the project is going well so far. You and that woman are masters on your craft, I'll be checking in again in an hour," he said as he began to head out the door.

I want to kill him. I want to kill him. I want to kill him. How dare he touch me, how dare he. I shake, and after a moment I stand up and say, "Before you leave, I have been meaning to ask you something," Betruger looks at me with confusion, heavily uncommon of him to do so. He talks, "Go ahead then, tell me,"

"I want to talk. To you. In private," I say. He turns around to face me completely, and slowly walks towards my desk, "Well, we're here. In private. Tell me what's on your mind, Sammy," he says.

I told you to stop calling me that, idiot. I open my drawer, and notice a small pick inside. I kept it there for some reason, maybe when I was in the elevator. I can't remember anymore. I don't take out the pick nor do I close the drawer.

I breathe deeply, in and out, "I have begun to get unusual in my work, and for weeks I've been attempting to figure out why," Betruger keeps silent as I talk, "I get upset, angry, even. I can't sleep, I can't focus, I can't even remember correctly. I don't normally get this, I don't. It's irrational, out of character. I'm not supposed to be like this,"

"Does this have anything to do with me?" He asked me, and I answered quickly, "Yes. Yes it does," I sit down. I look at him with a glint in my eyes, "Your presence is enough to make me want to punch you, to ridicule you. You make me angry. I want to hit someone with a chair whenever I see you, I want to hit you with a chair. And you calling me by that nickname made me even more angrier, but I don't show it. I control it. But, I'm being honest to god, I can't control it any longer," I said, every word, every sentence was true down to it's core. Betruger's face changed from a creepy mood to a somewhat emotionless one, that's new.

He spoke firmly this time, "You're angry with me? You can't stand me?" he said as he walked to me now, the drawer was still open, "Yes. I can't stand you. I hate you," I answered.

"And there is nothing I can do to make you stop, can I?" He asked. I nod as I silently grab a hold of the pick and hold it behind me, he didn't notice, "I've disliked you since the beginning, I want you to stay away from me," I spat out at him, and his eyes started to glisten, "I thought so," Betruger whispered.

"What?"

"I thought so," he repeated, louder. I was confused, and I stepped back as he started to get closer to me, invading my personal space. His mood was darker than I had ever seen. "What makes you think so?" I ask.

"Don't lie, Samuel, you know exactly why you despise me. Saying you get irrationally angry when I'm around, hating me since we met. Admit it, you're a good for nothing heretic," He chuckled, "I should've known it would be you, of all people. I've noticed it too,"

"Pardon…" I said, not a question. Not a question at all.

"I hate you too, we both make each other angry. I try to laugh it off, but you make it worse," Betruger said, guess we're both at an impasse, i'll admit. He laughed softly, "Guess I'll have to do the inevitable,"

"And what might that be?"

He pulled out a small pistol and shot me in the leg, I fell to the floor quickly, yelling in pain. The bullet went in quick at the large distance I put myself in earlier, no sound was made. The pick falls to my side. And as I breathed uncontrollably, looking at the man who shot me in the leg, I noticed the extended silencer attached to his weapon. He planned this, he planned this from the beginning. I stutter uncontrollably, already sweating bullets, "You motherfucker… you fucking piece of shit!" I scream. He points the gun at me again.

"Scream again, and I'll put one on your mouth," He threatened. Then walked straight towards me, looking down on me as if I was a peasant, he smirked, "Usually, I'm not one to create violence - oh, you can go ahead and cover that nasty wound, I'm not gonna shoot you there - anyways, as I was saying, I don't usually create this sort of violent nature as I am frankly a believer of all life being saved," he joked, and i kept breathing heavily, drooling excessively once i slowly lifted my leg towards my direction and covered it, "I simply have to get rid of the people that are in my way, namely yourself and a couple others. Who would just deem this as a suicide and life would go on as usual. Oh, except for you. They'll most likely be no tears, highly unlikely for the betterment of you aside from your reputation here on mars,"

My brows furrow as I start to hyperventilate for the first time, my body isn't supposed to feel like this, "I'm in your way? I never get in your fucking way, you do, you old bastard,"

"Old bastard was my college nickname, by the way. And to be fair I'm a little surprised on how young you look aside from that photo you took," he said cheerily, "Oh, and also, there was only one bullet in this silent weapon. Did I make any good shots, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Shots?" I stutter, sweating profusely, "No," I cling on to the bleeding wound, groaning in pain really loudly, hoping anyone could hear. But they didn't, they wouldn't. Nobody would come here unless it was an important meeting, "Why… why am I in your damn way..?"

"To be fair, Makyrs are known to be an irritable problem, according to what they inform to me,"

"W-what?"

"I know, I know. I don't know your true name, but I know you're from their world. I know because I can feel who is and who isn't," Betruger said, "They say your breath smells not of man, they were right," he lifted his leg and pressed down on my wound, to where my hands covered it, to moaned painfully and grabbed a hold of the pick again with my free hand. "You're an intelligent man, Samuel, but you aren't willful either. You know that,"

"I am not a makyr," I gurgle, coughing out some saliva that foamed in my mouth. "I'm a doctor, a damn good doctor, I'm not some make-believe fantasy,"

"Awfully suspicious of you to describe them, Hayden. Are you a seraphim?"

I stay silent, he knows, he chuckles, "You are! It's nice to meet a human look-alike then,"

He rolled me to my back, kneeling down in front of me once he set the pistol down, and then immediately began to wrap his hands around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. My breath shortened each painful second, my vision blurry, and I could see the man smiling as he was doing this. Taking pleasure to see pain from somebody like me.

My hand reaches out for something, anything , before my whole body begins to numb and conk out. I felt the pick at the edge of my fingertips and rolled them over to my palm, I then ram the sharp part of the pick straight into his side, twisting it, and then to his stomach. His entire body shook, but still kept choking me, I kept stabbing him wherever my hand went, the chest, the collarbone, the arms, and then the eye. Foaming reached up to his mouth as he fell over to the side, coughing and hyperventilating. His white uniform was bleeding through. He was still smiling.

"Stop smiling. Stop smiling!" I yell.

I kneel up despite the unending pain, grab the pistol and whack him on the forehead with it. I smash the man's entire face with the back end of it, the blood spilling onto my jacket, my shirt and my face. His structure twisting and turning like spirals, some brain matter popping out of his skull, I sneer until every single inch of his face was nothing but a pile of goo.

I stop after what seemed like infinity, setting the bloodied gun to the side. My wound was bleeding out intensely, as I fell on my back again. Staining the nice floor. Crying out in alarm. My sight getting blurry and blurry, until I saw nothing but black.

A door opened, and then, the sound of glass breaking.