He had won.
After four years of constant obsessing, watching and planning, he had won. Yet, standing now in the position he had always dreamed of, Dib Membrane didn't feel like he had won at all. His old daydreams of finally conquering and researching an alien race had never held the pain and fear that had been in the Irken's eyes. His fantasized stride to fame had never been weighted by the humane guilt that now burdened his mind and constantly threatened to push him to the ground. What the young pseudo-scientist had once believed would lead to glory and joy had violently tossed him into a pit of regret, slowly burying him alive in his suffocating remorse.
However, there was absolutely no route he could take to right his wrong. He had long since passed the point of no return and could no longer patch the hole that shame had ruthlessly drilled into his heart. For the rest of his life the tormented child would be forced to live with the blood of his only enemy—the blood of the only being that ever validated him—on his hands.
But, in the grateful eyes of the ignorant idiots who never truly deserved the knowledge and savior he provided, he had won