[Somehow, I don't think that Callaghan was telling the truth when he implied that he didn't feel remorse over what happened at the showcase. And so, I present to you my first one-shot. I hope you enjoy it! Please don't kill me, and please DO review!]

I never knew that a human being could feel so much as I did after the accident. I never told Abigail not to go. It was her dream, wasn't it? To be the woman who changed the course of history? Objects could be transported in milliseconds via teleportation. I was so, so proud of her, I could almost feel my heart well to the point of bursting.

And then it exploded.

My first reaction was shock. I couldn't respond, I couldn't movie, I couldn't even breathe... it was so incomprehensibly sudden.

Then the emotions broke through, like a river through a broken dam. Doubt, disbelief, anger, grief, terror, and overall, a sudden, sharp, piercing pain.

I couldn't hold it back. I saw the man who had pressed the button, the man who had been so cheery and excited only moments before.
Only moments before my daughter was torn from me. I lunged for him. I was physically incapable of keeping myself from attacking him. I was dragged away.

After a few days to cool down, I was offered his condolences, and several thousand dollars to compensate for the loss of my daughter.

That was when I decided to kill Allistair Krei.

It wasn't the fact that he didn't blame himself, or the fact that, if he had paid more attention, it could have been avoided. It was the indifference that he had, the simple lack of remorse for taking my entire world from me, as if an apology and enough money to last me for a few years would be all it took to sweep all of it under the carpet.

I just needed to find out how to do it. I remember how I felt, that day so long ago, when I finally let it show. It was so much simpler to let the pain grow until it became physically incapacitating. But for once, I sat down on my couch—which hadn't been cleaned in much too long—to discover the source of the pain.

I thought I might be able to heal it, given enough time. But you can't heal something that you don't have. When Abigail vanished, she was ripped out of my heart, taking a good portion of myself with her. There was too much to fix, too much to cover up.

So I left it an open wound, and welcomed the festering hatred.

Depression can strike even the strongest, and at any time. I succumbed to it for far too long. Of course, had I known that my daughter was still alive, I would never have let myself fall into that pit. As long as I have a purpose, a reason for living, it becomes a part of my being to strive towards that goal. At first, it was watch my daughter grow up, alongside my wife.

Then, after she was taken from me, I threw myself into making sure that my sunshine, my Abigail didn't have to hurt. I kept her too busy for her to feel the pain.

I claimed that responsibility. I always had a fallback. When my mother left, when my father took to the streets, when my wife died, I always had something to take it's place. My goals got smaller and smaller, my world became embodied in a single person.

I helped her to become so much more than she thought she would ever be. And then it was extinguished.

I was never one for acting impulsively. I always planned every little detail, bode my time. I waited for just the right moment to strike, to crush the serpent's head.

So, until I could find a perfect way to murder the man who watched my world disintegrate and tried to pay it off, I threw myself into the work I had. After creating the laws of Robotics, I had gained a job at the best school I could find, with the brightest students, who would need even brighter teachers.

I knew that it would offer little solace, but it was all I had, and as the years passed, the sharp, piercing pain faded away to a dull ache. I was able to let my mind wander from the loss, and run with my ideas—which mainly involved murder.

The students were just as brilliant as they had always been. Even more so, as they heard of the loss of my daughter. I remember one in particular, my star student, a young man of infinite potential. Having lost his parents nine or ten years before, he was no stranger to the heartache.

He was no Abigail, and I was certainly no father figure, but perhaps a bright young figure in my life did more for healing than I thought.

I would be lying if I said we weren't, at the very least, close in ability. As a result of this, I often let him work with me on projects which, while successful most of the time, never felt quite right. I never told him exactly what they were for, and so he never knew that, over the years, he was helping to develop Krei's murder weapon.

I may not have shared anything with him, but he was an open book. I learned about his life at home, his projects, goals, family—limited and dysfunctional as it was. I began to look forward to the late nights where I would be able to leave behind my own suffering to try and keep up—something I wasn't able to do with my own child.

Now that I think about it, his ability surpassed my own, but rather than create weapons, he did the exact opposite—discovering a way to heal. He would have been horrified if he had realized that his nights were spent dreaming new ways to murder.

I have never been impulsive. I waited years to take my revenge.

And then, on the night of the SFIT showcase, I saw my chance.

I had met my young friend's brother—a child genius named Hiro. I was sincerely impressed. I had always found it hard to believe that everything he had said about his younger brother was an exaggeration, but if anything, it was a severe understatement. I watched the demonstration, and I watched the pride in his eyes as I handed his brother an invitation to our school.

I was looking forward to seeing him there. I watched them leave, and as I turned to help wrap up, I saw it—the neurotransmitter young Hiro had created—lying on the stage.

An idea formed almost instantly. I was almost alone, there were a surprising few number of volunteers to help, and it would be all too easy to take them.

Who needs to make a murder weapon when you have thousands premade at your beck and call? Wouldn't it be almost too easy to simply take them? I could cover it up. There wouldn't even be a crime to cover up, of course, if they thought I was dead.

I knew what it was I had gained after the fire. I was more than ready to finish what Krei had started.

But it wasn't until my memorial that I realized what it was that I had lost.

In a moment of sentiment, I went to my own memorial. I was curious, hoping that my star student would be there. I had no family, but I was unwilling to let him grieve. He helped me out of my incapacitating depression. I owed it to him, and after all, he was the closest thing I had to a friend.

I searched, confused, wondering why he, of all people, wasn't there. Resigned, I was leaving, when I saw him, and I felt everything grow cold.

I had wanted to find him. But not like this. Never like this.

I rolled the dice. Because of it, I gained the weapon I had been striving for.

Because of it, I reaped the consequences.

I will never forget the complete lack of expression on his brother's face.

I knew that emotion far too well. I had gotten over it in a few moments, and let the numbness fade and give way to anger.

But it was impossible for me not to recognize the feeling of losing your entire world.

We make mistakes. I made more mistakes than anyone. I was incapable of feeling the blame fall on myself when my daughter died. I always found a way to blame everyone else. Even after the fire, after I had to face his brother, I managed to lay the blame on him rather than myself, something that I will never let myself forgive.

I told Hiro Hamada that I had no regret whatsoever. And I had told the truth.

But now I have my daughter back, and I know what regret is.

I regret letting my anger take over. I regret not trying to find my daughter in that portal. I regret the pain I caused. I regret the fire. I regret my thievery, I regret forcing a fourteen year old to grow up faster than anyone should.

And most of all, I regret the death of Tadashi Hamada.