Disclaimer: I own nothing, just a short drabble.

A man sat in his chair hunched over his desk, intensely studying the papers on his desk. The only light came from the moonlight and a desk light that shone over what the man was working on. An intense expression was on his face showing a mixture of depression and hurt; it looked as if memories were flashing behind his dark eyes.

The sound of a pen scratching on a piece of paper was the only sound heard in the room. It had been the only sound for quite some time and if one were to listen in it would be dreadfully boring.

The pen was simply writing names while at the same time crossing them off. One list was easily printed off of the internet while the other was a mix of handwritten names and numbers. The names and number would have no meaning to most people but the few that would understand it would recoil in horror once they would be able to recognize it.

It was simple, all it was, was a list of names of almost two thousand of those who died and the other was a rapidly growing list of those who had been saved.

It didn't help much the hurt was still there and he was sure that there was nothing that he could do to stop it. Anything tried had resulted in failure.

The scars were ripped open and blood would still occasionally trickle from the wound. The knife had been stabbed in his back and was removed years ago, not that it mattered too much anymore. He had got over it and was thankful that he did. It felt as if he had placed a band aid over a bullet hole and it had stemmed the bleeding.

A bead of sweat drifted down his head and past his temple. It hit the paper with a small splash the same sound as a pebble falling into a rain puddle. The man sighed and blinked tiredly.

Looking at the names of those dead and those saved were always some of the worst days for him. No matter what, it seemed to have a negative effect. As if the light had been turned off on the world and he was only able to see the world in black and white.

He was determined to save at least as many people as had died because of his creation. His creation had been the reason of so many deaths and ruining the lives of the family and friends of those people and he was sure that he would be haunted when he was awake and asleep from his own creation.

The worst was when something reminded him of it all on a perfectly ordinary day that was fine, until reality slammed into him like a semi truck.

On the anniversary of those deaths Walter O'Brien sat at his desk listing those who he had saved and those who had died at his hand, or to him it was considered close enough.