Six days had passed since they put me in isolation. I was panting leaning my back against a wall covered in blood. My knuckles were bleeding. I had used up all of my anger. I had enough: I was tired.
What had I been doing these last few years? Nothing. My arrogance drove me over the edge and corrupted me. I tried to kill one of the best friends I've ever had. Namely Ralph. And now I'm sitting in a room contemplating about it while Roger is repeating my mistakes. He's hurting my subordinates, controlling them with fear just like I did it. Maybe it really is time for me to repent, huh?
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The psychologist was checking up on me. "So, what's it like, killing people?" he inquired. It had become his standard question after me becoming a scapegoat.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?" I had confused him.
"I've never killed someone before." I said, smiling weakly.
"Answer me honestly." he was getting angry at me.
"If you really want to know, why don't you ask Roger? Since he's killed people before. Physically and mentally."
"Now you try to deny it?! You're guilty for killing them no matter what you say!"