Monsanto lived in a state of constant fear. Not the kind of fear that was open and honest, but an unpleasant sensation that he was constantly walking on eggshells. Every time he spoke negatively about the camps, even if it was barely significant, he could feel tension building in the room. Soldiers would look away suddenly to disassociate themselves from him. He felt words melting in the air as they left his tongue, dripping to the floor, leaving evidence. There was a knot in his stomach that tightened as he attempted to question his situation. Of course, it was natural for the men to be uneasy about his opposing views, but it seemed to him that he shouldn't fear punishment for voicing his concerns. Luckily for him, Bayer hadn't reported his ponderings, and more often than not, he seemed to agree with him. Monsanto could not count on his full support, however. He was young, naïve, and all too willing to accept the way things were.

It was difficult living in an environment where critical thought was discouraged, and although Monsanto was one of many men in the barracks, he felt alone. Oddly enough, he related to the stegoceratops most of all, and would sometimes converse with them while they were forced to plow the fields. It was a bit unnerving for them, considering he carried a gun as he strolled beside them, but some of them would engage in idle chitchat now and then. He listened to their stories, and that made it so much harder when he escorted them to the burning room.

A year passed. Monsanto fell into a deep depression, or something like it. He still dreamed of the dark-haired woman, but she was often replaced by the agonized faces of dying stegoceratops. During one particularly long nightmare, he found himself wading through ash, and there was no question where it came from. It reached his waist, and as his hands glossed over it, it turned to blood. He awoke with the sensation of weeping in his chest, but there were no tears. He listened to the sound of his own broken breath and wondered why he was still allowed to breathe after everything he'd done.

Although Monsanto had never directly taken a life, he was just as much to blame as those who had. Everyone was. From the townsfolk who denied that anything was happening beyond their borders, to the soldiers who worked in silence, to Wala himself, no one was innocent. Monsanto tried to tell himself that he was not guilty of supporting the new regime, but he knew that it simply wasn't true. He considered leaving the army, but decided against it. Whether he stayed or left, he'd be burdened with the knowledge of what was happening, and that he had no power to stop it. He felt like a coward. Every smile from a human selling him bread made his stomach boil. They knew, and yet they still smiled. And was he any better? No, he was not.

One day, he heard a shriek in the hall. Two guards were chasing a young stegoceratops down the corridor. Monsanto thought she looked familiar, but he could have been mistaken. The child scampered between his legs, but hit the wall behind him. Before she could right herself, the men grabbed her.

"You're going to stay put in the closet like a good little girl," one of them hissed.

"Do it, or your mother won't come back today."

The girl whimpered. Monsanto was about to intervene, but Siemens rounded the corner, and the two soldiers fell silent. They placed the stegoceratops on the ground nervously, then backed away. Siemens nodded to the other end of the hall, and they departed. The stegoceratops watched them leave, then turned to him.

"Thank you."

"It was no problem. No problem at all," Siemens said slowly.

Secretly, Monsanto's inner alarm was starting to go off, and when Siemens crouched down in front of the child, he was unable to ignore the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Siemens gave a grin that made his skin crawl, then began to stroke the girl's frill.

"Why don't you come with me? I have some food in my bunker."

The girl's tail began to wag at the prospect of being well-fed for once. Monsanto felt his heart simultaneously leaping and plunging, and knew that this was one moment where he couldn't afford to be a bystander.

"Siemens, you oughta go back to the field. They'll be wondering where you are."

He looked up with a glare that frightened Monsanto, but he stood his ground. After a pause, Siemens sighed.

"Fine. I'll go. There's no use in wasting my time."

He turned back to the stegoceratops, placing his finger under her chin.

"I have a meeting with your mother later today."

He pulled his finger up, snapping her head back uncomfortably. As he marched away briskly, the stegoceratops turned to Monsanto with fire in her eyes. She was clearly upset that he had denied her a chance to be fed. More than anything, he wanted to tell her the truth, but he couldn't find the words. She trotted away bitterly, and Monsanto dragged himself in the opposite direction. Halfway down the hall, without warning, he whipped his head out the window and threw up. When he was done coughing, he wiped his mouth and continued on his journey.

He had no particular destination in mind.