A/N:This chapter is OC centric because I want to give them personalities

Solaria hated breaking rules. The crushing feeling in his stomach made him feel like he was going to throw up. He wasn't taught the right thing; he taught himself. He only had himself. He just always had a deep sense of wrong when doing wrong and a sense of right when doing right.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he knew he was doing the right thing. He was helping people. He was being a good person.

Then why did it feel as though the world was gonna cave on me?

Why did it feel so right to do the grotesque task of killing these people, they don't deserve it, they don't deserve to die,

Then why did it feel right?

Was it because That man had told me it was right? This was right? To give this mundane world a better color with the price of lives? I would say I would be grateful that I'm the one living and not lost in a sea of colors instead of being buried six feet deep.

But I don't want to be the one killing either, I don't want to be stuck with blood on these felt hands no one wants to hold, they smell, I can smell these people, I can hear them, they're screaming, they're calling me to help-no, no, they're calling me a monster

Solaria sat at his immaculate desk, a single lamp casting a stark light over the paper in front of him. The room was silent except for the steady scratching of his pen as he meticulously documented the latest experiment outcomes. Each word felt heavier than the last, burdened by the ghosts of those who had perished under his directives.

And the man whose control he can never rid of

Walden Darling, the name alone is enough to send a chill down my spine. A man of power and influence, capable of both great benevolence and unfathomable cruelty. I've seen the depths of Walden's ambition, his unwavering determination to achieve his goals at any cost. And yet, there's something else lurking beneath the surface, something that whispers of darker truths hidden in the shadows.

As I write with this hand, the hand that pulled the lever for the machine of terror, the grinder, the words come haltingly, each stroke of the pen feeling like a betrayal. Walden's commanding presence, his sharp intellect, his piercing gaze that seems to strip away all pretense and lay bare the truth. But try as I might, I can't capture the essence of the man, can't convey the fear that gnaws at my insides whenever Walden is near.

The memories flood back, unbidden and unwelcome. The clandestine meetings in dimly lit corridors, the whispered conversations filled with veiled threats and unspoken promises. I've seen Walden's darker side, felt the weight of his gaze like a physical presence pressing down on me, suffocating me with its intensity.

But even as I write, I can't escape the nagging doubt that lingers in the back of my mind. Is it fear that drives me to write about Walden in such a way, or is it something else entirely? A twisted fascination, perhaps, born of equal parts admiration and terror.

I had surprised myself when I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror, to see the shell of the man I became.

It's an unspoken rule of the universe that one must sleep, yet I can't, I can hear them all, I can still see then when I close my eyes,

I've never been afraid of the dark, yet when I see the blinding lights of something, I remember the glow of color and it terrifies me.

This anxiety and paranioa I can never control... Terrifies me

The ink is drying on the page like bloodstains of my conscience. I've written what's expected of me, what Walden would want to see. But deep down, I know that no amount of words can capture the true essence of the man who haunts my every waking moment. And as I fold the paper and seal it with wax, I can't shake the feeling that I'm sealing my own fate in the process.

As Solaria wrote, the ink seemed to bleed into the paper, blurring the lines of his carefully crafted sentences, describing more of his guilt and the mad red eyed man. His chest tightened, and he paused, placing a hand over his heart as if to steady its rapid pounding. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control

But the faces of the test subjects haunted him, their eyes pleading for mercy that never came, their eyes that bore hatred for the monster who watched their demise play.

The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk. Solaria's vision swam as he clutched the edge of the table, his normally composed demeanor fracturing under the weight of his guilt. He closed his eyes, but the memories only grew more vivid. The cold, clinical environment of the lab, the cries of pain, the silence that followed.

A cold sweat broke out across his pale skin, and he felt a wave of nausea. "Not now," he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't afford this." But no amount of rational thought could stem the tide of panic washing over him.

His breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps. Solaria's usually steady hands trembled uncontrollably as he reached for the glass of water on his desk, nearly knocking it over. He managed to take a sip, hoping it would calm him, but the cool liquid did little to quell the storm inside.

He gripped the armrests of his chair, willing himself to focus. "You're in control. You have to be in control," he repeated, a mantra meant to anchor him, though it felt increasingly hollow. The thought of Walden, with his unwavering expectations and silent judgments, loomed over him like a dark cloud.

"please... It's okay, he's not here, no ones here, you're alone, please you're alone, no ones gonna hurt you" He bleated, he can feel the eyes, the arms that reached, they clawed at him,

As the anxiety tightened its grip, Solaria's mind raced through every decision he had made, every life he had deemed expendable for the greater good of the factory. His justification for the factory's cruel operations seemed increasingly flimsy in the face of his mounting guilt. The pragmatic facade he maintained was crumbling, revealing the deeply troubled man beneath.

"I can't... Stop it, I see you, I hear you" he almost sobbed

The door to his office creaked open slightly, and a head peered in
"everything alright?" A calm, measured voice was a lifeline in the storm.

Solaria forced himself to meet the other's gaze, though it felt like lifting a thousand pounds. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice strained. "Just... a momentary lapse."

The other didn't seem convinced, but he nodded, respecting Solaria's space. "If you need anything, I'm here."

As the door closed, Solaria forced himself to stand. He walked unsteadily to the window, looking out at the darkened factory grounds. The cold glass against his forehead was a small comfort. "You have to be strong," he whispered to himself. "For the factory. For whatever the hell..."

But as he stared into the night, Solaria couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself with every decision, every life taken in the name of progress. And for the first time, he wondered if the cost of his actions was too high a price to pay.

He can never forget the names of those he had taken