He was used to it. The screams, the pleads for mercy. They were nothing but mumbles of incoherent noise to him. Years of this work, pleasing the superiors and fulfilling his tasks. Nothing he did without order seemed to have no reason, he felt empty without that weapon in his hands and that mask against his face. He lost all sense of humanity long ago and he had no interest in anything anymore. Do your job. Reward. Do your job. Reward. Eat. Throw up. Do your job. Reward. That was his daily schedule. His brain only comprehended a modicum of words, "kill," "good," "reward," and "pet." They were either demands or unnecessary noise. Everything about him was gone. He was canal of soulless specks of monotony. Not even she was around. He was certain she was fulfilling the same duties as himself. He doubted escape, doubted freedom, doubted morals and humanity. He was simply a broken vessel of lost life. Of which he would never get back.