Those eyes. Toby’s dark brown eyes were something you loved dearly. You’d stare into them whenever he’d be telling you a story. You loved his eyes. You loved him and he loved you. Well, that’s what he’d say. He didn’t know if he loved you, he forgot what that was like, he only loved his mother and sister. But whenever you said the words and he said them back, it felt good. It felt genuine. And that’s something he doesn’t feel much of these days.

At least it was genuine at first.

Those eyes. Toby’s eyes start to lose the spark they’d typically have when he’s around you and you noticed. You always notice when something’s off with him. He had this almost dead look in his eye whenever he’d look at you, you’ve seen it before with him, Seasonal depression. But he’s never looked this dead before. He grew more distant and cold, always mumbling to himself — you passed it off as paranoia. But it doesn’t mean that you never tried to help him, you did. But he always would shove you away with a snap of ‘don’t touch me’.

It hurt. Of course it would. The man who you loved was pushing you away and you didn’t know why, you knew better not to pry with him as it could set him off, but you needed to know.

“Toby.” Your voice rang out as you stared at him from the doorway, the man standing in the middle of the room. “Tobes,” you try again, stepping into the room. This time his head shot up and he waved you off aggressively. “Get-t-t out!” The raise of his voice made you stop in your tracks, taken aback. Your movements hesitant as you watched him pull at his hair. You slowly moved forwards—against your body's wish and placed a hand on his shoulder.

His head snapped up and he grabbed your wrist, twisting it behind your back and taking you down to the ground, the back of your head smashing into it. He breathed out, staring into your eyes with his. “Ge-eet out!”

Those eyes. They weren’t the ones that you loved. They were distant. Dark, empty, soulless. He stared at you with hatred and bloodlust.

The operator.