"At first I wanted to see them pay. The revenge impulse is natural, after all. One causes you pain and anger, you wish to return it. Human nature. Over time, however, I decided that it would be more interesting to see how they worked. The way they moved. They speed, the strength. Was it bioelectricity or some kind of endothermic reaction? It required research."
A man sat in the darkness, his voice wavering faintly with the tremolo of the slightly unhinged. He was being observed through a window by another man, one in a professional-looking suit and a clipboard, a psychiatrist. His bearing and manner were perfectly designed to try to set those he worked with at ease, but this one seemed too distractable, too unpredictable.
The conseratively-dressed man scribbled some things on the margin of his clipboard. He asked a short question of the man in the cell. Perhaps to jog his memory. "What was it that changed your mind?"
The man rocked back and forth, burning eyes staring out of the shadows of the cell towards the man. "I am not sure, really. Perhaps it was when I was lying in a crevice, feeling the beast just out of sight consume one of my associates. It was quite hungry, I believe. But such strength! Do you know the amount of force required to completely separate an arm from the body with blunt force trauma? No? I didn't think so."
The man in the cell shifted, then. "You think I'm insane. Perhaps I am. It would be a relief, wouldn't it? Far better than admitting what my senses told me."
The psychiatrist shook his head. "You experienced some trauma. It's not unusual. With some time, we can work out what ha-"
The man cut him off with a sharp movement. "You're deluding yourself. I've seen what I've seen. isn't that what we scientists are trained to do?"
"Of course, but sometimes confusion can set in, especially in traumatic experiences-"
"HAH! You can't even comprehend trauma... And joy. Yes, joy can be just as dangerous..."
The psychiatrist made a couple more notes, and then stood. "You're probably right. Please, remember to take your pills. They'll help you. Dr. Moritz."
"Yes, yes." Victor said. He hated those pills. They clouded his mind, made everything fuzzy. He couldn't THINK...
Some time later, after successfully palming his medication and flushing it down the toilet, he looked up at the scrawlings on the wall. He didn't have much, but he had to record it. Record something, before he forgot everything he learned. The Black Count was quite generous. Generous indeed...
And the price wasn't that egregious. After it was gone, he didn't even miss it anymore.
It was... Therapeutic, really.