(unedited) Freewrite

Instructions

I'm going to vomit because I can taste my fear. It's bitter and salty and I can't compose myself enough to walk into their cell, their padded cell, walls coated with grime and grief long past. So for now, for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few lifetimes, I'll stay here. Hunched over, hands gripping the back of my stiff chair, right outside their room. Cowering from my own emotions like a sheep from a wolf. "Dear gods above, I know! I know I'm scared!" I'm shouting because some things you can't contain. I shove the chair away and turn to my wastepaper basket, lined with a thin plastic bag, and- there goes lunch. My eyes can't focus, I can't focus, and now I wonder why I ever decided to do this. Why did I have to be the bad one? I don't want to play this role anymore. But maybe this is just how it was meant to be. Maybe I was meant to play the bad guy. Now I'll have the role secured. I'll be the bad guy, for always and forever. I used to be the good one, though. I knew I was good because they looked happy. They looked happy when I did their dirty work, but now all I get is an insincere smile. But I have to keep going. They will love me if I do this, right? This will make them happy, right? I know I've morphed into a monster, but maybe that's okay. Now I'm the person who has kidnapped the city's best hero. The one who'd tied the prized one to a chair and was currently preparing to... end their reign. I have to do this now, I can feel it, doubt starting to crawl down my throat and wrap around my emptied stomach. I step away from my desk, straightening the collar of my shirt, and approach the door. Carefully, as if it was made of ice, I unlock it and press it open. I don't bother to scrape the tears from my face, I know there would be more to replace them if I did. The hero's hauntingly empty face leers at me. "Hello," It's too blank. The hero is emotionless, not even summoning any semblance of an attempt to escape. "Please- Please!" I try to step forward calmly, but instead, once the words slip from my mouth, I rush forward, pushed by grief. Grabbing their shoulders, I start to ramble. My bosses don't like it when I do this, have a meltdown in front of my victims, but as long as I get the jobs done then they won't be too upset. "I have to kill you! And- And I'm scared so please- Please. Just break for me. Break, don't make me do this on my own!" "You're getting emotional," They chime, always reminding me. Still nothing. They meet my eyes with their own, but their gaze is meaningless, no emotion conveyed. There is never any emotion conveyed. "I'm always emotional, you know I am!" I screech, shoving them and the chair they were locked onto backward, sliding it to slam against the wall. This didn't evoke anything other than a grimace of pain as the furniture tipped back, falling so the hero on it was staring up at the ceiling. "Feel! Just feel!" "I don't do that. Sorry. I don't get why you are so upset," Their eyes flick to my tearstained face. "Although I never get it," "Then why do you do all this? How can you be so good when you can't feel it?!" I scream. New tears are pooling on my cheeks, rushing down my face, dripping off the tip of my nose. They reply, head tilted awkwardly to face me, their facial features empty of any reaction as their eyes continue to hesitate on mine. They are the opposite of me in every way. They don't know, and they never will. Is that how you win? Is being other the only way to fix the world? "How can you be evil when you can?" They murmur.