Kaspar had become quite sluggish as of late.
The team would often see him in the mornings, shuffling along the dining room floor, drifting in and out of sleep and nearly spilling hot coffee all over himself in his stupor.

When asked what was the matter, Kaspar would simply wave them away and sip his coffee in silence.
They just wouldn't understand, he figured.
Wouldn't understand the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes.
Wouldn't hear the tortured screams of helpless innocents being abused for the sake of "Science".

The team knew full well that Kaspar had been working in the prison camps years ago.
They'd seen the symbol permantently etched onto his chest, but no one had ever dared question him about his past.

Perhaps they thought he enjoyed it all, and, in some ways, he did.

He had always been fascinated with the human body, and enjoyed seeing how it reacted when pushed to it's limits.
But, did he actually enjoy hurting them?
He never quite knew how to answer that question.

If he did truly find pleasure in the pain of those innocents, then why did their screams still echo in his mind, even after all these years?
Why would he wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, gripping his sheets and the plush dog he'd kept since childhood, checking to see if he hadn't wet the bed in his panic?

He'd pondered this often, sometimes pacing the bedroom floor after being jarred by a particularily bad memory, but he had never come to a satisfying conclusion.

All this left him exhausted, and come morning, he'd be almost too tired to get up out of bed.
Perhaps the only thing that kept him from locking himself in his room and sleeping the day away was his morbid curiosity, and the handsome Sniper that would greet him in the morning.