A Matter of Perspective by o0-flyinghigh-0o

I felt like doing a Whitecoat-centric fic, so here it is. It is from the Whitecoat's POV, but it alternates between his thoughts and what Max imagines him to be thinking, it's pretty obvious as you're reading through it. Feel free to take from this what you will (maybe even looking outside Max's narrow view in the books), or you can just enjoy. Reviews much appreciated. Love it, hate it. It's much harder to improve if you don't tell me what works and what doesn't.

Disclaimer: I am simply a penniless writer. I own nothing. Certainly not Max. That would require me to be a rich publisher-whore.

A Matter of Perspective

I am a good man. I am an innocent man. I know these things. I have never doubted these things.

I am an evil man. I am guilty man. I am a faceless man. I am dead man. For one sin, one perceived sin, I am forced to pay the ultimate price.

I am a loving husband. I am a doting father. I am a worthy contributor to what is perhaps the greatest cause of all. I am a scientist.

I am a heartless man. I am a cruel man. I am a sick, sadistic man. I torture children to meet my own ends. I am a Whitecoat.

I am a good man. Why won't you believe me? Everything I do, I do for a reason.

I am an evil man. That's what you keep telling me. Nothing will convince you otherwise.

I am an innocent man. I just want to know. To hold the answers in my hand. Is that really such a bad thing?

I am a guilty man. I took this job. I put on this coat. What else is there to know?

You don't know me at all. You don't want to know me. It makes it that much easier if you can pretend there is nothing more to me than this job. But you don't leave it at that either. You strip all meaning from this job. In your eyes it becomes nothing more than excuse for torturing children. The bigger picture is ignored. Nothing is allowed to be more important than you and your flock.

You know me through and through. You don't want to know me, but you do. Knowing makes you hate me even more. I am the sort of person who would take this sort of job. What meaning can be found here? What bigger picture requires children to be tortured and experimented on? What is more important than denying rights and liberties to a group of innocent children?

My eyes momentarily meet yours. I wish there was someway to get through to you. To make you listen to what we're trying to do. I want you to understand how important this is. How much you'd be helping, not only us, but the entire world.

My eyes momentarily meet yours. I wish there was someway to get to you. To make you run through our hoops, do as we say. I want you to understand how important this is. Without you it will be much harder to achieve our goals.

You take a step towards me. I panic and throw my arms up into the air. I don't expect it'll do much, but I have to do something while we wait for backup to arrive.

You take a step towards me. I throw my arms up in the air. I am bigger than you. I know I'm stronger than you, but this is my turf. For all you know, I might have a gun.

You give me a once over. I see your eyes rest for a moment on my bandaged foot. You know I am weak now. You know I will not stand a chance.

You give me a once over. I see your eyes rest for a moment on the ankle where my gun is concealed. You know I am armed now. There is no point hiding my weapon any longer.

I see you look over my shoulder. From the corner of my eye I can see the rest of your flock making their way towards the door at the end of the corridor. The tall, fair male is already there and has the door opened. It is only a matter of time before you leave me behind and join them.

I see you look over my shoulder. For a moment you are preoccupied with your flock. Your great weakness. While you're busy looking at them, I could be doing anything. One moment of distraction is it all it takes to make my weapons more accessible.

You are tense, poised. For a moment the sunlight catches on your hair and I am reminded of my daughter. Her hair is exactly the same shade. Although her eyes are bright green, just like her mothers. You're going to move soon, now. And I'll be left limping after you, waving my hands in the air. My daughter will laugh when I tell her that.

You are tense, poised. For a moment the sunlight seems to rest on your shoulders and I am reminded of what lies behind them. Your wings make you a freak. They're why we have to keep you, why we can never let you go. You're going to move soon, now. And I'm going to have to shoot you, so we can keep experimenting on you. My colleagues will cheer when I tell them how I brought you down.

You move forward suddenly. Instead of going around me, like I'd expected, you move directly towards me. You reach up and grab before throwing me to the side. I am the one flying this time.

You move forward suddenly. I don't have time to prepare or grab out my weapon. I feel embarrassed, to be beaten by a freak like you. You toss me through the air. I feel myself flailing as I try to regain control.

I crash into a wall. I hear my neck snap.

I crash into a wall. I hear my neck snap.

I am an innocent man, but you have tried me and found me guilty. I will never return to my wife or daughter. Never see them laugh or smile. I didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve this. All I wanted to do was make the world a better place. Does that really call for a death sentence?

I am a guilty man, as they say what goes around comes around. I will never torture another soul. I will never inflict harm on another being. I deserve this. They deserve this. There is one less sick bastard in the world. My death makes it a better place. I've earned this death sentence.

Darkness.

Only Darkness.