At what point could one point at something at say that it had reached an excess? When would a glass of water be too full? Would it be when it was getting to the top, or would it be when the water started drowning those around it? When would Troy say that he was in over his head, drowning in his and other’s blood? When was it too much?

There were many points in his life, where he had had too much of something. It was not always something positive he had gotten in large amounts, tongue lashings being had in plenty. Yet, he could still remember the time he was young, younger than any child around him. If the memory was not failing him, it would have been around the time he was five.

Troy’s uncle still visited him back then, his father inviting the man over whenever they had the chance. Those two pals would drink, shout, and have plenty of sugar that was eerily grey. When those bastards were together, there would always be smiles all around, like they weren't sitting on chairs gotten by stabbing the true buyer down in cold blood.

That gloriousness did not always stay when others came into the picture. Or to be more precise, any time Troy would get into frame, all that laughter would switch around. It was not instantaneous, those two still shouting and drinking. It just got a little more muted each second they had to acknowledge that he existed. Shouts would turn into a normal talk. That would shift into some muttering. After that, it was just an awkward silence which nobody liked.

Uncle Ron was always the first to break it, asking Troy how his day was if he needed anything if he had gotten a boyfriend yet, or just about anything that would make him go away. As the little, dumb kid he was, Troy had not always understood the man’s intentions, taking it as a way to befriend him.

And, how did a little kid befriend an adult? He still was not sure how that was supposed to work, and he sure as hell did not know it back then. The only way Troy had ever talked to an adult other than his parents was either saying sorry for being close to their children or by asking for help with something or other. By a very logical assumption, no kids had been in his presence back then, so ickle Troy decided to use the opportunity to lament about his lack of objects that other kids had in plenty.

He should have known what that grin on Uncle Ron’s face meant when the larger man asked for an example. Back in those ignorance-filled days, he had thought it as an innocent question, that his uncle only wanted to know more. He had thought that he wanted to know more about him. That feeling had carried him for several days.

As the expected example, Troy had mentioned his lack of candy. He was five years old, after all, and it had more than likely come out with a few tears. Seeing other children eat those succulent sweets, loving them enough that they would threaten him with rocks if he came close. Who wouldn't want something of the same, to see just why those round, colourful foods would cause such a change in attitude? As a curious little piece of shit, he certainly did.

Several days after that altercation, Uncle Ron had come back to the house, this time fully without an invite. Even his father had been surprised, clearly having had other plans. Troy was still not sure what those had been supposed to be, yet he had a general idea of it. It certainly had not been important enough to do anyway, as what Uncle Ron had brought with him was much too interesting to not see for himself.

It had been a bucket, white in colour and large enough to contain near ten litres of whatever substance one wanted to keep. There had been some names and a small bit of text on one of the sides, but Troy had not been old enough to read it. What he had been sure of, though, was the smell that had lifted out of the container.

Thinking back on it, Troy honestly had to hold himself back from vomiting. People liked to describe it as a chocolate aroma, yet it truly was as far away from the real stuff as it could possibly be. It was on the level of artificial where the reality was not similarities between it and the real product.

However, that disgusting smell had been heaven for the little stupid him, his nose having it seen as a gift from the heavens. That smile on Uncle Ron’s face fitted better on a devil, but who had the clearance to say such a thing? Certainly not those who knew what hid behind the charade.

When the plastic container was opened up, the most majestic of sites was revealed. From what he could remember, it was called a Chocolate Creme Patissiere. It was basically a bucket-load of pastry cream, ready to be used for whatever purpose as desired.

Uncle Ron had looked so kind, saying that it was all for Troy. He had heard the cries of injustice and has secured the small child as much of the sweet goodness that he could find. More likely than not, the man had just robbed it, but who was to point out that small detail? Troy had only cared about the bucket, and the spoon he had been given to eat with. No bowel to fill up a portion with him had been supplied, though, the young boy just being told to eat straight from the bucket.

That had been no problem at all, Troy had just been happy that he had been allowed to try it at all. That texture felt as the spoon dug in for the first time. The popping of air escaping, after being mushed into the cream, oh it had been so enchanting. He had been so careful, when filling up the utensil, making sure to get as much as he could on the spoon. It had been a risky game of balance, but he had made it survive the trip to his mouth. The young boy had been ready to feel the sweet taste of goodness.

… Troy could still remember that confusion, not understanding why it had no taste. He had been able to feel the cream on his tongue, able to slosh it around in his mouth, yet there was no taste in it at all. Another spoonful had been put in his mouth as if the first bite had just been defective, yet that had achieved the same results as before, nothing coming forth at all.

The two men who had been watching all of the confusion had been falling over, laughing their asses off. Two full-grown men were finding it funny to make a small kid think his dream was becoming a reality. Suffice to say that Troy had not been amused, not liking to be laughed at. He had tried to leave immediately, not wanting to be close to them, yet he was stopped before he could get far.

Uncle Ron had spent so much time getting that gift for him. Leaving before eating it all was disrespectful. The man wanted to see all of it eaten before Troy was allowed to go anywhere. He wanted him to eat the entirety of a ten-litre bucket. Troy had gotten through a whole half-lifter before he had gotten his first accident of that day. That did not stop the two men from pushing him along, making him continue eating it all away.

For better or worse, Troy did finish the entire bucket that day. Sure, most of it had left his stomach long before it was finished, and nothing really did remain in there after an hour. However, it did stop him from ever complaining again about having too few sweets. It possibly also caused an irrational fear of his uncle, but that was a whole other lane in itself.

Not like Troy needed to think of Ron anymore. That fucker got himself burnt to a crisp when he tried to loot one of the older factories. Just because it was unused officially had not stopped anybody from moving in without signing anything. The time it had taken to identify that charred corpse was still so funny, in some twisted way. The teeth had been ripped out, the face had gotten a good bit of it just ripped off by animals, and the only way they successfully identified him was due to a small knife with his name on it hidden inside some synthetic skin on the side of his right foot. That man truly had been a crazy bastard, yet he had taught Troy one of the most important life lessons.

It was a bad idea to reveal the things that were bothering, for others could use that as a weapon, either knowingly or unknowingly. Information was one of the best resources in physiological warfare, and revealing anything personal was just like giving the enemy ammunition. It was a generally bad idea if one wanted to live for a longer period of time.

Troy had revealed his desire to get the same as others he thought his equal, and he suffered greatly because of it. He saw an injustice and was punished for it. Why? There had been nothing to gain from doing that, other than the sickly pleasure that his uncle and dad had felt from it.

…

Could he really have been so criticising of that situation, knowing he was in something similar now? He had a secret that he needed to never utter or even hint at, with the consequence being his shortened lifespan. Yet, keeping it under the wraps was causing effects of its own.

Too much was being hidden. It had begun growing a life of its own, and soon it would fill that cup that kept it sealed off from the rest of the world. When, not if, it was revealed, Troy was not sure if he would survive it. What he had done as of late was already bordering on treason, him learning information several levels below security clearance. It might even have been something outside the traditional system, dedicated only to those with special positions.

There had been thoughts about stepping out of it all, trying to spill everything to Dr Fidelis in the hopes that Troy would be spared. The idea of putting all the blame on Dr Hale been on his mind for some time, honestly. It was not like he had the ability to gain the information for himself, and nearly everything done as of now could have been honed in on Dr Hale’s actions. She had assaulted him twice, the consequences being either internal bleeding or a literal knife wound. This might just have been Troy’s civilian bias, but all of that shit was beginning to get to him.

Treason, mutilation, and all of that other stuff supposed to be for people that… were not him. Troy was supposed to live his life happily, being happy with his fancy job, being happy that he was making a change in the world, and that he could live without worry in the world. He was not supposed to be hiding government secrets from others, learning that others were planning to do something incredibly illegal and that higher-ranking allowed one to assault those below oneself.

This was a job, and that was all Troy wanted it to be. Why could he not just get his way this once? He was already in too deep, the water needed to overfill the glass had already been served. Now, it was just a matter of time before the secrets would flow. If he wanted to be alive after that fact, he needed to get through it all perfectly. He needed to become the perfect actor, to act like normal, and not like he was bandaged by his co-worker after she had swung a knife at him.

The walk to the cafeteria was truly one of stress, powered by the sheer distance. Yet, maybe that length could have its own quality. Maybe Troy could use the length for his own ways. Who could truly know? All of that was subjective to the individual. He just knew he wanted to survive.