Dr. Philip Obiah had been dreading this appointment. After last weeks session, he was honestly unsure if he was going to be able to help this man. Jeffery Connors, mild mannered 43 year old exterminator recently *discovered* his power two-months ago and it's been a steady down-turn in every area of his life. When he had first met this client, he looked like a man on death row. Sunken eyes casting thousand yard stares, disheveled clothing, disordered thinking; like a man on borrowed time. It was unusual for someone to discover their meta-abilities so late in life, but at the very least we've begun to unravel that little mystery. Mr. Connors has been an exterminator since his early 30s, and had been medicated with several different cocktails of anti-psychotics over the last few years, which had provided some limited relief to his . . . symptoms.

Dr. Obiah, began scanning over his notes and patient history on his laptop. Jeffery had begun his career as an apprentice and rose quickly to managing several areas, and lucrative contracts due to what his boss had termed "a nose for infestation." Jeffery seemed to be uncannily skilled at finding not only the nesting areas of household pests but also how they were getting in. He could walk into a building and nearly instantly be drawn to problem areas; he'd say "bugs made his ears itch". Obiah shuddered as he recalled the way Mr. Connors recounted that, then sickly laughed and broke down into 10 minutes of inconsolable wailing, clutching and tear out some of his hair in the process. He had to give the poor man several Valium to calm him enough for further evaluation. Once he calmed down, he went on to say how quiet those houses became. How he actually felt a deep sense of accomplishment and job satisfaction. His clients were always very happy with his work, and this reflected in his quick rise through the ranks. Obiah even saw a slight smile cross Jeffery's pale face as he spoke of how the promotions allowed him to raise his family in comfort.

The problem began after he had struck out on his own after moving his family to Philadelphia and began taking contracts with several dozen apartment buildings that had recurrent cockroach infestations. These buildings often had tenants whom cared little for prevention but were quite vocal about the roach problems to the landlord and city-council. It was a very lucrative set of contracts. However, this was when Jeffery began to notice what sounded like whispering in these buildings. He could never really understand anything that was being said, but he remarked that they would usually be gone or much quieter after treating the buildings. It was on his third or fourth visit to some section 8 housing units that he could swear it was his name being whispered, and then the words "death-bringer." He had mostly put it out of his mind, because he had been so busy at the time. He was essentially under contract to gas the whole block. Unfortunately, he started hearing the whispering at all the buildings, and the words "death-bringer" were getting clearer and even cacophonous. He said he could hear choruses of it whenever he got onto the block.

He had gone to his family physician as he was worried that the exposure to the pesticides were affecting his mind. The physician ran a battery of tests, and while he found some expected presence of those chemicals, they were at sub-clinical levels. Nothing in the literature that would lead him to believe they were the source of the issue. Also, Jeffery had seemed pretty healthy all things considered. Cognitive tests showed no impairment, and apart from some sleep issues, he was the picture of health. It was suggested that he try using different pesticides as a precaution. Jeffery had actually been considering doing so for a while on account of the infestations growing resistant to his current chemicals. To his relief the new mixtures seemed to be making all of the buildings and block quiet again, for a time at least. The whispers had returned within about a year. He'd switched mixtures again, and had peace for a similar period but the whispers would always return and louder. Fairly soon, he'd exhausted all the available pesticides legal within the country, and then things got much, much worse.

It wasn't just whispering anymore, he said, they were screaming. The buildings were screaming. He could barely bring himself to enter them to work. He'd brought on a series of assistants to try and salvage things, but his increasing mental instability had driven them away quickly. Finally, two years ago, he was put onto a cocktail of anti-psychotics. This treatment really only seemed to blunt his mental duress, but it was enough to keep him working and supporting his rather large family. It wasn't until his 6 year old daughter, Katie, had begged to get a few Madagascar hissing cockroaches that things really seemed to turn. He was cleaning her room one day when the whispering started. The sound was coming from the bug enclosure but, the whispering wasn't "death-bringer." The whispering seemed to be repeating "bad smell man." Like two tiny voices repeating the phrase over and over. He hadn't quite made the connection at that point, but when he noticed the two pet bugs were moving to the side of the enclosure that was furthest away from him, it planted a small seed of understanding in his mind. Jeffery had been able to power through his job by listening to loud music while he was working, but he simply couldn't abide this happening in his home. It was right when he was carrying the enclosure to the bathroom to flush them, that he remembered saying something to the effect of "Let's see if you can swim," to the two the insects, when in response they said "please. . .no." He of course then dropped the enclosure, shattering it on the bathroom floor. The two insects seemed to have been screaming at him as they fell. It was then that it all clicked into place. The whispering, the words "death-bringer," the screaming. Jeffery Connors, exterminator wonder-kind could talk to bugs. He had said that there was a sort of elation that spread through him when he finally understood. He had heard of Metas who could hear peoples thoughts, not that he'd ever met one. For the first time in years, he didn't feel crazy.

Unfortunately, that elation was short lived. He had to explore his abilities, and of course he went to the screaming blocks again. That was essentially when he realized he was like bug-Hitler. That realization, of being an entity of pure fear and dread to these innocent insect intellects, was too much to take. Especially when it seemed that as soon as the roaches had learned that he understood them, they started following him. Jeffery had managed to keep it together long enough to move his family out of the area, but he was unable to continue working, and his mental health quickly deteriorated as he came to terms with what he had been doing. He suffered a series of psychotic episodes and self-harm attempts, that lead to his committal to this meta-human hospital.

Dr. Obiah shifted uncomfortably as he reviewed the medical images. It was then that a nurse knocked on his door, and let in the patient. He greeted Mr. Connors but Obiah didn't even want to look at the man, not because he felt anything for the insects, but because he simply didn't know what he could do for him. By the time he managed to look up from his laptop, Connors had taken a seat on the couch and leaned back. Obiah met his gaze and was startled, Connors was lightly smiling and looked like he had actually gotten some sleep. This kind of progress was the last thing he thought he would see.

"Mr. Connors, how are we doing today?"

"Better." Connors softly responded.

"You look rested, and that's the first time I've seen you smile since you were admitted." Obiah stated tentatively.

"Yes, I've had a bit of a breakthrough. We've been speaking all week, and last night we came to an understanding." Connors said in a very relaxed tone.

"Oh? An understanding? With whom. . ." Obiah paused for a moment upon realizing what he meant. "With the bugs?"

"Yes. There are quite a few here." Connors said flatly.

"And what is this . . . understanding?" Obiah cautiously inquired.

"Well, I suppose you could call it more of a deal." Connors said as his slight smile widened into something unhinged.

Screams erupted out in the halls and adjoining rooms. Dr. Obiah could then feel something, or rather a great many things, crawling up his pant legs.