Xylar finished his work and stepped back from the console he had just finished assembling. Reaching out to close the contacts and turn on the device but he stopped. His hand trembled and would not do as he bid. He stood, rigid, feeling the fog descend on his mind again.
He closed his eyes and listened to the rain falling on the roof of the metal building. He could almost hear the whisper in the back of his head. Almost. He knew it wasn't any language he should be able to understand, but he feared he already knew what it meant. Some other will, something alien, was in his head. Focussing, he exerted his will for control of his own mind. Slowly, deliberately, he drove the presence out of him. His own force of will was very strong, but this ... thing was growing stronger again. He had grown used to the pattern. It would grow stronger week by week until it became almost unbearable, he would experience blackouts more and more often. People he would associate or do business with would succumb to it as well, some would disappear - especially if they suspected who he was. When the struggle became too much, he would flee and find a new planet, then the cycle began anew.