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It has to end. Somewhere along the line, it has to end. To make my stand is futile, and to hope for an end is pointless. In desperation is where my plea comes forward; it has to end. Please, to any who can head my call, tell me now, do you see an end? No. No, there is none. Only in death will I be free. And what is there to live for? A world of evil? People who I despise? What keeps the gun from my hand? My friends? it must be. They are my last line. Please, don't let me lose them, too. Let them, at least, remain...