''Kill me? No. They are satisfied with their idea of mercy, so self righteous, so simple, so cruel... Killing me would have meant popping the nice, little bubble they've created around their eyes, their shield from reality. A man-like monster infested reality from which they couldn't nor wouldn't escape. The bubble needed a bigger needle, begging to pop, like a catholic, teenage cheerleader rubbing her tits in front of a masturbating, inhibriated crowd. Reality was begging for a hero who could destroy that evil sphere, but the inhabitants of their own lie would not recognize such perpetrator as a hero, and they did not. They were begging for a monster... SERVED!''
Tacitus
-The beast is dead, sir
Are we?
