They always said I looked like I was thinking deep thoughts constantly, but in reality, I was just empty.
There's one thing that no amount of chemical alterations in my body can change, and that's my inability to cry for fiction. But is it a good thing, then, that I CAN distinguish reality from fiction?
When all other joys of life fail you, the thrill of combat is all that remains.
I may be a sick bastard, I have no problem with that. But, considering the fact that a person is for the major part a product of their community, what does that say about the society where we live in? The society where everyone rat races after money/status, the society where it is common practice to resolve problems by ruining someone's life?