Staring in disgrace. Bring what it begins. Splintered. Severed from reality. Isolated mutant howling at the world's lost causes. At all the things he used to believe in before the vaults were opened and all his empathy released into the ocean. Resting. Rested, Tired and depleted. Stop praying--it only makes me sad. Stop believing because it's just too painful. It's easier to hate them all . . . to believe that you were not spawned by them.