The healthy human mind doesn't wake up in the morning thinking this is its last day on Earth, but I think that's a luxury, not a curse; to know you're close to the end is a kind of freedom – a good time to take inventory – out-gunned, out-numbered, out of our minds; on a suicide mission. But the sand and the rocks here, stained with thousands of years of warfare – They will remember us, for this. Because, out of all our vast array of nightmare, this is the one we choose this for ourselves; We go forward, like a breath exhaled from the earth, with vigor in our hearts and one goal in sight: We. Will. Kill him.