Look again at the Maltese vertigo near the

Look again at the Maltese vertigo near the keypoint. Subservient feelings will attempt a cover up, but you must not give way. Look and see them, on the canyon cliffs, bleeding on

the edges of your sanity. Corroding it with the gore you begot. The will ebbs from the core of something you barely recognize. Something that was forged in you before you knew

that old people smelled funny. Not funny, really - just off, like milk about to go bad at any minute. That's what it was like. Something you dreaded happening to yourself, but you

fear the opposite even more. What's preferable, old age or death? The years had not been kind and the discount plastic surgeon he used was surely a mistake. It became clear the day

he was released from the discount plastic surgery clinic. Really, his skin became clear, transparent. You could see the capillaries and subcutaneous fat deposits

take drastic action, he reached into the kitchen drawer and chose the sharpest knife he could find. Testing it's edge along the ball of his thumb,

oops the knife slipped. Max's blood dripped down onto the kitchen floor in the house where he planned to commit one of the most satisfying hits of his career of an assassin

by exterminating his competition. Adding his own blood to make it appear as self defense was an excellent way to cover his mistake. Now if he could only

some how defeat the others to making it look as if the had done it them selves. Well, this is the last chance I better do it right he thought as he zoomed toward his next victum.