When fighting for freedom never wear new plants.

My augmentation had included the binding of my DNA to some of history’s most notorious assassins. I am the perfect killer in every sense of the word, because I am every killer. I’m the act of change possessed in a revolver. I am revolution packed into a suitcase bomb. I am every Mark David Chapman and every Charlotte Corday. I am Luigi Lucheni slow-dancing with Balthasar to the tune of semi-automatics, while Gavrilo Princip masturbates in the corner with bath-tub napalm. I am all of them, and so much more, because I am going to live forever.

— Right now my old self is holed up in the sixth floor of the book depository listening to freeform jazz on an eyedropper full of pure LSD. We’ll attempt to reason him, but as you’ve all seen, I’m not exactly a reasonable man.

I was having the strangest dream. I was on an island ruling over a small tribe of sentient typewriters, all of whom were writing my memoirs.