Alex was tired. The Process had sapped all his strength, and all he could do was breathe, for even seeing or listening was too much. The smell and feel of his own skin charring was now nothing but a faint hum in the background of his suffering, as the towers crumbled. And in the silence that followed, the ashes whispered the tales of a world that once was.

  "Goddamn, 12 days passed faster than a leaky fart." he suddenly spoke out. Yesterday, now, tomorrow, all blended into a messy blur as all he wanted do was lie in wait for the sweet nectar that was death. Even so, he knew it was but a half-piped dream to think that They would let him off so easy. A lone voice echoed out into the void "I have lived, loved, died over and over again. And yet, this shit doesn't seem to get any easier" Alex said to himself, as he finally decided to get up Trillions of lives bore upon his shoulders as his own personal chainmail of grief and yet, it wasn't enough.

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  There was one last job he had to do.

  For the greater good.