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I'm sorry. And I'm a liar.
I'm sorry. And I'm a liar.
You all seem to think I'm a giod
person, that I'm... worthwhile. I'm not. In London, I worked with
oathbreakers and timberwolves, lrt them experiment and kill because I
needed their help. I've sold runners out to proxies and timberwolves
out to rinners, and I've killed inoocent people time and again. thwn
o put on a smule, blogged about the good things, played at beinh
decent. I'm a fucking fraud. When they broke mu leg, I deserved evry
goddamn moment.
The axoth won't let me kill mydelf.
Nothing so simple. I sent Deimos my location. This safehouse is full
of ebery bomb I have. One way or the other, this ends.
Maybe there's something beyond, with
Jeff and Pascal and Jinn. You've got to have hope, right?
Veigar, I owe you so damn much, but I
was never coming back from this. Sent everything I could find on
Bill. Hope it helps.
Sanna, sorry things ended like this. I
know you can get through this, live the life you wanted. Please.
Sam, I left skin cells, blood samples,
parts of my diary. Same place as that first book on the cold ones.
Might be useful.
Linux, if you're reading this. Good
luck.
Goodbye