Dad, one of my first memories is of sharing my worry with you about the space shuttle poking holes in the atmosphere and letting out all of Earth's air.
The perfect killer has no friends. Only targets.
And what fun is it being a genius if no one appreciates you?
If embarrassment were a muscle, I'd be huge.
My question is, do you believe in an evil possessed of its own purity? or does every act intend some good?
You will find no answers here, just choices.