[i]I suppose whatever I was after in making our little organization was purely out of spite. Spite for what you might ask? I'm not so sure myself. Not anymore, at least. I was betrayed by the people I called my friends. Only the few in our group stuck by to the end. I can't thank you enough for that, but I can't call this place home any longer. They don't care, though. I used to think it's funny, how people chose to end their lives. They did it to spite the world they live in, or lived, to be precise. But the kicker to me is that even if you do it, you'll never get to see how it turns out. You never get to see if anyone was moved, or even if they took notice. I understand that it's not out of spite, but out of sorrow. They care what happens: they care how other people feel. It doesn't matter if one decides to leave, not to them. What matters is that everyone else can keep on going. It's almost selfless in a way. They never would know if someone decided to take the fast way down, not unless they were told. They would care if the person meant something to them. If they didn't... Then I guess they did the world a favor after all. I bequeath to you my sword, Blood Ribbon. It's not a katana, but it needs a new owner. One worthy of it's complex simplicity. And who better to give the nostalgic blade to the most nostalgic member here... So if they ask whatever happened to me, whatever became of Old Six-Wing, tell them what they want to hear. Tell them that they won, or that I gave up. Tell them I moved on. There's no point in holding everyone else back: I'm trying to do them a favor, after all. Tell them that things are going to get better, and then, for all our sakes, make it so. Maybe you'll find me one day. Until next time, Luis.[/i]