The enemy cuts deep this night… with knives made of pain, regret, emptiness, failure.
The enemy knows that it is best to cut out the middle man… What has metal to do with pain and death when the stuff of the universe itself rises to shape and forge your weapon? Why bother in material stuffs when absolute purity of force and direction, and murderous intent of the highest caliber are ample and within grasp? There is no middle-man in this world, no call for his wares. In this place, death has had all it will ever need of practice. In this place economy and speed are one in the same, and life is cheaper than at any time on the timeline of humanity's existence.
*Funny how the very construct and concept of economy exists even in scenarios imagined and however wildly exaggerated.