It was the kind of the job you could walk away from, apparently. I found it necessary to move from place to place, only to appease my paranoia. Eventually, I felt it was safe to settle down. The American Dream risen from the smell of gunsmoke of one fateful night. Wife, kids, pets, the whole caboose. Some of my children grew up to become successful. My wife contracted breast cancer and lost a breast. She died later, crushed under the van of a drunken man. I grew old and alone. My insurance could never cover my exorbitant medical expenses. I didn’t care because when I needed a machine to breathe, I knew I wasn’t long for this world. It had been a fairly decent run. I had fun. My shares of mistakes, but it was great. Lying in the hospital bed while a gadget pumped oxygen into my nicotine coated lungs, I saw something that filled me with laughter. “What’s the point anymore?! Ha ha heh heh,” I told Vault. The night light of the city slatted his face. He had aged terribly. Rage does this to a person.