There’s not a drop of hero’s blood in my whole body, so spare me the praise. I’m just an ordinary guy, and proud of it. I’m here because I put in the time. I have the blisters on my fingers to prove it. It had nothing to do with coincidence, luck, or the activation of my Wonder Twin powers. I reset the game hundreds of times until my special attack finally went off perfectly. Victory was inevitable. So please, hold off on all the hero talk.

They say people who die in dreams are supposed to live forever.

They ate earth and shat out poison, leaving behind a lifeless wasteland. The alien intelligence that had created them had mastered space travel and learned to send information through time. Now they were taking our world and turning it into a facsimile of their own, every last tree, flower, insect, animal, and human be damned.

My body never changed, but the OS that ran it had seen a total overhaul.

If I lived, she died, and I’d never find someone like her again. If she lived, I would have to die. No matter how many times I ran it through my head, there didn’t seem to be another way out. One of us had to die and Rita didn’t want to talk it through. She was going to let our skill decide.

Like magnets: opposites attract. People are the same. Everyone has their flaws, their quirks. Rub them together, you get friction. It’s the places where they’re different that locks them together.

Food is like war. You have to experience it for yourself.

She didn’t shed a tear. Angels don’t cry.

Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

At the end of the day, every man has to wipe his own ass.