Well, this is it. End of the line.

In less than 24 hours, we'll be sitt-tt-tt-ting behind our individual tables writing our test papers-ers for the marks we think we deserve. We're not going anywhere, but it seems so distant-tant.

We're going to see where we stand. We're going to sit and wonder - what the hell are we doing-ing here-ere-ere-ereeeeeeee-rerrrrr---errorcode synth_5%20.

CONSOLE: Proxy Emit phial 42 39 63 endte.

--
There isn't much point wishing it was all over. We chose this path, now we pay the consequences. This is the true essence of our situation - we are given the illusion of free choice. We were giving the illusion of free choice. We're always given the illusion of free choice. Either way we all sit for the same bloody examinations, go through the same bloody tests. There's no point in wishing it was all over. We chose this path, now we pay the consequences.

We chose this path...

There's no point making your stomach do feats either. There's no sense crying over every mistake.

But there's no sense crying over every mistake.
You just keep trying till you run out of cake.
And the science gets done
And you make a neat gun
for the people who are
STILL ALIVE

Grades. They're just numbers. Numbers that decide your future and define your past. You get what you work for. They are not mutually exclusive. Well, don't just stand and stare. You get nothing from just looking.

END CODE PROXY EMIT

This is the end, my friend. So much has changed since you last left the building. Not that I wish to imply that you have been sleeping on the job. No one is more deserving of a rest, and all the effort in the world would have gone to waste until--

Well, let's just say your time has come again. The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.

So wake up, friend. Wake up, and smell the ashes.







Arshad.