Twenty-eight years in that godforsaken jungle. killing soldiers wasn't so bad. I hardly remember it. but burning those villages, watching those naked peasants cry... i see it every day. It's not ptsd, it's the drug. it's only been a week, but it feels like a year. every word is getting longer, the mosquitoes are getting louder. when the drug runs out, time stops, and you're stuck in the jungle forever. it's... grains of sand in a shrinking hour glass. i know what comes next. I need to ask you a favor.