"Being mortal means pain and suffering. You have to know that Death awaits your inevitable end." - Logan "Sw1tch" Cruz.

"That damn quote, that stupid morbid quote, I used to laugh at it, I used to ignore it because I didn't want to think about it. But you? You gladly embraced it, spent everyday inviting it just so you could spit and laugh in its face and it worked, I don't know how but it did. Then one day you went too far. What happened next? You told me to run, you told me to lay low. You promised that you would meet me in New York. You just had some business to take care of in Las Vegas, you were going to war, you told me not to worry, you'd make it out, you always found a way. Against my better judgment, I did what you told me, I always did. I got out. I ran. I hid. I waited. Then hours later I got my answer..."

A shadowy man walked up to me and handed me $23,940 and said "Sw1tch would want you to have this."  It was then I realized you weren't coming back for me. You knew deep down didn't you? I should have told you to shove your pleas and stayed with you and fought. I should have stayed. Dammit. I should have stayed!

"Now everything is raw, broken and fused back together in a jagged version of reality that makes my head spin. And there lies the crux of the problem, or at least the crux of one of the many problems currently hounding me, threatening to crush me beneath their cumulative weight. My head. My ears. My hands. My teeth ache in my skull. The taste of iron is heavy in my mouth. My heartbeat throbs painfully in my chest, the rhythmic thump-thump reverberating in my skull. It all reminds me that I'm alive but at a very high price. I don't know how much time I have left myself so I guess I have to make the most of it don't I? I'm staying in New York. I found a crew with a very familar face. I have a roof over my head. Your gun, I refused to let them take it, and I'm making money. So far so good. Well I don't know what else to say. I'm getting tired and who knows how much sleep I'll get before I'm needed somewhere for something or as you would say go and 'Flip The (Kill)Sw1tch!'. God you were idiot. But luckily you were and ARE my brother, otherwise I would have laughed in your face everytime you said it."

With that said, Makavelli put down his pen, closed the diary he had been writing in ever since Sw1tch's death, the diary he actually had found in Sw1tch's apartment back in Las Vegas when he cleaned it up and sorted through his belongings, he decided to keep a few items and then give the rest away. He ran his hand down his face and slowly got up from his desk, flicked the desk lamp off and made his way to his bedroom where he hoped he got a few hours sleep before facing another day on the Streets of New York and beyond.