The Reticule writes: "Manhattan is burning. The streets are filled with crushed cars, dead men and the virus. There are outcroppings of resistance and control, both exercising their share of both. Neither side is worth fighting for, but then, neither is the side I'm on, if there even is one. I was forced under the delusion that I might be able to stop it, slow the spreading, but I'm just as useless as the military, and just as deadly as the virus they fight. I'm not sure who I am any more, or if I ever was anyone at all. It's all gone to hell, and I'm the one that sent it there."