Scorpions. It was a bountiful harvest. There were so many of you. Was it the leap day that drove you from your holes, or did you dream me weak in my state of suffering? Fools. Pain has only sharpened my hatred. Agony is a whetstone for my contempt. I may have ran a marathon, but I can always spare another step to crush you under foot. Brutalizing you has given me resolve. I would gladly cross another 26 miles to bring you death and ruin. A delivery of vengeance. A parcel of slaughter. Postage due. The cost being your very lives.