A/N: Syndrome has a potty mouth! Of course, I myself am a foul-mouthed heathen (literally), so I don't have much room to talk.

All I ever wanted was to be a god, like him. That's all. Is that really so terrible? Is it really so much to ask?

Maybe. Probably. My shitty luck.

And it's too late to change it now.

I've never studied philosophy or religion — too "fuzzy logic" for me — but I think whatever gods there are, if there even are any gods, must hate me. Otherwise, why would it have ended like this?

I guess I at least made them tremble before I fell.

Not that it makes any difference.

Oh hell, it hurts. I don't even want to think about what's happened; that I'm dying, that some lucky homeowner is gonna find a dead supervillain in his bushes. I hope it's a pain in the ass to get me out of here. Make as much trouble as I can, even when I amdead.

I've never really thought about death before. Maybe, though, just this once, I'll be able to sleep without the nightmares.

And it's not as if I really have anything to live for, not really. I mean...Mirage. I shouldn't have done that to her. I've been blind, in more ways than one.

Here, in the end, I guess I have nothing. Again. And this time, it's my fault.

Ahh, what the hell do I know?

I...maybe...I wish I could tell Mirage that I'm sorry. It wouldn't do any good, though...but maybe I really do love her.

I shouldn't have treated her like she was disposable. But I was...irrational, I'll admit.

No excuses...not now...and I know it.

Let it go. I can't...do anything about it.

Let it end.