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Alva is too big. He's quite simply beyond the reach of the law.
Damn! This guy isn't a hitman -- he's the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
When I was a kid, I used to have this parakeet. And sometimes, when I'd open up his cage to clean it... he'd escape. The little bird would see the backyard and make his move. Invariably, he'd head straight for the window, fast as he could. And inevitably, crack his head on the windowpane... a barrier of glass, unseen and incomprehensible to him. So he'd try again, over and over... until, spent and defeated, he couldn't try any longer. My bird made a common error. He mistook being out of his cage... for being free. The parakeet died a long time ago, without ever enjoying the freedom of the yard. The boy grew into a man, who spent many years bumping his head against a similar barrier: a ceiling of glass, unseen and incomprehensible to him. The lesson is clear: escape is impossible until one perceives all of the barriers. My name is Curtis Metcalf. But you can call me Hardware.
I never thought about dying before. It makes me want to live.
This doesn't have to continue. I can end it. One final mission. No more endangering the innocent. No more pointless engagement with those who are irrelevant to my cause. Today it ends, with one final descent into this pit of my own elaborate construction. The answer was always there. I just refused to see it. All the evils I battle have one father. And in more ways than one, he's also my father. Kill the source of the corruption, and the corruption dies as well. And as sure as the sunrise, Edwin Alva will die at my hands.
Not yet. Not before I tell you what I've been up to all night. First, I hit your safe. I've taken your personal journal, your research notes and anything else that might help me to piece together the structure of your organization. I couldn't crack the security on your computer, not in the time available. So I copied everything. I'll browse through the stuff at my leisure. With that information, I'm going to take your organization apart, piece by piece. When I'm finished with you, you'll be living on the street. And one night, as you're scrounging for a meal from a garbage can, cursing the day you ever heard my name. One night, after you realize you're as low as you can go and that I'm the one who put you there -- I'll walk up to you, drop a nickel in your beggar's cup -- and then I'll kill you.
I'm on you. Just try something else, anything. And you can give your soul to the lord... cause your Ass belongs to me.
If you move, this young lady's going to have a very tough time cleaning what's left of you out of her carpet.
I can never undo the evil I've committed in the name of my vendetta. I can't make up for what I've done. Bu I can live up to my ideals from now on. I can do better. And so can Hardware. First it was about vengeance. From now on, it's gonna be about justice.
Flying without the armor. Rough treatment on an Armani.
I'm not that good a guy, you know? I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I'll probably do some more.
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