I'm going to stalk you in your waking moments, whispering the doom and fear of your fated decisions, creeping doom through your groggy psyche such that the mere appearance of the Cav shield makes you shudder and cower for fear of that fleeting voice on the periphery of your senses. Your dread of the boogeyman and monsters under the bed will suddenly seem childish naiveties of the shadow of your paranoia; mere happy memories of a time less lethal, less antagonistic, and lacking the daily feeling of being drenched in the gut twisting terror of today where you ashamedly admit that you share breathing space with the Yellow and Black.

Perhaps in time, and intensive psychological evaluation, testing, and study, you'll learn to overcome the sinking intensity of this move. Perhaps in time, the buzz of reveille won't make you break into cold sweats. Perhaps in time, you'll avoid the crushing weight that threatens to shatter your very grasp on reality.

One can only hope, for I don't like torturing the mentally ill.