Farfie stared at his fingers. His fingers were twisted, from years of playing with knives. He stabbed at them, watching the deep red pool into droplets, cascading down his pale skin. He smiled at this, although not a smile of happiness. His smile hid his true self, the weak boy who couldn't live with himself, live with what he had become. He hid behind a smooth mask of insanity, and every psychotic chuckle or sadistic slash of his blade strengthened this shield he carefully built up throughout these years. He admired Brad. Like him, Brad hides behind a mask. He pretends to be a cold unfeeling bastard when actually he feels. Farf knows this, as he had seen the stick up the ass leader when Schu was wounded. It hurt Farf to see this, but not in the way his knives "hurt". Seeing Brad show affection for Schu ripped apart his heart, more efficient than any blade could ever. Farf had often contemplated suicide, but his body refused to die. No matter how atrocious his wound he would always heal. The wound in his heart, however, could not heal. It ravaged his sanity, ironically causing him to appear more sane to his teammates than usual. They could identify more with the mad and feverish eyes, not realising that they were mad with affection for Brad.

As he hang inverted in his cell, Farf would often formulate plans of the destruction of Schu. Should he die of torture with the entire Farf blade collection stuck into him? Farf knows that its not Schu's fault that Brad likes him, but to Farf its just as bad to be loved than love. Either way, he wants Brad.