I've seen hundreds of wars across the universe: Sontarans, Germans, Daleks. Agonizing screams, empty corpses, despair. It doesn't matter if it's fought with rocks or rays—death is still the result. Children wailing, grown men screaming, armies marching. No matter what the weather is, it seems dark and overcast; it must be dark, for how else could the sky feel on such a dreadful day? My hearts pound against my chest, but only a little faster than usual—I have seen so many wars, fought so many battles, that death is expected. They're all the same. All the same…
Right?