Evidence log 11/10/20XX

The following is an unaddressed letter found in the warehouse where a supposed suicide bomber had been living.

One of us is a coward. You'd like to think it's me, that planning my own death is the easy way out, that staying to fight the injustice we uncovered would be the brave thing to do. It's not. I'm doing us all a favor. I'm doing what you don't have the guts to do. I'm not afraid of dying. I have nothing left to live for. It's good you've already left. You'd try to talk me out of this. That's what you do. You talk. You're not a man of action. You're passive, you're idealistic, and you're a fool. You can write as many books as you want about what's been done to us and countless others, but that won't do anyone any good. It won't stop the pain. It won't bring back what's been lost, and it sure as hell won't change anything. At least with my way, they'll have to do something. And at least I won't have to suffer any more.

I'm not writing you this to explain myself, though. I told you everything already, and you know. What I want to say is that I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry we couldn't do this together. We are on the same side. It's funny, though, isn't it, that even this side has its divisions. It was never united we stand divided we fall. It's divided we stand united we fall. Because everybody thinks their opinion is so fucking precious but in the end, we all blow ourselves to bits.

So I'm giving you this one last gift -- my final act of vengeance, taking as many of the fuckers with me as I can. I don't expect you to do the same, but this is my gift to you, let this violence open a door for you and walk through it, be the change you want to see in the world. Don't continue to be the coward I will die thinking you are.