It was up to him to solve the unknown variables and balance the equation. Everything in life was an equation, and unbalanced equations set off chain reactions and became chaos. In a perverse sense, he considered himself a bookkeeper, maintaining the ledgers of madness that mankind perpetually unleashed on itself and the world at large. When the books were balanced, a fragile sort of peace persisted until the tireless agents of entropy began their work anew. What is peace but war held in check? What is life but entropy held at bay? He could not remember when the thought first occurred to him that good and evil could be—must be—understood in mathematical terms. Entropy is the true devil in the universe, not some cackling, fiery satyr with horns and a pitchfork. Entropy is the great destructor, the root of all disorder and chaos. What are the seven deadly sins, if not a failure to resist the decay of one’s moral fiber? What is war, if not an alliance with entropy to bring chaos and destruction to an ordered world? It took 182 years to build Notre Dame de Paris—182 years of effort, energy, and discipline to construct a magnificent cathedral from sand, wood, and stone unhewn. But with only one Mark 83 general-purpose bomb, this beautiful triumph over entropy could be reduced to rubble. Would the bombing of Notre Dame be a sin, even with no human casualties? Yes, because the very existence of such a structure in the universe is good.
Life, in all its forms, is good. Because life, by definition, is the endeavor to persist against the forces of entropy, always nibbling and clawing to redistribute life’s energy and matter into the cold, homogeneous ether.
The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. —Ernest Hemingway
He could breach and clear a room while picking out guitar chords in his head for a new country song, but this simple technique required all his attention.
The crowd bowed their heads and listened to the chaplain recite a brief prayer—vague and generic enough to offend no one, which, of course, resulted in offending almost everyone.
Stalker, Blackbeard. Team in two elements. Half at the package on the cargo deck amidships. Half-split between port and starboard below the deck rails. Taking sniper fire from the bridge tower, and heavy contact from the aft cargo deck. Everyone aft of our lights is a shithead.” “Copy,
