P99 is dead. P99 remains dead. And we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was classic and most competitive of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe these pixels off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of serpentine draft, what sacred rotations shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?
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