"We were created to be their downfall," Pollution repeated, barely loud enough to be heard, "but, essentially, they're proving to be ours." He smirked a bit at that. "It might be amusing if it weren't so irritatingly depressing."

He leaned back with the wind and closed his eyes. It was almost a realief, really, being able to let go and speak freely. Perhaps that was the one true drawback to always being off on your own. When you're alone, you're alone. That's the simple long and short of it. Pollution had made a lot of "friends" in the past, of course. Even working alone, you have to deal with people. He would never see any of them again, though, and that was generally fine by him. At least his co-workers he could trust to still be there, even with the world's changes.

He blinked a bit startled, though, when it dawned on me that, thinking on it, Famine was the closest thing he had to a lasting friend.

"Pestilence didn't have to retire," he noted after a moment, looking away again.