Ishaq sat on the bunk in his living quarters on the ship. A cell phone placed in a cup made for decent sound amplification as [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGQLXRTl3Z0]one of his favorite songs[/url] played. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the soothing vibrations of the cello wash over him. He had no doubt that he would meet God soon and that this would likely be his last mission. He had lived to see the day that Israel and Palestine made peace, albeit tense and tentative, and for him, that was enough. All this conflict between arms masters and normal people was not something he felt had a foreseeable end. Yet here he was, on a mission to find that end, offered up by the Israeli-Palestinian coalition as an 'asset'. Once again, he would have to place greater value on some lives over others, offer his gift of life to a limited few, and potentially watch the others that he had abandoned die. Perhaps it might be easier to just listen to orders and let those in command be responsible for making since decisions. But for that to happen, he'd have to advise them how to best utilize the power of his noble arms. He glanced over at his wheelchair, folded up and secured to a wall. It wasn't that he couldn't walk, just that he was often too weak to support himself, so he relied on it to get around to conserve his strength. It wasn't that his usefulness required him to be mobile anyways. But the wheelchair was folded up because in the ships cramped hallways, the thing was just too cumbersome to maneuver. He sighed, remembering that he had heard that some of the other 'assets' were children. If only the world would leave all the fighting to the old people, who upon dying, would take all the violence of the world with them to the grave.