Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Vanguard Ikora? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Crota, and you curse the Titans. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Crota's death probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like loot, wipe, ans cheese. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent raiding something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you roll a striker titan, and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.