... The moment I first set foot in prison, I was angry. I felt anger at my circumstances. I cursed my fate. I took my rage out on the prisoners around me, and even the guards. I once treated these chains and spikes as weapons. They've hurt so many others in my name, and I in turn have received plenty of wounds of my own. But my fury never diminished, not even the slightest bit. All I could feel was it burning ever brighter, ever fiercer. Until one time I awoke from being beaten into unconsciousness, and the doctor treating me said that she felt I was a very weak man. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart. Since that day, I began to show restraint. These chains and spikes were no longer used to harm others, but instead to defend myself, as well as those who could not defend themselves. I began to earn the respect of others, even gaining some small amount of freedom within that prison. But I was the only one who knew that my burning rage had not yet flickered out. It had simply stopped growing. It continued to torment me in the dead of night. However, it was only because of this that I felt I was able to walk forwards, and the meaning of these chains and spikes gradually changed once again, becoming the means I used to keep myself in check. Afterwards, these restraints of mine followed me to a pharmaceutical company. There, I still habitually wore them, but they had become nothing more than a set of work-out equipment. There were even people there who thought they looked stylish, and learned to make their own for fashion. It was there that I spent an indescribably beautiful period of my life. However, once news of my parents' deaths reached my ears, a question arose in my heart: why had I decided to restrain myself all this time? Was it for that singular moment when I could finally release my rage without reservation? Or was it for a moment when I could finally let my hatred go? Now, with my parents dead, and those that framed them also dead, the suspicions on me have been washed clean as well. My fury sputtered out, my hatred died down, and I was truly free. But I was not happy. The moment the Hyde brothers died, I felt nothing, because I had no idea what to do with myself. However, once I felt the weight of these chains and spikes on my body, I suddenly came to realize— These bindings are the price I paid for my freedom. They make me feel heavy, but at the same time, they make me feel alive. Yes. I still yet live. I still have somewhere to return to. I still have things I must do. —A speech given by Mountain at his parents' funeral.