Oh, he's about to: Duck straps explosives all around his midsection. It's so ugly. He looks at himself in a cracked mirror and gets his SS gear together, carries his duffle bag toward a Cylon building with Centurions everywhere. I think one of them stops to check him out but doesn't really care. Neither of them are human now. He stands in his uniform surrounded by NCP; Jammer calls out to him but he doesn't hear. They fall into formation, black jackboots in a line. Three mounts the podium. "Good morning, and welcome to all graduates. You are the hope, you're the dream of a new tomorrow, for humans and Cylon alike, and I salute you for the risks that you have taken for just showing up today."

Tigh listens, or maybe just stares: "Today you begin a new career and a new life as provisional police officers."

Chief and Cally in bed with their son: "Looking out across this room, I see the significance of this new path is not lost on you. Congratulations."

Three works her way down the line, shaking hands and putting a kind or meaningful hand on each shoulder: "Good to have you with us. Congratulations." Doral follows behind, handing them their medals.

Anders nails a Pyramid goal, out in the town.

"See you soon, Nora," says Duck, with Three standing before him. Without ever finding out who really caused her death; who among the Resistance was willing to let her die in order to take their cause higher. Click. The graduation hall goes up in flames, horrible, things flying, the whole world exploding. Duck exploding and taking out nobody that matters: nobody that won't resurrect, nobody that wasn't already dead. Futile and without any gift of morale or hope, or a soul. Just the fact that war sucks and turns you into something horrible, and there's nobody strong enough to make it work any other way. Paper floats through the silence; the air is bright and dark. There are 200 bodies on the floor.