Ah. That's true, isn't it? The person he is (was) would not think twice about his own choices. He would have gone to Point Lookout, enjoyed the sights and sounds, killed some, gained some, and come back perhaps better spirited than before he left.

Why do we do anything?

But there is that man's toothy grin, caked in blood.

You travel the world, kill people, take trophies that interest you, and move on.

As Neil should be. Alex is correct. Neil Park should be moving on, not caught in regret over his own actions, mourning his choices. He wouldn't have before. He would be--

But I suppose it's time that came to an end, one way or another.

He struggles to breathe, to reason, to think, and all that remains are the images of Tobar the Ferryman. Tobar smiling, laughing, taunting even as Neil brought the shovel down, as he smashed its metal against flesh and teeth. Over and over again until there isn't even a face, only a thread of skin and a pile of red pulp.

Unable to speak, Neil closes his fingers over the punga fruit, the tips pressing in. The fruit practically crumbles beneath his touch, his inhuman strength, its juice and flesh flying in every direction.