You never had to worry about this one. I envy you that.

I’m not especially spiteful about him, believe it or not. It wasn’t that he ever laid a hand on me. But he never did anything of use for me either. Call me spoiled, but aren’t we the one paying these fuckers?

The great benefactor for those across the sea. Right.

To be fair, I don’t think he’ll be missed. The money, maybe, but the man? Get real. A giver is just that; someone to take from. And he wasn’t stupid, more’s the pity. He hated all those places and people he gave to. You could tell from the way he gave and the way it was all written up. The perfect little hometown. Preserving a unique culture. Giving back to those who gave their all for him. The stink of Murnau marketing drips off every word.

Arena. The region that identifies some new group among themselves to massacre every ten years. He got some flack for building a clinic next to a killing field. But at least they got some flowers out of it. Oh, the latest studies say with medicines and dialysis crap in the people’s blood nowadays, so they might not have their lilies for long.

He could have been afraid.

The last time I saw him, he was afraid, if he was anything. Practically speaking, he was already in pieces. He could only talk about poison. This place is poison. Was he talking about Murnau or Arena? Either way, he was right. As I said, he wasn’t stupid.

It didn’t feel good to break him. I was almost sorry. No, I was grateful that he never gave me any favors to owe him. In the end, he made the job easier.

So, begrudgingly, I give one final salute. To a great man.