Within a diﬀerent interval of his journey through space-time, the mathematician seems to recall himself trained as an infantryman. He ﬁnds there are times in which he re-imagines his experiences and yearns for such a sense of practicality and purpose as provided by the military-industrial complex he once served. The lack of intellectual masochism warms the appeal of this lead ﬁlled salvation. Of course, that was the original intent—a lead salvation from this dimming plane with Valhalla awaiting.
Even having survived his failure, there are times that he longs to ﬁre his riﬂe upon the enemy manifested by his superiors. He has no hate for the individuals dehumanized by his training, yet he longs to assist them in their departure from this plane of existence, if only to further the purpose provided him. He considers a statement attributed to Kissinger:
…dumb, stupid animals to be used…
Yet, he cares not. A phantom limb, the riﬂe is missing. To ﬁre the riﬂe. Satisfaction in solving such a concrete problem with ammunition and a clear perspective. A painful expense through twisted, complex meanderings in the disturbed void of hope.