He misses the island. Not every day, not at all, but enough to make him ponder at times if he actually intends to leave it. The world is...complicated. People are complicated. There are moments when he wonders how he did it, how he lived life with this mass of telephone calls and questions and shopping and conversations. The city needs help, needs someone, anyone to lance the infection growing in it, but did it have to be so full of people?
People require him to think about things other than his mission, his promise. People make him messy sometimes. Friends make him messy. They don't understand how freeing a life without constant talk and board meetings and worries about wealth, money. It was cold and dark in the hell he'd lived in, but there he knew the rules, knew the game, and that brought with it a strange sort of peace.
He misses the island.