A name like that, he should have known. He should have realized what emptiness lay within Vicious' heart, how is was so cold, as cold as the winds on Titan could be at night. How Vicious was so at ease with the weapons he used to kill both man and beast alike. He saw the ease, but at the time it had been infectious. He saw Vicious shoot his gun like he did, and when the adrenaline of battle came it seemed only natural.
Enjoyable.
He knew, now, what it really meant for life to be lost. Vicious showed him that, too. Showed him that when he found himself behind cold metal bars, facing sleepless nights and then much worse because of Vicious' own words.
Yet, he longed for Titan. More than even his wife and son. He wished for it to all be a dream. He would wake up in the trenches before sunrise, find Vicious alone after eating little breakfast, and dive into the joy of firing live ammo at faces he never saw up close, ending the lives of men he never knew or cared for.
There was no worry, then. Nothing to be sorry over. Nothing to remember. Nothing to regret.