Captain's log, final entry.

[SULLIVAN EXPEDITION, SOUTH AMERICA, SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1874]

It's cold. White puffs exit my nostrils as I shake and shiver to catch my breath. It's been pouring for as long as I can remember in this god-forsaken jungle where it's dark all the time. The vegetation is so thick that there is never anything that resembles sunlight or day. I do not remember my last meal, much less for how long I've been here or even how I got here. But I sense I will not survive much longer. My colleagues are long gone, and it cannot be long until I am to join them in their fate, devoured.

Oh, how foolish it was to ever believe we could succeed where so many others had failed. What a dreary thought... we failed. This reality corrodes my soul almost as much as this jungle itself, with its foul stench and inexistent hope for escape.

I will miss my wife, though I know not if she will miss me. I will miss my home, which never truly felt like one. I will miss my work, my friends, the regular meals, my cigarrettes. My right arm for a cigarrette!

It's so bloody cold. The rain is so loud, and there's hardly a place where the water doesn't reach my ankles. I know not what I'll die from first.., will it be the hunger? Will it be the jungle? All I am certain of is that death cannot be far. Surely, it will be the fear... because, in my heart-- or what is left of it, I know that the beast will not rest until it has tasted my flesh. At times, I believe I can hear it breathing and snarling only a few feet away from me. Is it possible it's knowingly letting me live longer? Could it actually be looking to torture me further? It is as if it knows what we were after. It must know.

I've forgotten! It only now occurs to me that I still have bullets left, and if the rain has not rendered my rifle useless... I check my pockets. They must be somewhere.

I cannot find them.

Wait, yes. My bag is gone, but I've kept one single bullet in my breast pocket. Immediately, I realize that I am likely alone in this water inferno with the man-killer. I know it has been hunting me for too long. This bullet can mark the difference between its life and mine. But, curse it, what difference will it make?

A moment's painful, hunger-ridden analisis, foggy as it might be, and I come to the conclusion that the best use of this bullet is only one. This is my only ticket out of here.

I struggle against my weakness and my violent shivering to load my rifle, but before I'm halfway done, I hear something. Hush, quiet. Listen...

..Noo, not now!!

I rush to get the job done, but I cannot cock my rifle fast enough. I knew it was always nearby, but... I'm not prepared! It draws nearer and nearer, I can feel it! If I attempt to shoot it down under these conditions, surely I'll miss. I've no choice, I must carry out the plan. It ends now..!