He blinks, frozen by the assessment they come to, some desire to speak on his mouth, but the words - they're not there. Instead, his half-ajar mouth closes, some kind of admission coming over him by the way he looks away, the expression sombre on his face.

"...No," he admits. "Maybe... at the start. But people come and leave, don't they? We don't get a choice. I was brought here to do jobs, save people - and I don't mind savin' people," he explains, "but there's no freedom to it. You're stuck on that train all the time, you don't know when everyone around you's going to disappear. Or what happens to people when they disappear."

He looks to the pair now, his brow tight, emotions stirring in his chest.

"That's not a saviour. That's a prison."