[ He probably (almost definitely) got a briefing about it somewhere along the way, but Lancer rarely bothered memorizing anyone's files. Ex-felon, child soldier, military-bred brat, downtrodden dude who'd settle for rations, bright-eyed recruit with a mind for glory—it didn't matter as long as they could point a gun or stomach shoving a blade in someone's gullet. He'd learn their histories as he learned them, if they lasted that long.

...Or maybe it was a sort of empathy, one battleborn kid to another. Hard to admit to that amount of sentiment, even harder to say so many years after the fact. His eyes stay forward as he navigates, pensive. ]

Oh yeah... there was something like that, wasn't there.

[ His words pause even when his feet don't; when they return, it's with a new sort of bemusement, his same good humor but more resigned. ]

Well, don't worry. Lotta 'em are already dead. [ In a way, Kanda wasn't wrong—they were weaker. ] And you don't have to worry about me—I don't think they'll be asking for any favors anytime soon.

[ He takes a sharp turn, voice ringing around the corner. ]

How's freedom treating you?