"Being made for a purpose...it sounds good, as long as you do what you're told." He doesn't know what his purpose would have been. He was the prototype, after all. Maybe he wouldn't have had a purpose.

That's all gone though, buried in the ash and destruction of the city. Nothing remains, nobody to give him direction or tell him what to do.

Faced with so little, he wishes to expand his world. He has always been curious. He tasted a little more of that, recalls a little more of the voices of the sinners who had created him. And perhaps the yearning for freedom many of the damned souls carried was in him as well.

(Perhaps the ideals Minos had embodied, perhaps a little fragment of his departing soul, had wedged in an empty space somewhere deep inside. If that was indeed how souls worked.

If he really reaches deep into himself he can pull out memories - fragments - shards of the dead, recalling Minos' voice and face. All those who had dwelled here had loved him.

But he has no memories for himself. If they are there, they are buried deep in the drift of time, sunken in his sleep.)

He turns it over in his mind, seriously considering it.

Then, he simply shakes his head. "It's scarier to be alone," is all he says to that. And perhaps it's not just for his benefit; he has his siblings, after all. They will return in time, when they've sated their urge for violence. Their time together is consistent, if fleeting.

He doesn't think this person in front of him has anyone.