The thought is alarming. Almost horrifying. A big yawning void of future that he can't even comprehend. "No." He looks up sharply over his mask, eyes wide. "No, without orders, without purpose--" He can't imagine it. He can't want that. He barely knows what to do with himself now with his much less rigorous schedule for ADI.

"I'm not like you, Wanda," he says, voice tense, half pleading. "Not a person. Hands attached to triggers attached to orders. That's what I'm for."