"I kill some," Harlow shrugged, but it wasn't something he would really seek out. His old pack, back in Jersey, used to take gleeful pleasure in all the gory ways they could kill the walking dead, but Harlow was beyond it by then. Putting down zombies hardly seemed appealing without his friends to share it with. Plus, none of them seemed very funny to him now that they had killed everything he loved. He was far beyond the ability to find entertainment in their deaths.
Harlow stepped forward, taking Mort's hand without much hesitation, shaking it with a smirk. "Harlow," he said, by way of introduction. "Was on my way to the library. Just got caught up in the sights. You? What brings a boy out bashing skulls so late at night?"