Mort had gone the opposite way. Because the infection had taken everything from him, he felt entitled to kill as many of the infected as he could. He would avenge them all. As far as having a purpose went, it wasn't a terrible one. Mort didn't really need any more. He used to want to become a writer, but he guessed that was off the table.
"Just walkin' about," Mort said with a shrug. It wasn't even a lie. When the restlessness crept into his bones, going out to play whack-a-zom always satisfied. "Thinkin' 'bout headin' back, tho'," he said, "got my kicks in for the night. I live at the Li." It had been the obvious choice. "Need an escort?"