He doesn't answer, at least not verbally. Shrugging lightly, he steps more into the front, this feeling normal and right, especially as things move in the shadows. It might not be stone and dirt and stagnated air, but it was still something familiar. The man, Jiang Wanyin, could handle his own, but there was more moving around them. He glanced around, noting paths of resistance and calculating the actions needed to get where they were heading with minimum resistance.

"Call me whatever you want," he finally said, voice soft and low. "I don't have a name."

The mirror didn't take his memories because there wasn't any to take. He had never worn a red mask, had never had any memories appear save for those of the ship. Even in dreams, the only thing he could call his own was that of the sickly jade green glow and the taste of copper.

Glancing back, he noted the way Jiang Wanyin held the piece of wood, and then started running, gaining enough momentum to scale up the wall, hooking his arm around another shuffling form, twisting off and flipping them down before he hit them with his knees.