As far as Rogi was concerned, the MacMillan Estate was Hell, and he was the devil's chief enforcer. Such responsibility was not something he took lightly. The survivors that were trying to leave this place had to be swiftly captured and brought to the sacrificial hooks so his boss could devour their souls. And despite sharing a distant human link with the survivors, remorse was about the furthest thing from his mind. If the weeds in a garden asked for sympathy from the gardener, would they get it? Or if the scum and filth stuck to a plate begged and pleaded with the dishwasher, should mercy be expected then? He didn't think so, and didn't understand why anyone would try to reason with him either.
It made the kicking and screaming of the young woman he was carrying over his shoulder all the more confusing. Was such a tantrum intended to make him put her down and let her walk free? Maybe she truly thought she could escape his iron grasp, which he found as even more foolish a notion than her appealing to his humanity. As if on cue, the loud snap of a triggered bear trap came from the other side of the estate, immediately followed by a cry of surprise and terror. Oh, how he loved this job. Satisfaction flowed through his veins as he strode past several hooks and went into an old shack made of corrugated metal, the blonde songbird struggling to wiggle free the entire time.