See him? Talk to him? No one with his face had ever spoken to Charon before. He knew that. Thousands of years he'd been operating and not once had he seen his own face or heard his own voice. Not like this, anyway. His confusion was again apparent, as well as wariness and determination. He wanted things to make sense again, like they had only a few minutes ago. Back before anyone tried talking to him, got freaked out by his lack of words, tried treating him like any of the other Enforcers who had a life and friends and family to lean on in difficult times. When Charon was just a shadow hiding under the bed and didn't have to worry about anything but keeping himself together for the Reapers' sake, for whomever he had promised before he'd died.

His eyes flickered, nervous, to the numbers around the stranger's neck. He didn't understand. They went so far that the beginning almost looped back over the end. Without seeing the whole number, Charon couldn't even tell how impossibly long the man would supposedly live. He glanced up, back down, returned his gaze to the man's face. His hand tightened around the edge of the man's shoulder, betraying the odd mix of emotions he was feeling right now.