The idea of contributing isn't offputting to Wrench. He's happy to pitch in wherever he thinks he can lend a hand, particularly where physical labor is concerned. If the man knows he can be of use, either because of some skill he's managed to pick up out of necessity or simply because he's willing to treat himself like a workhorse, that's great. It feels good.

What he wouldn't be able to relate to, though, is the idea that any of that could make a difference. He feels most of the time like he's waiting around to be told what to do. Given an instruction, pointed in a direction. Wrench can't seem to conceive for himself what he has to offer that anyone might want.

Right now, he knows that the job they've come to do is a difficult one. That even if the people in those houses are waiting for the inevitable, it's still news that no one wants to be told. He nods at Erik and walks with the man up the narrow path surrounded by fields to the front door of a softly-illuminated home. It's no huge affair, but it looks comfortable in its modesty.

Wrench knocks on the door and gives a glance to Erik.

You ever delivered this kind of news to someone before?