Castor listens attentively, absorbing this as best he can. This can't possibly be happening, can it? Daniel is being so earnest, wanting to help him, and he still feels like he's dreaming. He leans back with a long exhale, letting his gaze wander across the park, trying to accept the reality of it, trying to establish some kind of intellectual or emotional connection to the new land he inhabits. The whole idea makes his stomach turn.

He should say something.

"Okay," he says, swallowing, his throat still thick and dry. "Um. Okay."

He's been in government hands for his whole life, and for the most part they've left him to his own devices, and that's what he's liked best. The idea of offering himself up anew is terrifying. He doesn't have any of his papers or proof of his existence or anything, but... he supposes that must be the same for everyone. And they can't try to deport him to Nigeria, can they, if no one can leave the island.

Still, though. Maybe the Rebels would be more understanding. Such an organization has to exist for a reason.

"Which, um," he says stutteringly, "which one are you with?"