"I was someone's labrat and generally nope. I can't even dream. I control other zombies. And right now, my head feels like a hangover that won't go away." He leaves his hands in his hair, frowning pissily at the whole unhelpable situation.

No, he supposes they don't. Unless they do! And he's sure going to love that.

"I don't even care at this point. Arrest me. Throw me in a pit. Shoot me and put me out of my misery. Make sure it's in the head 'cause apparently anywhere else is just a painful inconvenience." That'll knock him out at best. He'd survived a gutshot once with little trouble. He has no doubt he can do it again but he doesn't want to and please, if he has to live with the headache and there's fuck all he can do about magic stuff just end him.