At least he knows what undead are, otherwise there'd probably be some questions, but he'd had to explain them to someone else not so long ago. But his expression shifts, bitterness and pain briefly flashing across his face before he schools it back to neutrality, somewhere between the cost of being a puppet and meaning something to someone else.

He doesn't elaborate, or argue the point, or suggest Murphy might be wrong. He just tightens his grip on his baseball bat and scans the area for a potential monstery victim to go after. "Well. If nothing else."

Head-bashing sounds fine to him. "I thought you made a good father."

There's plenty of smaller, weaker enemies to prey on, and leave the ones that could mangle them to others. It's just a matter of hunting them down!