Wrathion shakes his head at the first question. The knife he has isn't even one designed to be wielded in this way -- it looks distinctly like a kitchen knife. Beggars can't be choosers, however, and Wrathion would rather be armed with a kitchen knife than not at all.

The second prompt has him glance back. In the dim light, his features furrow.

"Several of them. Be on your guard, they are more intelligent than we might give them credit for."

Carefully he begins to step forward, pushing his way back through into the operating room and trying not to let his eyes linger on the contents. The goal is to get out safely, now, not to dwell too heavily on this place. They'll learn nothing by getting trapped and dying here.