"It is what it is." He shrugs, hands peeling back the paper of his sandwich. It's no big thing to him anymore, eating here. He used to be unable to. Hell he used to not be able to look at meat anymore- not with the smell, the bones, the sounds of it tearing as the atmosphere slowly turned toxic. NOw...he's not so much bothered.

It's damning in it's own way.

"Family. Duty. Had to find a cure, you know? Had to hold the line. Take care of people like my Dad did up till he couldn't. That's still the goal- find a cure. Get you lot home." Maybe not die choking on air or getting ripped to shreds. Who knew.