Malcolm Bright

"This is... very hard to hear." Walter tries to be honest. He's... hearing a distinct lack of anything more specific than purely verbal drama that Rosita surely flipped around, that this itself is a case of virulent hatred he hasn't expressed in this moment for the killers on the loose. "I've kept tabs on some of your other network dust-ups like Eiffel's movie night, and Ken and Hilbert. That's why I was going to check on you that day we watched Time Bandits, you know." Almost like it's a pattern!!! Though downplaying the horrors he's experienced is also a pattern. "But Rosita, no, I don't keep tabs on her. Being frank, if her sister showed up I might assume it was her, that's how long it'd been since I actually saw her video feed. Refreshing my memory, all that came to mind was that she seemed to be like me. Human. Hasn't attacked anyone here. But dealt an even harder hand in life."

Walter reaches for the cocoa cup, turning it to swirl the foam in funny shapes he looks down at.

"And she was saying something I thought I agreed with. That the middle ground of info on the attack was the worst of both worlds." He looks up at Malcolm. Thinking of his friend makes it all the easier to focus on, to fake, that sincere desire for absolution he felt in the chapel that first day. "No, it's totally different for me and Pyotr. He can't see the name tags either, so how is he supposed to know that wardens have worked on themselves ways inmates haven't been able yet? Experience. Trust over time. For starters, I was one of the ones actually asked if I wanted to live, and I'd been in that network access flood before too. He showed up right before a breach, me right after. Everything's added up so it's hard for him to put faith in the services in this place, and if you ever did get to catch up on the special person flood, I think you have an inkling for one big reason why."