[ The oh almost makes him laugh. Something about the sound of it. He gathers plates, dividing the eggs between them. Then comes Beth's question, and he pauses. Leaning one hip into the counter, he crosses his arms. Grips them, as if testing he has sensation. He hadn't been alone, but impressive amounts of metal and concrete separated him from anyone inclined to do him harm. The building had withstood the flood, as expected. Two sleepy guards on rotation are a bit of a wildcard, but if they took it upon themselves to play at vigilantism there'd be no Arkham left. The toast pops up, jolting back into motion. ]

I'd hope Purgatory would look a little more modern, hm? [ Toast plated, he seats himself opposite her. ] I don't think so, though. I don't know how I would've died, excluding... I don't know, an aneurysm. I'm sure this will feel more real whenever we see someone else. Maybe the neighbors.

Do you think we're dead?