Okay, there was a story happening that Sam didn't know. And she wasn't entirely sure if that was for the better or not. She'd asked dear old Fucky a lot of questions about his world, but only gotten clipped, reserved answers, for the most part. Except when it came to that night when he punched the hole in her wall.

There was a pattern, she supposed. Danny liked punching walls too.

Why the fuck was everyone from that world so damn angry? Their world hadn't been destroyed, after all. Not like hers.

"I'm used to people like that," she said, grabbing one of her beakers and refilling his glass of vodka. "Except I can usually interpret the endgame. This Skinner Box is unreal doesn't follow the rules from home."