"Performative is the word for this place," he agrees, thinking of Karen's hands on the blood sample, her description of the room. Automated systems growing entire people underground, but--shelves of samples in the open, that you can grab.

A room full of props, gathering dust.

But this--that little list at the end, he can put his finger on it. The glow of the screen shrinks the digit to bone, fuzzy at the edges, and his name under the tip.

"I mean it's our obituaries, with us standing here," he points out. He re-orders the most recent list in his head: Karen, Kylo-Ben, himself. Then Peeta, then Elena. And only two of them to tell the tale. "Does that make it mildly more interesting, for you?"