The man's right, of course. No one goes to these lengths to capture and contain a group of people and then leaves something like the scrub colors to chance. Their clothes, their packs, this town...

It's deliberate. It's all infuriatingly, impossibly deliberate.

Jess continues eating, repressing the storm of ire and unease that threatens to blow apart his composure whenever he has to explain just how thoroughly they're outmatched here. "It adds a new level to 'all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players'," he agrees, eyebrows rising and falling in an expression of wry resignation.

And he's been here for months, plenty of time to get comfortable with the rigged odds. Bruce has only been here days. Honestly, the man deserves kudos for not flipping the table over. Jess wouldn't blame him one bit if he did.

"It fits with the theme. Primitive weapons. Primitive town. It's an experiment of some kind, the question is where it ends. I see they've got you wearing grey, though. I suppose that makes us birds of a feather."

Jess, too, wears grey. Their number seems to be growing.