Please, Diego, don't be a Covenant apologist. The very suggestion of it makes North's face hard.

"They rain plasma fire down onto planets, temperatures so hot that it flash-melts stone, leaving the planet looking like it's made of obsidian glass. It's their religious goal to wipe us out. Or it was," he explains, voice hard. It's complicated. And his tone, the way his arms are crossed over his chest, the tension in the muscles of his neck, they all say 'don't press, I'm not talking about it.'

Instead he watches Diego in the fridge, trying to figure out what to say.

"Greenhouse or fields. There's agriculture going on here. Sometimes boxes appear from our keepers with things in them. As for the food in here, there's no small number of us who work on rotation to make communal meals. To make life easier for everyone. Especially as not everyone can cook."

The rest, he's not sure what to say about it all. Tries not to think about it too much.