[Lucky for Sharky that Pratt is too messed up and disoriented to question distilling fifteen years down into: well we got in bunkers and anyway shit was okayish when we came out.]

Same as me.

[That same hollow echo of the words, like a broken automaton. But this one at least comes with a side-eye glance. Because from what he's gathered in the past five minutes: he died, Sharky didn't, and somehow shit is fine fifteen years later. Except it's not fine because Pratt you know.. died.]

So I died and showed up here, after you who didn't die lived for another decade and a half? You are the worst hallucination Sharky. You're not even trying to make sense.

Is there coffee?

[Priorities man, even as he's heading out onto the deck or wherever his feet are deciding to take him. That's fine, means he doesn't have to think for himself.]