[And the look he offers Willard, just for a second, is almost edging close to some kind of... fuck, what's it supposed to be? A smile? Yeah, sure, he's capable of doing that, isn't he? If he'd been capable of smiling in a shithole like the one he'd just gotten -- well, fuck, don't think of it that way, that'll wipe the fucking smile right off his face -- like the one he'd just been stuck in, he's sure as fuck capable of smiling here, too.]

Fuck, no, I don't have anywhere else to be. I'm happy to be stuck right the fuck here.

[Happy? Not really. But it's better than the alternative, isn't it, whatever the fuck the alternative is? If this is the version of the afterlife he's going to get (even if it doesn't technically qualify as the afterlife, since Willard here isn't exactly dead) then he might as well make the most of it.

Of course, he's always had a pretty goddamned hard time making the most of anything. He's just one of those people -- one of those people who can't fucking settle down and be okay with anything. And why should he? Most things in the world are pretty fucking awful, when it comes right down to it.

Cynicism? Or just exhaustion with the state of how fucked up everything is? He doesn't know, and doesn't care; it all comes out the same, anyway.]

So, what, there're other places we can end up? Shittier places? Is this some kinda fucking levels of hell type of thing, where it just gets deeper and deeper and deeper and in the middle of it all there's some fucking...

[Well. He knows what his personal final circle of hell would be, and fuck, he's already been there. The thought kind of cheers him up, for a second.]