"You talked to any of them?" says Tim with a subtle lift of eyebrows. Nutjob doesn't even begin to cover it. They're simply not what you'd strictly call compos mentis, regardless of how many eyes or heads or appendages they might have. Or lack thereof. "Not exactly what you'd call logical people."

Fuck knows if they're even self-aware enough to understand that the place is breaking down the people who live there, piece by agonizing piece.

"Even if they're not running the show, they seem to know more about what goes on backstage than anyone else." To keep the metaphor rolling.