[Jay screws his eyes shut, kneading at his forehead, and tries to think through the static, the ragged edges of his own memories.]

Can't be sure. One of 'em wasn't, I know that.

[Because that one tore off its goddamn skin and went for Jay's throat. That one bled when Tim drove a knife into its neck.]

The others...?

[He opens his eyes a sliver, focused on nothing.]

Guess I can't be positive either way. This place can build stuff, and it can bring stuff in, so...

[He shakes his head, more a twitch than anything, and his next words have that familiar cynicism, that twist of bitterness. He's not sure he used to talk like that, before. He'd need the tapes to check.]

If It was fake, It did a good job acting like It wasn't.

[And how do you know that, Jay?]

Shep--somebody else, she...she's got a mechanical, metal--prosthetic, whatever, I'm not sure. Apparently, that...made it worse. For her.

[And it was his fault. Jay's fault she had to see that, had to have her head torn open, and she's the one who tried to comfort him.]