"You're right," he says, because he wants to believe it, too. Katurian's every movement, every breath, is soaked in darkness. His bones are filled with a cold despair that barely makes him feel human. He wants a way to survive this world, and there's no way he'll last another week without hope.

It could be worse, he tells himself. He could have been systematically tortured. He could have survived Wesker's attack longer than those few agonizing seconds.

Michal could be in the Games, too.

"Katurian," he answers, his voice still thin. It is nice, in a way, to fall into a more routine sort of conversation. "My first name is the same as my last and, um, that is not normal where I come from. That's just my parents."