[Graham considers this. Continuing to have a breakdown seems easier. But also, he's pretty hungry despite the fact that he feels like garbage. He looks down the hall past Bakugo.]

What's future food like? Pills? Paste? Sounds depressing. Is it depressing or is it good?

[He lifts his wrench over his shoulders, arms hanging over them. Less defensive now. At least these awful scientists were kind enough to send him along with his favorite tool. They'll wish they hadn't soon enough.]

I suppose in this way I'm resigning to my fate. I'll disassemble every monster. Then this place. Then those scientists. Maybe not necessarily in that order.