He doesn't respond. He doesn't have a name, doesn't have anything to respond to. The redhaired woman means nothing to him other than she hasn't injected him with anything or tried to force him to do anything. She hasn't spoken to him or used those words so she is neutral for now, not an enemy.
The scientists are all enemies, though, and he eyes them warily. They hold the key to his mind and he hates it, hates every moment of it. Everything is pain and misery now and he doesn't know if there was ever a day without it.
"Who is Dzheyms?" he asks, the same cold Russian as the scientist.
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The scientists are all enemies, though, and he eyes them warily. They hold the key to his mind and he hates it, hates every moment of it. Everything is pain and misery now and he doesn't know if there was ever a day without it.
"Who is Dzheyms?" he asks, the same cold Russian as the scientist.