"Hey," Michael said, alarmed, his automatic reaction to someone freaking out kicking in, "Hey. It's okay. Calm down --" This didn't seem like the right time to grill Smecker for further information about the five-year-old caroling committee aliens, not until he was a little less rattled, so Michael ran a hand through his hair and, when he spoke up again, was slower and in a quiet, even register of his voice.

"Agent, you know they were just fucking with you. Someone was just fucking with you. It might be whoever's keeping us prisoner, it might not be -- my money's on is, personally, but I'm not the one who was in the conversation." He put his hand up in a just hold on gesture as if Paul could see him. "On some level, at some layer in this archaeological dig once we dig deep enough, this is going to make sense. I'm sorry you ran into the Gaslighting Committee for Psychological Warfare, but -- that's just what it is, is the thing -- and now we know something, right? Whatever's got us here," he made a face, "it's not above toying with you or me. Sometimes you can't analyze a lot beyond that."