"He might be ready to learn tricks soon," Tony replied glibly. So: no change, no prospects, move on. He still stared a moment at the smudged walls of the tightly sealed cell, watched the blurred form of Hank waver, directionless, in the centre of it, unsure if he was staring back out or if he had his back turned.
Actually...
It was a long time ago that Tony had accepted no amount of medical science was bringing the infected back to life and back to normal, but what about reprogramming? What about all of his grand theories of a posthumanist society? Maybe letting the bodies rot was the foundation. Maybe Tony's psychotic breakdown was looming dangerously close. More food, more cigarettes. "Do you smoke yet?" he asked abruptly, searching his pockets.