"I don't know what life in your universe was like, Jack, but in mine it was just as pointless and hopeless as this. Maybe more hopeless. I pretended that there was more to it because I had to--because there were people who hadn't given up on living and I wasn't any good to them dead." It was a different kind of futility there, of course. Humanity hadn't needed a physical prison to be just as trapped.
"No one's coming for us," he concedes coolly, watching Jack scramble for the last of the vodka, "and odds are good that we'll never figure a way out ourselves. Is this how you want to deal with that?"