Chase shuddered involuntarily at the reminder of those fucking robots. He leaned back against the seat, folding his arms over his chest in a way that he hoped looked more nonchalant than uncomfortable, and was certain he'd failed. The actual physical, if that was what they were calling it, had only been slightly less terrible than the litany of shocks he'd received for his lack of cooperation. He was certain it had only lasted for a few minutes, for as long as his stubbornness and fear had energized him, but it had felt like hours.
"The...cottage part sounds kind of nice," he offered, though he knew that likely wasn't much consolation. He wanted to ask if they'd bothered to give Reginald things to do, stuff to read, movies to watch, anything. Kiley seemed to be more on point with the important stuff.