"No apology needed, chummer. Thanks for noticing, it is fuckin' barbaric." Saturday says this with concerning good cheer, her mouth moving in a way that is technically a smile but mostly just baring her teeth. "SIN stands for System Identification Number, an' yeah, the name is a bit of a lot but I didn't pick it. Not sure who did, or why."

She sits back. Thinking about home makes her run cold inside, cold and angry; angry that she's stuck here, angry that here is like there, angry that the same shit seems to be everywhere, whatever world you find yourself in.

"It's not a population thing. 'S resource distribution. There's this notion, see, that like... hmm. How to put it. Well, there's complexities and justifications, but the simplest way is this. Most people believe that people who are poor and hungry are that way because they deserve it. Like, everything costs money, right? Food, shelter, education, medical care. So obviously, if you aren't earning enough money for those things, it's your own fault. A decent, healthy life with some simple joy in it isn't a right, it's a privilege and if you don't contribute to the wealth of those higher above you in the hierarchy, you don't deserve even that much."