[Till’s not even dreaming big, here—when he implies escape, he means to at least get the hell out of this room so he can quiet his head. he’s so used to entrapment that he’d be quick to resign a situation of “no escape” in the broader sense.

Till is unmoved by this title, because he doesn’t even know what it is. rudely, he doesn’t offer his name back in exchange, despite having so crassly demanding it himself. this creature is poorly socialized.]

What the fuck—why? I don’t even know how to do any of that!

[all his meals had been provided for him based on nutritional needs as determined by his handler’s staff. cooking on its own is almost a foreign concept.

Till doesn’t even have the words to express his desire and need for a quiet place to stave off what he doesn’t know is called a burgeoning panic attack, so as usual, it manifests this way: a fit.]

I can’t escape a fucking cafeteria? What if I had to take a piss or something?! C’mon!