"Fine, whatever, we're a cult," he says, flatly, with a dismissive shrug. "A cult of people who don't want to die here. What nefarious schemes must we be working to make that happen?" He scoffs loudly. "Do you even listen to yourself? Or anyone else, for that matter - you didn't answer my question, just screeched about how we must be a cult because we're all dressed in black. What proof do you need?"