Oh, god. The brazen way with which Dick seems to take all of this make John's head spin a little. He can't imagine anyone nearly drowning on some sick chess board only to turn around and crack a joke. Then again, he happens to know more than two handfuls of people who do exactly that. In Deerington, in fact. (And if he's being honest, he probably qualifies himself on some level.)

"Jesus, you've got a positive outlook," he says, figuring it's a pretty good defense mechanism no matter how someone takes what this kid says. Waiting for his own number to come up, he watches. Dick's still behind him, but not by much, and as he rolls again, he finds himself with a five and less urge to move than last time.

Stepping ahead, he comes to a stop on a treasure spot. A little theatricality moment passes and in a moment John finds himself with a rebreather-like device. "Well, this coulda helped you earlier," he notes, showing it off to the other guy. Would he recognize it? It's a gadget, just like the last item.