[ As detached as he is from the situation, it's not as if he's genuinely affected by what he'd done as he had been when he initially arrived, scared and furious and seeking out answers that wouldn't put him on the spot, because he'd rid himself of any idea of the afterlife when he found himself capable of the same blasphemies he disparaged others for.

The sympathy is infuriating, somehow. Elliot's already regretting proposing the trip, because he can't even focus, hands snatching around nothing in particular: pockets of air, his own futility, digging kneaded creases into his palms.

The faltering stare doesn't escape his notice: he's always found that people lie when they avert their gaze, but he's guilty of that notion several times over himself. ]

The world wouldn't be unkind enough to offer absolution for the virtuous and morally righteous. Even if they pass, it isn't the end. They'll only be taken back into the cycle that all life moves through.

For the damned, there's nothing but finality awaiting them. They'll die. Permanently.