"I should bloody well hope so," says a voice that comes from behind Riddick, near the beverage cart. Death pours a bourbon into a rocks glass with a sphere of ice, and offers to pour one for Riddick, should he be interested.

"Before you ask, Angels, no, I cannot tell you my victory condition this round nor the victory condition of my opponent; I cannot outright explain to you the factors that accounted for a loss or victory in a particular Jaunt this round; and I cannot tell you whose match it is next or what they might intend for you." Mortimer gives Matthew a world-weary stare, his blasé vocal tone indicating he was expecting this, somehow, but was dreading it now that it had finally come. "Does that preemptively answer all your questions?"