[ Perhaps notably, Gen barely reacts to that statement -- that he might die miserably. Maybe because a small part of him longs for that outcome, even if another greater part of him would fight tooth and nail against it. (His mind longs for the peaceful rest of death without the pain it would take to get there.)

Instead, it's that offer that he should talk to Emet-Selch when troubled that has him looking up sharply. Even past the bedraggled tangle of his hair, there's a faint, bright glimmer of clear desperation and ... something else in his eyes. Trust, maybe. Even when Emet-Selch looks back to him from his survey of the hallways, Gen's gaze is still fixed on him, lined with exhausted shadows and red at the edges from lack of sleep, lingering on him without shying away.

It still takes a moment longer to muster his voice, though. ]

Do -- [ Uncharacteristically, Gen chokes on his voice for a moment. But only one moment. He forces himself to swallow hard, then forges on regardless of the tightness in his chest. ] ... I heard you're one of the ones who brought them here. The prisoners. Do .... d'you think that's going well? That that was the right thing to do?

[ Even asking that doesn't feel right. It's not like him to express such overt doubts about what he's doing. But still, those words had spilled from his lips before he could stop them, and Gen stares at Emet-Selch like a wild dog, cautious and wary. Awaiting an answer he's not sure he wants to hear. ]