[He's... more surprised by what she doesn't say than what she does. He was expecting 'no,' or at least more disparagement. Which would have been justified, of course! He was more honest than he should have been, truly. That's a lofty dream for what is inherently and self-evidentally raw and rotted garbage.

Though if nothing else, rot is an element with which he is intimately familiar.]

I'll leave grit to heroes.

[Then he laughs: his laugh isn't totally unkind, but it's too loud to be exactly nice.

But his purpose isn't in his possessing any virtues, like intelligence, or bravery. He's used for what he knows he is: cheap, convenient, and disposable.]

Mmmm.

[.... grit.

Is that what she calls it?

Well. He won't deny there's a certain power to that kind of conviction--assuming it is conviction.]

But I take it I'm not going to die tomorrow.

[He sounds moderately disappointed about that.]

...... and there's no way I'll be allowed out from under the Psiionic?