Hatching an escape plan

It's becoming clearer that I am going to have to spin a yarn of my own to follow out of this mess, like Dedalus. That guy with his crazy shells: what was he thinking?

Only the same brainwashed yogurt-swilling chirping ninnies at breakfast; I didn't hear a word of it this time. They talk the same nonsense over and over again, except Samson, who's still so quiet. I think I trust him. But I don't know.
And who is the new one, in the grey sweats? I'll ask at lunch.