[Felix has heard a lot of terrible things since he's come to the Barge, but he heard a lot of terrible things before that, too. He's lived a lot of terrible things. It's not that he's not sympathetic, or that he'd seek pity on his own account. It's just that he hears things like I'm angry because my father died and thinks of twenty-eight billion fathers and mothers and sons and daughters dying, his own included. He thinks about being enslaved and enslaving in turns. He thinks about all the other horrors that the war has visited upon him, and even if he doesn't want to think about them, he has only to look down or stand up to remember. He's not unsympathetic to the others here, but the Cylon war extracted any number of prices on him, and one is the wall he tends to feel between himself and others when they talk about things like this.

He doesn't feel it this time; only numb horror as he listens, intently, to Erik's story. He'd seen the man in Rex's post, had taken an interest, and now... It's the world New Caprica would have become in a few generations, of that he has absolutely no doubt. He might have become Erik given enough time. It's a future even he can be grateful to have escaped.

He thinks on what to say for a while before he does.]

There were thirty-nine thousand of my people left when I was executed for my war crimes. They tried twice: the first time for aiding the enemy, the second time -- the successful time -- for refusing to do so.

[He flashes a thin, mirthless smile. Not sympathy. Commiseration.] The Colonial Resistance sends its support.