You ask your first question.
Shreya: “Why were Zak and I specifically brought to the City?”
Mr. Raw: “Ooooh! “Why.” So often I get “Where?” or “How?” or “What?” “Why,” is so much more entertaining. And so cleverly worded too. But not properly so. You assume much.“
Mr. Raw: “You, Shreya Chaudrey, are here because even though you think you’re so sophisticated, so noble, so above it all, you’re not. “Oh, I’m a vegetarian! So ethical and caring. I’m an atheist! Full of reason and critical thinking. I volunteer! How compassionate I am!” But when things got rough, when your world was spinning, you turned into a panicked animal: a rabbit in a snare. You wanted to live, and damn your high standards. There are no atheists in foxholes, Shreya, and there is no nobility amongst the dead.“
Mr. Raw: “And you, Zak Li. A man after my own heart. So good at causing others pain, hitting that precise point where it could hurt them the most and make them see death as the sweet release that it is. I’d say I was proud of you if you weren’t here. But here you are, and here you stay, because you’re vicious enough to twist the knife, but you’re too much of a fucking faggot to smile while you do it.“
Mr. Raw chuckles, his wide, bony shoulders shaking. Both mouths in the palms of his hands smile in time with him.
What is your second question?