[Whether he meant it like that or not, he was already pressing on a sore spot. Every time some shit went wrong, everybody blamed it on the serial killer. As if she's got the time or the mind to mess with every Dick and Jane on the planet. Sheesh.

Nonetheless, her tirade has ended and her temper has flipped. She's positively serene as she answers him now, flicking an impatient hand through the air.]

Eh, mostly dead. Guess there's a secret killer in all of us, just waiting for the right incentive to arise! But anyway, six of us got out. Out of sixteen. That's what? A third?

[Close enough. Jill isn't here to do math.]

And how many did you give the axe to? Sounds like you had a couple test subjects go wrong. What'd ya do, Wheats? Was it the neurotoxin, or the fire?

[It was hard to say. He was kind of a on a tear back there.]