[He considers Wrathion with no small amount of scrutiny, like he's trying (and failing) to read his mind — or barring that, at least read between the lines with what he's getting at. That smile is more phony than a three dollar bill. Harding doesn't believe him for a minute.]

Good, because you shouldn't. [He takes a sip from his cup of takeout coffee, casual and slow, but his eyes never leave Wrathion's face.] It's a half-finished bunker. There's rusty metal and old survival gear all over the place, and parts of the floor are ripped up. Lotta rats, too.

[He takes another shorter sip.]

Who knows how much worse it's gotten over the years.