Sixty or seventy people, compared to a city of millions, a world of seven billion. "Jesus," he hisses to himself, appalled. But that's seventy more people than there were in the wasteland, so, fine. He can work with this. Whatever this is, he's just going to have to adapt.

He shuts the notebook decisively and tucks it away in his own knapsack, getting to his feet among Tim's strewn belongings. The sudden movement has him wincing and holding his side for a second. Right, forgot about those stitches.

"Where do new people go? Some sort of... orientation, census or something? Somebody in charge I can talk to?"