Taking the ballpoint pen, he nods, slow, lips pressed into that same thin line.

"Thank you for the writing implement." Pen has evaded his memory in this particular moment, and so he says that instead. As far as belief in truth of monitor or illusion, Yi is correct. There's no way to say for sure. Until they're back with the rest of their people and comparing notes, they won't know.

So he bows, brief if polite, and turns to head through the door they've opened, into the holding cell where twelve and more others waited, as plucked out of this experiment as he only now had been. There are enough worries to swirl around in his head for now.