Will's mostly lost track of the network, since the world went all to shit. He's spent most of his time running around the city, trying to help herd evacuees, and dealing with the occasional horrifying beast. It's frustrating – he'd be a lot more effective if he had one of the machines from home. Actually, he'd be fucking unstoppable with one of those, and maybe he should see if anyone around the Lot could reproduce one, however unlikely it is, because he's not really in his element with hand-to-hand combat. Well. He's not in anything remotely resembling his element at the moment.

Anyway.

The point is, he's been busy. He's only glanced at the network once or twice since all this started, and maybe he should have sent out hey-are-you-okay texts but he's been a bit preoccupied in general, anyway. And the only time he's bothered to poke at the network recently, just to make sure someone wasn't dead, he'd gotten hung up on.

Oh. Speaking of, there he is now. Rude Guy. Awesome. Will slows down to eye the small pile of goods accumulated beside Marty. “Really?” he says.