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[Biff isn't cheerful today; he's wearing his most serious expression, though he hasn't been robbed of whatever genuine kindness he usually has when talking at length to the Barge.]

I want to talk about death. Or maybe compassion. Or both.

There is something I notice when we have so many new arrivals on the ship. Some of us who have been here for many months or years will tell the inmates that they're dead. Yes, it is true, we tell them that they have been given a second chance -

[He pauses, then holds up his hands.]

It is not a lecture. This is only me, talking.

[Sighing, Biff clasping his hands together as he tries to find a new starting point.]

Think of how you feel, to lose a loved one. Your sorrow is because you will never hear their voice again, never feel their hands or see their smile. That is a clean wound that will never heal.

Death is a terrible thing. It's natural, but it's terrible.

When we tell the inmates that they are dead, remember what that means. Think how they would feel, to come here and know they have lost everything. Think of all the adventures they will never have. Think of all the wine they will never taste, the food they will never eat. Think of the pretty girls who will never kiss them. The Barge gives us many things, but it isn't real life.

Life is over for many of them.

We should...at least learn their names before we become the bearers of such terrible news.

We should also consider these things before we raise our hands to kill one another, even if death isn't permanent here. You should not kill someone thinking they will come back.

One day, they might not.

[A beat. He moves on. His tone becomes dark and quiet, a far cry from the compassion he displayed a moment ago:]

I was a terrible person in that flood. I'm glad I stayed in my room.