You know what else it says a lot about? Whatever the hell is down here. Because Stan knows plenty about stuff meant to keep people out, yeah, but he also - as has been established although, luckily for Stan, not out loud - knows a little somethin' about stuff meant to keep people in.

"Aside from the guy who was helpin' you, right?" Unless he's a figment of Ford's poor brain too, jeez, don't think that, all this is enough to deal with already without things being that bad.

"So you just put that deathtrap room in for shits and giggles? And this whole place, it's for, uh... Science stuff?" Stan sweeps the flashlight around, frowning. The excitement of the place is starting to wear off more, the more time he has to think. And the things he's thinking of? Mostly questions. Scary ones, and the worst are the ones that start with why. It might show in his voice, that unhappiness, the hope that Ford will come up with some perfectly innocent answer that explains everything. Because as cool as all this is, as much as it all looks like something out of a movie, Stan can't help but wonder just when Ford made all of it. Did he make it before his mind started to... Well, before? Or after?