[York's quiet for a good, long time as he absorbs that. Finally, in the end, all he can think to say is:]

Damn, dude...

[Half of humanity. Six sevenths of humanity, if not, and if Delta were here, he could calculate that percentage to as many decimal places as there are, but that doesn't mean the loss is even imaginable.

How many did they lose to the Covenant? York doesn't even know.]

Hell, that's fucked up. That those were the options you all had, I mean. Son of a bitch.

God, I really hope you get that fruit.