Clay had spent his time after coming to on the boat in a slightly different state of mind. He'd kept an eye on the others on the boat, trying to piece together how he'd gotten there, what they wanted with him, and most importantly, whether or not the chip in his head he'd assumed was broken had suddenly kicked in and was now robbing him of the freedom he'd tasted for far too brief a time. He disembarked with the rest of them, even more confused after he was handed a phone and a map, but didn't voice his questions.

Gus caught his attention just by virtue of being loud and slightly obnoxious. Clay didn't actually speak Spanish, but he recognized it as Mexican at least. He understood being angry, Clay was himself, but the kid wasn't going to get himself anywhere with the way he was acting. He approached the smaller man cautiously, he'd already proven he carried a gun, and watched him for a moment more, unimpressed.

"Hey, big shot. How are the answers coming?"