Vasquez doesn't actually react to that, mostly because he thought he'd been in his own version of it. Hell for him involved sleeping with corpses, no food or touch, and a terrible offer sounding like a good one just because of that.

"Congratulations on finding slightly less hell," he deadpans, tucking the cigarette back into his mouth, eyeing the man in his red scrubs, gesturing with a flick of his fingers. "You have the same ones as I do." Even if he's not wearing them right now, it's the same.