At the first building the Cylons ever built on New Caprica, Boomer and Caprica discuss how fucked up everything is, basically, and how detaining people in the middle of the night does not lead to warm feelings and cozy robot/people hugging sprees. On the other hand, Caprica notes, suicide bombs. Valid. Jammer approaches Boomer -- remember they were friends on the Deck Crew when she was secretly boning his boss a million years ago -- and stammers and acts weird because nobody knows the etiquette of resurrection, or if you can be friends with people who stick you in concentration camps, even if you join their fucked-up paramilitary police, on and on like this, and he can't say the word "friends," so he keeps hopping around it, and the only thing more painful than this is the sadness in her eyes and the need to ignore all that: "Yeah, Jammer. Just spit it out." So he does, and she goes very quiet: "They got Cally on the last raid." How come everybody acts like this is such an awful thing? Seriously. That is the very definition of "not my fucking problem."