Living in a building owned by an angel has granted her a good indication of the legitimacy of their existence, but then, devoting the majority of her life to the construction of monsters to fight cloned alien war machines that crawled from a slash in the fabric of spacetime had also bestowed her with plenty of perspective.

But those things had never been human. That, to her, made a distinct, regretful, horrifying difference.

"I haven't been here long," she says, but her expression soon darkens into a puzzled frown. "I don't remember how long. I was in a building, somewhere - Hell's Kitchen, I think - "

Her voice dwindles into nothing as she thinks with increasing, alarming, dawning terror that she cannot link those events with these. She cannot possibly, because there is no connection, none at all.