My opinion of humans? I think you're vain. So proud of your spirit and yet... So very fragile. You see, you all have your ways of dealing with your wounds. You grieve, but that's just the way of things. Life decides. You accept. You suffer. Tara always called it her black fog. On her bad days, she wouldn't even leave her bed. She'd just lie there. Staring at the ceiling. You hate. The world needs people like me. All these do-go-dys-a-think-they-could fight evil without getting their hands dirty as self-righteous idiots. But some wounds don't heal. They've passed her. So you look for a cure. Imagine there's a way not to just see, but to travel into other realities. Imagine that the what-ifs wouldn't have to stay hypothetical. It's just that her last letter scared me. It sounded so final as if she was walking towards an abyss. And I couldn't stop her. Who were these people? Some kind of cult? The father, the leader of the Relator is a monster that ever was one. When I was a child, he abducted me and other orphans to experiment on us. He has no idea I'm still alive, and I'm coming for it. Often, however, this cure is just poison to numb the pain. And it slowly turns your wounds into tumors. Until one day, they burst open. The work... ...are here. No, no you're not again! Please! This is our chance to finally do something that matters. Something will you. This is it, Tara. This is what you gave me up for! So it's true, Vera. You're losing your mind. Just like Sister Pride did. No! So what do I think of your kind? I pity you. The human condition is a sickness. I have the cure. You were right, you know. There's a line of yarmich that's no redemption. I crossed it long ago.