[ Indeed, calling it a war seems too small a word. Connor will never know about those last few months. The depletion of crops, grain, livestock - consuming roasted insects just to stay alive. Sleeping in the dirt, when they could sleep at all. Spending more time digging graves than picking up weapons. The slow, disquieting fall of the population beyond salvageable levels. And, all that, while she was supposed to lead, supposed to protect.

She knows she'll need to set all that aside. Someday, hopefully soon, she will. It's a remarkably heavy burden, and her own shoulders so slight. ]

You've described yourself as a... detective? As in, you solve crimes. [ It's still an odd concept to her, as evidenced by the somewhat stilting, contemplative way she puzzles out the words. ] You must have seen some things you found unconscionable.

[ #still not getting the robot thing ]