"I suppose that is what Unger saw wen he held me to the wall." A hand thick and cold from gauntlets, crushing in it's grip. Her fingers drift up to massage the base of her throat, eyes distant in memory. "Perhaps I was fortunate in that I never truly saw such people in my time there. Those that do not look at us so much as they do through us- to which we are little better than beasts, than things to be used and discarded."

It takes a moment to reign that fear and frustration back in. Unger is dead, the world is a mess, they must do better. Above all else they must do better than what they had before.

No other option is acceptable.

"Depending on how things go in the Inquisition, we will set a precedent. Provided we are not forgotten entirely."