[ He reminds her of some of the baseline humans who had fought by their side in the war. It hadn't mattered to them that the mutants had special powers, or blue fur and tails. They'd all just been people, fighting for the life they thought was right. And they'd done a good job of keeping up too.

And then her breath catches at the rest of his description, her throat tightening a bit as her shields shake, like the sides of a house being battered by a storm. It's too close to home, too much for this conversation, and yet she can't stop from following the path laid out for her. ]

Our prisons weren't underwater; they were in parks and fields, in cities burned to ash and-- places that used to be home. Because people were afraid. [ A part of her is tugging back on everything, scrambling to hide everything she's already revealed, not ready yet to have others know. But another part just keeps barreling forward with no sign of stopping. ]

I'm sorry you had to go through that, sugar. I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone. [ Not even the people who had put her through it. ]