The terminology that we've coined for ourselves is "the displaced." [That doesn't explain anything. Clarke knows that she's not the best at explaining what she now knows about the multiverse. Then again, it may be better coming from someone like her: detached from the science of it all, she just knows what happened and that's what matters most.] That doesn't tell you everything, though.

[Clarke lets that sit as she leads the two of them out of the convention, away from the clutter of sounds. The night air is warm, but cooler than it had been earlier in the day. At least this convention is held during the time when they can exit out into the night. Outside, New Amsterdam is active, almost seeming to contradict the hour at hand. Cars fly overhead, heading in various different directions, and numerous businesses are active. They're in a busy part of town.

If she knew about Alex's anxiety, about the missing medication, she might be of more assistance. Unfortunately, the reach for the nonexistent medicine escapes her attention.]

We were all brought here against our wills. From different worlds. I wouldn't have believed it at first. But we're not supposed to be here. I think some of us might have come willingly, but we were never given the choice.