[Seeming normal and being normal were two entirely different things. After years of dealing with the fallout of Despair, she's been duped too many times to take a single thing for granted.

Fukawa's eyes narrow and turn back to her feet. There's a clumsy rhythm going now, she's been able to let go of his sleeve and so does not need to watch herself so close. She just needs a second to review. There's a grunt of dissatisfaction —] The eighties. [— before she takes a slight pause. Let her mull the implications over.]

This is so r-ridiculous. Maybe...it's some kind of simulation? [She looks to him for affirmation.] We could have had our consciousness uploaded into a program, our memories tampered with. It would explain how they're p-pulling all this bullshit off.