[That's fair enough. Rosalind would prefer to simply receive answers, but she's aware that's not how the world works.]

The machine used to kill me was a machine of my own invention, one that could tear apart time and space. It was sabotaged, and overloaded, exploding me and killing u-- killing me in an instant. But I woke, and found that I hadn't been killed-- and then again, I had. I was alive and dead, my cells scattered among all the universes.

Schrodinger's physicist, you might call me.