Yes, that rhythmic breathing confirms it; this individual may be more machine than man, but man he was originally. He laughs dryly, the sound as dry as dead leaves being blown in the wind. "I have no time for death. My work is too important." For Crane at least, though he knows not everyone appreciates the study of fear the way he does. "I was on the cusp of achieving something truly significant."

He focuses on trying to walk, getting accustomed to the ugly length of wood currently serving as an impromptu crutch. "But all for naught, it appears. My world is dead." He doesn't know how he knows it, just that he feels it in his bones, as he pushed his way out of the chrysalis. Gotham, Metropolis, Star City, every hero and criminal and all their squabbles and all worlds in the stars beyond, just...gone, like dust.

"Though I will not argue with being its chosen survivor." He adds. The work can continue, and who knows...possibilities might emerge that dwarf even what that container of TITAN Crane had managed to drag to shore with him after escaping Arkham Asylum had done for his toxin.