That means she died, [ he says bluntly, breath stuttering in and out. ] Since I wasn't located and summarily executed afterwards, we can assume she defeated Samaritan.

But she was never going to make it off the satellite, like I wasn't supposed to make it off the roof.

[ It would have been poetic. It would have been right, the two of them finding an end together, accomplishing what he'd set out to do when he created her. Harold closes his eyes and tries to find some scrap of self-control, some way to feel even a little bit at peace with what had happened, but there's nothing. He's vacant of any rational desire to keep himself level or return to normal life. It's absurd in the face of all that tragedy to just keep going like nothing changed. ]