The street was empty a moment ago. Something in the fabric of the universe twists and warps, subtly enough to miss it unless you happen to be alert and lucky, and then a woman appears from thin air and hits the ground hard. She looks like hell, exhausted and bedraggled, red hair and thin white pajamas both dripping wet - and now she's probably badly bruised where she hit the sidewalk, but that's really the least of her concerns.

Olivia scrambles to her feet, takes stock of her surroundings with obvious dismay, and then turns to focus on the guy with the cellphone. The fact that he doesn't seem to be a Fringe Agent and isn't pointing a gun at her is at least mildly comforting. Nothing else really is.

Her tone is flat when she speaks, but not enough to entirely cover the edge of fading hope, or the despair creeping back in. "...this isn't Boston, is it?" She has to ask, though she's fairly certain she knows the answer already.