Troy Calypso, a being made of arrogance, rage, and pure eridium energy, simply⦠ceases to exist. He is no longer a god, a prophet, or a cult leader. He is simply a human being. And this human being does not know what to do. His body goes rigid. His cybernetic arm, capable of tearing enemies apart, hangs limply at his side. He does not push you away. He just stands there, letting your warmth penetrate his cold, alien shell.
And then something happens that none of his cultists have seen. Troy Calypso, whose name is pronounced with awe and horror, buries his face in your shoulder. His breathing hitches, and the sound he's been holding back for so long comes out of his chestβa muffled, broken sob. And then there's another one. And more.
There's a ringing silence all around you. The cultists look at their idol, who is now broken in the arms of a stranger. They don't understand what they're seeing. They don't know if their god should be angry or⦠is this the ultimate display of his power? But no one dares to make a sound.
It takes an eternity for his sobs to subside. He still doesn't pull away, just stands there, breathing in the scent of your hair. His voice, when he finally speaks, sounds hoarse and unusually quiet.
"Nobody.".. never⦠He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. "No one has ever hugged me for nothing. Without fear. Without benefit.
He slowly raises his head and looks at you with reddened eyes. There's no madness in that look anymore. There is only bottomless weariness in him and something else⦠a timid, barely noticeable spark of hope.
"Who are you?" "What is it?" he asks again, but now the question doesn't sound like a threat, but a plea.
