Liquid didn't know of any other way. He thought that whatever path he was on now, and to whatever end, it was the only one that he could walk. What did a weapon need or deserve of happiness or family? What could a weapon do but fight and kill as it was made to do?

Liquid had always been told that he was a weapon. And, worse, he believed it, too.

He had the impression, though, that things had suddenly become rather... awkward.

"Him? He's what you would die for?"

His voice was filled with incredulity.