Voltaire Hayashi was walking around in a confused shame. His entire life, he had been told that that what he lacked was was empathy, that he lacked that special connection that all people are supposed to have that connects them to each other and prevents them from harming each other. Since he was a child he had been accused of being something of a sociopath and he was so twisted and internally torn now. He felt like his gut was tied up into a knot because the first time that he was ever caught showing any type of sympathy or empathy he had his eye carved out of his face, horribly scarring his face that was once such a mark of pride to him, and limited his vision to about half of what it had been before. He teared up a little and put his hand up to the bandages, realizing what he had lost. It was a horribly crushing blow, and he just wished that he could find some answers. He sat alone in the desert with nothing but a bottle of water, and one of his Twin Wasp puppets tucked under his jacket pocket. He lied down in the sand and took a deep breath as the sand started to cover half of his face with a light breeze.
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