Morris sighed resignedly and spoke up. "Remember when you first came over here and I was telling you the story of your father?"

Uneasily, Paint said, "Yeah, what about it?"

"You might remember a name from back then: 'Metarex'. To refresh, they're the group of wrongdoers that your father and his friends saved the galaxy from. They had very, very empty hearts."

"Yeahhhh...?"

"You're one of them."

"I... I don't understand," Paint murmured. "For a while now you've been extolling how good a person I am, and regardless of whether I deserve-"

"No, no. I mean, you're one of them. It was revealed not long after their defeat that the Metarex were Seedrians, just like your mother. They underwent deliberate transformation to become more powerful and defend themselves in a war. And your grandfather, whose name was Lucas, was their leader. He orchestrated all of it. All of that... lives within you."

Paint sat still, staring at the ground. Weakly, she squeaked, "How... how do you know this?"

"I used to live in a more... civilized area. Actually, I can tell you the name: it was the city of Namosstok, one of the most populous on Mobius. A port city, in fact; you might visit it... B-but anyway, your father and his shipmates were all visiting; they'd been invited to a gigantic celebration a few days after the Metarex's defeat. They spoke all about it. Word got out, basically.

"And while I'm normally a strong proponent of an informed populace, this part I'm not so happy about: Word got out... here. And it was... my fault.

"Let me backtrack a little. It happened that I was already beginning a move out to Techokko Province; I'd been growing weary of the city life already, but when my best friend back there passed away, I knew it was time to leave. I spent my life savings on a reliable motorcycle, packed nothing - not even a jacket or food - and jetted off into the Techokko thicket. I was looking for any town I could find... but the darn thing broke down after a while so I had to do a great deal of aimless walking. Sunny Clearing was the first town I came across, and when I showed up, exhausted and a little, er, gaunt, everyone wanted to know where I'd come from, what I knew of the outside world.

"So I told them a few things. Mostly it was innocuous information, but it included the story of the Metarex. It included that they had been docile, plant-like creatures before their demonic transformation, and it included a basic outline of what they looked like. Y'know... based on a picture of your mother that'd been cycling through the papers.

"You may have heard this, but I found you when your seed made it to Mobius. You were helpless, so I had no choice but to bring you back. At first the town seemed optimistic to raise the new baby together, but when they realized how much you matched my description of Seedrians... I'm... sure you get the picture."

Arrowhead demanded, "You mean that's why the adults in this town hate Paint so much? It's their prejudice against descendants of the Metarex?"

"Well, mostly," Morris amended. "Paint, I'm sure you know you've always been a bit of a rascal. Stealing food, getting your friend here into trouble, writing creepy limericks and sharing them with children, breaking other people's property - on accident, I know, but still... Er, the genetic debacle was the main part of it, but when they saw you misbehaving, it only confirmed their suspicions. You were destined to be, at worst, a complete sociopath and, at best, no one they'd want around if they could help it.

"But they... they were wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was all quiet, the stupor lasting for five minutes at least, until Paint spoke in staccato. "I'm... a Metarex. I'm programmed for... cruelty. I-it's in my blood."

Arrowhead wouldn't have it. "Paint, that's not true! You've never had an evil moment in your life as long as I've known you! Star owes its life to your kindness!"

Star whirred resoundingly, not about to let her despair.

Flatly and after more time, Paint replied, "I just don't know anymore. I'd never thought I'd be able to blame myself on anything at all like this."

Arrowhead was ready to cry. "P-Paint... please, don't..."

She silenced him. "Arrow. It's... it's okay. Morris, I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't know what would happen."

Not ready to accept this, Morris ventured, "Paint, are you sure you're oka-"

"No, I'm not okay!" She was sobbing, crumbling down in frustration at her ugly heritage. "I'm a Metarex! I've been optimistic before, but I'm never going to get better! My mom's species is why I can never do anything right, why I can never just be good! Whoever said plants are serene needs to drop dead. I don't want anyone near me! I don't want anyone to be around for me to hurt any longer! It's a good thing I'm leaving - I can do that right now and never come back!" But she did not; she buried her face in the fronds above her knees and continued to sob hopelessly.

Arrowhead and Morris were distressed, but did not know how to comfort her or dissuade her from her fatalist nightmare. Star, however, took action. It beeped authoritatively at Paint; it was important that she listen. She peeked one dewy eye out at the robot, a grain of her curiosity emerging above her crushing waves of sorrow.

Star ratcheted its arm up to point at itself, then made its trademark Eggman gesture before emitting a disapproving beep. It patiently waited for her to timidly nod that she had understood, then it pointed at her and stood still, raising its arms as far as they would reach and fanning them out with increased elevation. Then followed the same beep. Paint's eyes stayed wide open and attentive.

Paint was not fit to interpret for herself - or perhaps she understood but was too afraid to believe - so Arrowhead made the atypical move of stepping in to translate. "Paint," he soothed, "that last gesture was supposed to be a tree - some general kind of plant. Star is saying that just like how it isn't Eggman, you aren't the Metarex."

To affirm, Star mimed arbitrary acts of violence - it didn't know the details of the Metarex's conquest style, but that didn't matter here - and reformed the tree gesture. No sound followed; Star was equating the two. To finish the contrast, it pointed lovingly at Paint and then at its own head.

Arrowhead finished: "The Metarex were violent, but you aren't, and Star knows that. In fact, you've done the exact opposite of violence by taking the explosives out of Star's head, which I wasn't brave enough to. Star adores you, and it doesn't believe you have any chance of being truly bad."

She had finally absorbed it. She squeezed Star like a softer and much smaller plush toy and wept onto its cool, metal hull. It purred in loving response.

Morris was awed by Star's massively comforting effect on her. He had never been one for emotional outreaching, but the robot had done perhaps the most effective, artfully simple job possible.

He grunted as he raised himself from the ground and joined in the embrace.

"Thank you, Star," he whispered. "Thank you so much."