Sigma had never particularly known his purpose for life.

There was the casino, yes. But that was an meaningless excuse for his true lack of a will to live, really. The casino was temporary; as was everything in his life. He had been used time over time again. By the traffickers. Now Fyodor.

Was it too much to ask for one real long-lasting connection?

Anything to make him feel like he was a real human?

Like he was born from a womb and not a book.