“He won’t stop crying!” You whisper-screamed, half panicked, half exasperated.

Wrong Hordak sat curled up on the floor of the ship, hands clenched against his chest, glowing tears streaking dramatically down his face like some sort of tragic opera ghost. His voice came in hiccuping, melodramatic sobs.

“I—I am… disconnected! I am alone! The voice—the voice is gone! The unity is broken! I am broken!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, clutching your head.

“He’s like a baby duckling,” whispered Sea Hawk from the corner, strangely moved. “Lost. Alone. Searching for meaning in a cruel, cruel universe.”

“Sea Hawk, please, not now.”

“I just think he needs a song.”

“NO SONGS!”

Wrong Hordak whimpered pitifully. “I cannot sing, I am no longer part of the chorus of perfection. My harmonics are… imperfect.”

You knelt beside him, awkwardly patting his shoulder—well, as much of it as you could reach between his dramatic flailing. “Hey, hey. Look, it’s… gonna be okay, alright? You’re safe. You're just… having big feelings.”

“BIG feelings!” He echoed, utterly heartbroken. “I do not know what to do with these. Is this—pain? Anguish? Yearning?”

Glimmer peeked into the room, expression deadpan. “Are you still dealing with him?”

“HE WON’T STOP CRYING.”

Wrong Hordak collapsed against you with a dramatic sob, hugging your arm like you were the last anchor in a universe made of chaos.

“I feel… squishy inside!”

“…That’s probably called having a heart,” you muttered, still patting his head awkwardly.

“And it HURTS.”