It's time. Time to see yourself as you truly are. It's going to be absolutely devastating, but there's no way to avoid it.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
473 · Voice lines
It's time. Time to see yourself as you truly are. It's going to be absolutely devastating, but there's no way to avoid it.
This idiocy has gone on too long. It's time to wipe that decadent homo-sexual grin off your face.
It's time. Your efforts at avoiding this moment have been truly heroic, but now there's nothing left but for you to confront yourself as you truly are, no matter the consequences...
Love... time... Revachol... all of it. The pressure is putting you on your knees.
The problem is obvious: You simply can't hack it. You're a failure. It's all too much for you.
This idiocy has gone on far too long. It's time to wipe that decadent homo-sexual grin off your face. Time to see yourself as you truly are.
Let this new face be a reminder, an unalterable mark of shame. This is the face of The Loser, the face of He Who Looks at Himself and Despairs. Now, get out of your sight.
Fine... The three of you, all together, ride an aerostatic into the sunset. The question remains: Will you sacrifice love to keep Revachol safe?
We keep it buried like a horrible secret. We feed it through the cracks in the floorboards out of a sickening sense of nostalgia. Just enough to keep it alive. And yet it still comes to us in moments of weakness, unbidden, a source of shame and panic...
Despite doubt, fear, sentimentality and weakness, you plough ever forward, like an icebreaker, tearing through the frigid North Sea.
It takes a true kingsman to summon the will to face reality in all its darkness. To stare straight into the abyss and do what must be done.
This idiocy has gone on too long. It's time to wipe that decadent homo-sexual grin off your face.
No, it's far too late. All that remains is for you to feel bad, because you failed, and there's nothing you can do about it. That is the way of the world...
There's a lever in front of you. Pull it, and atomic fire blankets your beloved Revachol. Millions die in an instant. But you are spared. You, and the voice in the payphone.
Face it, bröther. No one's got the willpower to build her up again. They won't do what has to be done.
The bloated whores, schizophrenic anarchists and deformed moneylenders tremble, trying to shield their eyes, as he -- Le gendarme en diamant -- walks by!