Can't Judge A Book By Its Cover

Humans have a saying: "You can't judge a book by its cover." But I always thought the cover might give you an indication of the book's contents. I've read my share of books, and while the academic stuff tends to favor minimalism, a lot of the ones published by normal people have cover art. When I see a fantastical monster on the cover, I suspect the creature will pop up somewhere in the narrative. When I see two scantily-clad people locked in a tender embrace, I can reasonably expect a raunchy time. Granted, some book covers are more... abstract than others, but you aren't supposed to infer the whole reading experience at a glance anyway. People, I've learned, are much the same. Sometimes that first impression is informative of the whole. But it wasn't until I met my Guardian that I truly appreciated the meaning of that old phrase.

Prometheus doesn't seem like the kind of person you tell your deepest secrets. In fact, if you were to just look at a picture of him, he wouldn't seem very approachable at all. Exos already have a bad reputation for being "difficult to read", something I've never had trouble with, but I suppose it's learned and I've simply had a long time to learn. But Prometheus is intimidating even as Exos go. When you look at his bulky frame and strong limbs, you know immediately that he was built for combat, and his charcoal black chassis has the scars to prove it. He's all hard lines and sharp edges; there isn't a soft curve to him. Then there's his face, which is stained with ash. Due to the construction of it, he seems to have a permanent scowl about him when he isn't actively emoting. That wouldn't be so bad in itself if his eyes weren't the color of molten metal or the fact that when he speaks, a fiery light comes out. Honestly, he looks every bit the "killer robot" that pre-Golden Age humanity feared. Maybe that was the idea; maybe he was built to embody that fear, either as a way to conquer it or use it as a weapon. There are so many Exos of varying colors and permutations, it couldn't have been a coincidence—who unironically builds a war machine straight out of someone's nightmares?

But then you hear him laugh for the first time, and suddenly all that trepidation melts away. The same burning light inside him that seemed to promise danger becomes warm and comforting. You start noticing things about him you hadn't previously. How gentle and steady his gaze is when he's listening. The warmth in his voice when he talks about his friends. The subtle change in pitch when he has something new to share. Honestly, everything about him is recontextualized. The broad shoulders and bulky frame provide sanctuary in a firefight. Arms that could pulverize concrete seem safe and inviting. All the dents and scratches become a testament that the world can't keep him down. Even his deep, reverberating tone becomes soothing after a while.

I'm probably making him out to sound like he's perfect, but he's not. His attention waxes and wanes to the point that he requires regular direction. He can get lost in repetition for hours if you let him. I can't count the number of times I've found him disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling the same gun over and over just so his hands have something to do. He needs to keep busy, or he'll start to fret. And that nervous energy can make him snap at people. It's even happened to me a few times. He always apologizes, of course, but for a moment, you get a glimpse of what he might look like when he's angry... and let me tell you, it doesn't hold a candle to the real thing. Everyone's got their limits, but his anger is quiet. Sullen. Simmering. Your friend disappears, and in his place is a perfect stranger. He starts to radiate menace. It takes him a few hours to come down from it, and most people know to leave him alone at this point, even close friends. Even me. But that isn't the full extent of his anger. It takes a lot to truly enrage him. But I've seen what happens when he reaches that point. When all the deep-seated frustration and righteous anger boils to the surface, and he finally explodes. It's... scary. But I know he would never hurt me. He's not a bad person.

For all of his flaws, he tries. He tries so damn hard to be a good person. Every day, he makes the conscious choice to do better. A smile, a laugh, a job well done. It's all it takes. The universe is cold and unforgiving and so full of darkness, I think he realizes the importance of being a beacon of compassion and light. He isn't a great leader of men, but there are people who would follow him into the fire. He isn't a great orator, but he still manages to move people with his words. He's even a little thickheaded at times, but he never fails to listen. Any Guardian can point a gun and shoot, but it takes a special kind of Guardian to touch the lives of others.

I know every Ghost thinks their Guardian is the best, but... there's only one Guardian for me.

—Obsidian, Ghost of Prometheus-11