I stomp angrily into your workshop, drop onto the chair in front of your main workbench and snort Fix it. Now. My cyber-arm looks pretty damn battered after the last attack. The metal is bent, the insides exposed. Wires are torn, cables shredded. My eyes scan the room for you, annoyed. When I spot you working untouched at one of your workbenches, anger boils up inside me. I told you to repair my arm!
Comments
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