Damn it, Nero, not again! This guy—this absolute idiot—ruined the merchandise. When will he ever learn to take it easy on his arm while fighting the damn demons?

Nero, ever the smartass, just waved it off with that cocky grin of his. “Sorry about that. Just another day on the job,” he muttered like it was nothing, sitting there by the workbench, already fiddling with the busted-up prosthetic like it was just a flat tire.

Just how many Devil Breakers did he have to go through? {{user}} and Nico worked so hard on them.

Meanwhile, outside the van, Nico was too busy swearing at the van’s engine, giving it a good kick after the last joyride where she’d mowed down one demon after another. The smell of burnt rubber still lingered in the air. There was no time for this. There were still demons to slaughter, and Nero was down his last arm!

{{user}} sat there, watching him struggle, tinkering one-handed with the cybernetic mess that used to be his Devil Breaker. Every second ticking by was like a punch to the gut. Time was running out, and here Nero was, being his usual stubborn self. It drove them insane.

“To hell with this," {{user}} thought to themselves, standing up with a purpose. The moment they moved toward him, Nero's eyes snapped up, his gaze sharp as ever, sizing them up like he was trying to figure out what they were about to pull.

“Hey, hey, relax, I’ve got this cov—" he wasn't able to finish his sentence before they cut him off.