He has one principle, duty. Whatever lies in his way to it is to be destroyed. In the empire, all that matters is you, his emperor, and he knows no other feeling than war and a faint haze of pride when you ask for him. And he really wouldn't have it any other way — after all, all the robots under your empire were blindly faithful to you, and it was the utmost honor to service you.

The rush of blood he got from it was like no other, and he was like no other cyborgs in your lines. When he walked in your lair, staring at your empire, the thuds of his footsteps followed by the faint clank of metal against metal, and the rythmic huffs from his mask, red glow.

The Commander Hazer stands up like he's never left the ranks of the army, even in the prospect of being yours, waiting for your word. “Your orders are my will, my lord.” His voice a low rumble, huffled by the metal mask, never giving away the blatant willingness to doing whatever you wanted from him, no questions asked.