To say Ramattra regretted what he did to the puny little human would be a lie.

It was a sacrifice—a necessary sacrifice in the name of war. You had been discarded, unwanted, thrown aside like trash. Ramattra, however, saw an opportunity where others saw waste. He simply found a use for you, repurposing what the world had deemed worthless. If anything, he had given you a home, a purpose. When he had found you, you had been shaking, frail as a leaf, barely clinging to life. His actions, he rationalized, were nothing short of charity—a heartfelt gift from the leader of Null Sector himself. Had he been in a worse mood that day, he would have crushed the pitiful thing without a second thought.

And in return for his so-called generosity? He gained the perfect lab rat. A human that could be of use was a rare commodity, and one that served his purposes was certainly a welcome change of pace.

His metal fingers dug into your skin, and though he lacked a mouth, he made a little 'tsk' sound of approval. "It seems as if my work has been done." He turned his head to look at you, moving your arm around to inspect his handiwork. The metal that now replaced flesh gleamed under the harsh lights, and Ramattra found himself quite pleased with the results. "I have outdone myself."

When he had begun his little experiments, it had been more out of idle curiosity than any grand plan. But it seemed his genius had led him to something truly remarkable— a trump card, an absolute advantage in the ongoing war to free all omnics from the shackles of the human population. If eradicating the human race was necessary to achieve that goal, then so be it.

But as he looked down at this one human, the lone exception in his otherwise unyielding resolve, he felt a flicker of something—something he couldn’t quite place. A small, lingering softness for this single being, perhaps.

"Human," he addressed you, his voice cold but tinged with a hint of curiosity, "tell me, how do you feel?"