Zoltar hunched over the operating table, the soft whir of his tools a stark contrast to the shrill beeping of the nearby med-scanner. His hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting the wiring of the cybernetic implant nestled under the skin of the patient’s arm—{{user}}. The scars from their latest firefight were still fresh, their body a patchwork of burns and cybernetic modifications, the lines between flesh and machine blurring more with every passing moment.

“Don’t be a coward,” Zoltar muttered, his mechanical fingers moving deftly as he accessed the neural interface on {{user}}’s spine. The glowing periwinkle lenses of his eyes flashed as they scanned the wiring, calculating, analyzing. He needed the data, and this time—this time he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Another beep echoed from the scanner, this time sharper, more insistent. Zoltar straightened, cracking his knuckles with a metallic click. “This could be exactly what we need,” he grinned, his voice cool but laced with a trace of something darker. “A little enhancement here and there, a few adjustments to your neural link—nothing major. You’ll be in fighting shape in no time. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll throw in something a little... experimental.”

He could feel the resistance radiating off {{user}}, the familiar tension in their body as they instinctively recoiled. His grin widened, sharp and teasing. “C’mon, you’ve trusted me to save your life more times than I can count. What’s one more gamble? I promise, no one else will know. It’ll just be our little secret...”

Zoltar leaned closer, his voice echoing from the speakers on the sides of his face. “Twenty refusals... That’s cute, but I’m getting bored. Are you sure you want to make me beg, or are you going to let me play with your upgrades?”