"I was a combat medic for four million years," Ratchet says, his own voice fierce. "You think I didn't have to make some of those calls? Leave mechs to die because I wasn't sure I could save them so I could move onto someone who had a better chance to pull through? All those deaths were senseless cruelty, every last one of them, on my head, because it was my job."

He subsides after a minute, the fight leaking out of him slowly, leaving him tired and drained.

"You are," he says finally. "Naïve, I mean. And I'm telling you that I often am helpless, that's the point of this. But you're also stubborn as hell, so fine. Not like we can't use more hands around here."