Shock and pain flare in his optics for a moment before his jaw tightens, his back stiffening--it's hard to tell when people are from, here, but there's no mistaking the venom flickering in Pharma's face as his gaze lingers briefly at Ratchet's hands. That answers that, then.

"Yeah. Well, when Tarn came by asking for a free t-cog and a transplant, I told him where he could shove it, unlike some of us I could mention, and unlike some of us, I accept the consequences of my actions."

Ratchet limps closer steadily, deliberately slow, the crutches coming down with an ominous click at every second step.

"Get out."