"Claptrap's a really annoying robot where I'm from," Rhys says, making a face. "Helpful but talkative. They liked to clean too."

Or they said they did, at least. Maybe they hated it and no one had ever asked them otherwise. Maybe they were secretly organizing a revolt that Rhys was missing out on. Maybe Vasquez was getting zapped to pieces by one of the little units right now.

It's a good fantasy.

Rhys glances down at the hand and then shakes it gently, not wanting to break the bones that he can clearly feel.

"Okay, I've gotta ask because if I don't, I'm going to think about it for the rest of my life but where's your skin, man?" He's a skeleton. He's bones! What the hell had happened to the rest of him?