People started to congregate, standing around the Lombax trio (and Clank of course), forming a protective barrier around the four of them.

"Ready, Ratchet?" Staccato stood up, his hands on Ratchet's shoulders. "I've got a pen laser here that should cut through the seams on the armor. My wife is standing behind you, ready to help me pry off the back portions while I take the front."

"Any chance she could stand in front?" Ratchet remarked, glancing behind him. "I think it'd be a better view."

Staccato chuckled, but only momentarily. "We could, but hey, you're probably the deadliest thing in this room, and while my buddies could probably survive a kick if you decided to lose it midway through this . . . her cargo can't."

This confused Ratchet, but then he blinked. "She's pregnant?"

"Yeah . . . we're not really keen on announcing it until we actually get far enough along to make a fuss about it, since this isn't our first 'attempt', so . . . just don't do anything to screw that up, okay?" Staccato winced, looking at Ratchet. "Anyway . . . ready?"

"I've taken on 'Satan in a Three-piece' and you're still asking that? Get this thing off me!" Ratchet snapped back, and the crowd began to cheer as Staccato began to cut. Ratchet could feel the heat from the laser, at which point he decided that the odds of him having anything on under this armor were around the odds of slim and none.

He winced as he swore he could feel his fur being singed, but said nothing of it, waiting patiently, nervously, for the first panel to come off. He hadn't seen much of his body in, well, since Vox had captured him in the first place. He had no idea what to expect. After all, all those things Staccato had said before, they couldn't have been true . . . he felt amazingly strong when he escaped. Why would the armor matter that much?

"Okay... chest panel freed. On three, love!" Staccato spoke up, latching onto the collar of Ratchet's armor.

"One!" Sonata hissed, bracing herself. "Two!"

"YEOW!" Ratchet hissed as they pulled apart just before the three, his armor coming off with a loud 'Pop!' as they fell back. "That wasn't three!"

The crowd gasped, and as Ratchet looked down, he could see why — He looked positively emaciated. He hadn't been able to see his ribs in forever, and yet they they were, sticking out like he was a starved dog. Staccato blinked, taking a step back.

After a long, pregnant silence, Clank was the first to speak up. "Ratchet, I think you haven't been eating as well as you thought."

"You think?" Ratchet hissed, looking disgusted with himself, before glaring at Staccato. "What the hell is this?"

"It looks like . . . Clank's assessment is about right. You've been living off your nanotech, and for a while from the jut of this." Staccato stood up, discarding the armor plate to poke at Ratchet's ribs, which earned him a slap.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "That hurts. My back doesn't appreciate it either." To this, Sonata bit her lip, not saying anything, but she gave Staccato a look that Ratchet picked up on. "Oh, no . . . you're not going to try and tell me I've got half my spine sticking out."

Sonata winced, not knowing what to say, but soon after spitting out, "You wish."

Ratchet groaned, knowing he was going to regret the next thing coming out of her mouth. "Why?"

"Because . . . at least nanotech could fix that." Sonata spoke, before taking a step back, wincing.

Ratchet turned to glare at her. "What's on my back?"

"You've got the DreadZone logo tattooed on . . ."

"FUCK!" Ratchet turned, glaring at her, but Staccato grabbed one of his arms.

"Ratchet!" He shouted, taking hold of him by an ear when Ratchet didn't stand down fast enough. "Calm down. It's not her fault . . . that must have been put on you the same time as the armor."

Ratchet stood there, speechless, but slowly, surely, he lowered his arms. There seemed to be a notion in his face that a light had gone out, somehow. "Get the rest of this armor off me."

"Are you sure? We can take our time if you-."

"Get it off me. NOW." Ratchet glared, his eyes cold.

"Okay, okay . . ." Staccato winced. "Come on, love. We've got to make this quick."

Later . . .

Ratchet stumbled into the nearby showers, weak. He felt like the past few weeks of fighting had to have been a dream, he looked so different now . . .

A quick look into a mirror confirmed Staccato's assessment; he'd been running on fumes. He looked like a living skeleton out of one of those pictures of prisoners of war, and to be honest . . . he felt like it, too. Matted fur, oil stains, bones visible though skin . . .

Fortunately, the rest of the armor removal was uneventful, except he still had the codpiece of his armor on. Staccato and Sonata had already cracked it open, but after his lousy reception of having his torso armor removed, Staccato felt it better to have him remove it himself if he could. Ratchet winced, walking a few steps closer to the mirror, stabilizing himself.

He turned around, hoping to see the tattoo on his back, to assess the actual damage. From what it looked, it was smaller than what he'd expected . . . just below the neckline, plain black . . . it almost felt tasteful for what it was. It didn't make it any less of an absolute violation of his body, of course.

"You okay, Ratchet?" Clank walked in, catching Ratchet looking at himself. "Sonata wanted me to check on you. Do you need help?"

"I . . . haven't tried yet." He admitted sheepishly, sitting down on a nearby bench and directing Clank to take a seat next to him. "I . . . I feel so used . . ."

Clank had a sorrowful look in his eyes, just looking up at Ratchet, speechless.

Ratchet just shook his head, peeling the last bit of his armor off with a deliberate slowness. The front peeled off a little easier than he'd expected, aside from the flash of momentary pain as he pulled out a piece of clear tubing that'd been shoved up inside him. Ratchet sighed, pulling out the last bit of tubing as he looked down, holding himself, seeing himself so . . . disused, limp. Usually he was rather happy to see himself and to take hold like that, but now . . . it felt like just another casualty of his own torment.

"Ratchet . . .?" Clank spoke up, jerking him out of his momentary tunnel vision. "Should I turn my head?"

"No need." Ratchet sighed, giving himself a hard yank just to make sure he could still feel himself, before letting go. "This isn't the time for it anyway."

Ratchet pushed himself up against the wall, pulling away the back side of the codpiece, sighing gently at his hands confirming that he was proven right for a change. He reached down, hands groping to try and find a good point to tug on, before his tail slid out with a sickeningly fluid yank.

The smell immediately hit him, and he ran for one of the showers, flipping it on as he collapsed to his knees on the tile floor, letting the water run over him, over his wretched excuse for a body, over the black tattoo that showed up in the fur on his back, over the generous caking on his tail of things he didn't even want to think about right now.

He ripped off his leather cap, letting his hair run under the water's torrent. It'd grown out a bit since before . . . no matter. He'd just have to accept that as part of his new body.

Eventually.

"Ratchet?" Clank spoke up again, catching up with him.

Ratchet's eyes clamped shut, trying to block out as much of the moment as he could, just trying to focus on the water running down on him, over him, as though it would wash it all away. But it wouldn't, of course.

"Clank . . ." Ratchet hissed, quickly curling up under the water. "Hold me . . ."

Clank walked over, placing one hand on the Lombax's head as the water ran, and bits of the dirt and grime already started to dribble away and down the drain.