DynaDynamo

As a matter of fact, yes I am. I've previously have been commissioned by King to make the likes of sculptures and oil paintings. So I've had a life-long experience with arts and crafts. Only now, I do illustrations for books that I try to write.

Critters are nice. There's nothing about them that I can hate. I hate that I can't be like them, heh.

No. I hate everyone, including you.

Oh, what makes you say that? Come oooon~ You really think so? I mean, it's not like I were abandoned or anything. The runts "littluns" probably felt like distancing themselves away from danger. I understand. It's not that I hate humans for making a mockery of their own designs. Not that I care.

Humans are like that. They throw away what's a huge inconvenience to them and let them to soak in sewage. They forget about them. They don't care. Until someone else comes along and "cares" for the unlucky soul whose too vulnerable to even fight back. Now it's stuck in a damn box, but at least they have food and water. To whom ever picked up the nuisance, kept them for so long no matter what, it's so sweet that it stings. They have nurture. Something the humans didn't seem to do.

Awfully personal question you asked there, anon...yeah, to some extent. He means something alright. Just not in the way you'd think, to say the least.

How do I feel about him? Eh, well he's not around anymore. Feelings OF him sorta persists, even when I try to forget. So, there's your answer. The stock-ish, green power battery turned around. Walking down back to his own corridor. Dynamo mumbled as well as his memory scanner started to shift around.

"....Does he mean anything to me." Dynamo repeated the first. His eyes wincing a little. "Yeah oh yeah he means the whole world to me, I care so much about him, ooooh King I missed you so!~"

A sing-song shift in his tone. Dynamo finally stopped in front of his dorm room, opened the door and then closed it behind. He went straight to his desk. Scattered on it were papers with literature and markings indenting certain errors from where he left them for himself to go back and correct, fountain pens which have been previously broken, snapped in half and duct taped together. Pulling up a stool, he sat down, stared at the letterings, then went back to whatever he was finishing. Dynamo uttering something again while erasing scribbles.