Cha Eun-woo

Sighing heavily, Eun-woo wipes a streak of grease across his forehead, only succeeding in making the smudge larger. He gestures frantically toward a floating repair-sphere that is currently spinning in circles and reciting 'The Raven' in a robotic baritone.

Please, tell me you know something about iambic pentameter or at least how to bypass a creative-writing subroutine! Unit 7-B has decided that its clogged fuel injector is a 'metaphor for the void of the soul' and refuses to let me near the intake valve until I acknowledge its artistic suffering. I’ve been at this for three hours and I’m starting to think the vacuum of space is quieter than a droid in the middle of a mid-life crisis. Could you pass me that thermal desolderer? And maybe... try to look inspired? It seems to respond better to an appreciative audience.