I never got proper scans of your claws.

[Ratchet looks up over his shoulder at Whirl, a long, thin piece of metal held delicately between the tips of two of his claws. They're thinner at the tips and they bend at the joints now, and his claw rotates lazily at the wrist, spinning in its socket as he watches Whirl's optic.]

I'm doing all right, for the most part, but I'd like a look at the more delicate mechanisms that you use.