"Aw, the finish is fine." It's not, and he knows it's not anywhere near Knock Out's standards, but he's still fine with it. It's the arm itself that matters. He pulls himself fully to his feet and pounds his fist into his new palm with a resounding clang, grin spreading over his face again.

"You think pounding the scrap outta TRIDENT counts as strenuous?" It's only mostly a joke; if he got the chance he'd take it. Even just the idea brightens his mood even more, and the glow in his remaining yellow optic is bright and excited. He glances around for something heavy, settles on the berth itself, and turns to reach and tilt it up with his new arm. It rises without a hitch, and the grin grows.