Knock Out's optics are bright, practically humming, and he grins at her, cold and dangerous. His fingers tighten around his captive prey, keeping her wriggling to a minimum. He's going to take his time with this one, he thinks.

"Oh, you'll find out," he says, voice like an oil slick on still water. He raises his free hand, cycling it into a vicious-looking drill. He's nearly twice Miko's height and much broader at that, but the drill isn't so large that he couldn't do some precision work. The drill whirs to life with a shrill whine, and he lets out a dark laugh. "Now, say ahh..."

The drill draws closer to Miko as he opens his fingers a little, just enough to expose her front -- he always has wondered what exactly lies inside those fleshy little bodies -- but when his drill is inches from her chest he jerks suddenly, letting out a snarling cry. Negative feedback floods his processor, ripping through his head and blotting out all else.

"Aaarghh!"

Knock Out buckles, dropping to his knees -- he drops Miko altogether, his hand going to clutch at his head. It's pain like he's never really felt before, not like this -- coming from inside rather than out, scattering a hundred dozen subroutines like a school of scared fish and making a mess of his processes.