[Someone is feeling lonely and depressed and just... oh just about every flavor of 'not good' in the book that a robot can feel. If he had a stomach it would be in knots right now.

It's... been an unpleasant time here. The damage on his face is clear enough, with the one blue eye constantly flickering out. He gives his head a sharp rap and it flickers back on again, but there's no smile into the terminal right now.

He just wants to try and cheer himself up]

H-hey. Does anyone he-he-here wanna song? I gotta few s-s-songs if ya wanna hear 'em.

[No accordion, none of the songs he wanted to sing needed it anyway. He was kind of taking Legolas's advice and doing what he likes to do anyway.]

It's a re-re-real sweet one. Nuthin' t-too loud 'r nuthin.

[He hums a few bars, before going into the piece, the tune just a little bit more mournful than usual.]

...

I-i-if ya want any other s-songs, I got more. Wou-wouldn't mind s-singin' 'em fer someone if they wanna hear it.

If everyone is done dealing with their own ways of coping, and hopefully not foolishly giving up to the tyrants, there is a request I wish to make to those that can still fight:

The foes this tower has are formidable, and among the roaches and vile demons I run into one each floor, I have heard many "heroes" reside here. I find myself growing curious to how far that extends, to see if it is either the truth, or another meaningless title that holds no meaning. I want to know your driving force, your "justice."

Thus I desire a battle with those that call themselves heroes. The floor with the meadow shall be our battlefield.

That will be all.