Dimly, he's aware that he should be concerned about the robotic arm. That the natural response to someone in this situation should be something like horror, an instinctive desire to cover it up, to make sure that no one touches it. If nothing else, he should be especially concerned about the buzzsaw and anyone coming into close proximity of it, let alone this man who means so much to him.

But it isn't.

He spares only a thought for the buzzsaw, and even then it's only that it's no longer a hand, and he can only grasp Harding's shoulder with the one he has left.

As soon as he thinks that, the buzzsaw shifts, changes, and a hand re-emerges. It's mechanical, the same as his arm, but it's a hand nonetheless, and Benjamin rests it gently on top of one of Harding's hands gripping his shoulder.

"Whatever we were, it was... I - remembered, the feeling that though I wasn't human, I liked them. I wanted to protect them. I think we were soldiers, in a war that I can't recall."

The idea scares him, more than his arm changing.