"Oh." Not the answer Ratchet was expecting--though he doesn't know what he was expecting, not really. His eyes flick to the visible part of the implant, then to York's bad eye as he settles back, frowning a little.

"It sounded like someone you were looking for. I heard you, back--outside." Ratchet gestures vaguely with one hand, the thick scar around his wrist pulling taut as he turns his palm out. "Is he still missing? Are you--" Asking if someone is all right when it sounds like they might be missing part of their brain is stupid enough that Ratchet manages to realize, even as disoriented as he still is. He tries again.

"Was the installation medically necessary?" Slightly more polite than 'are you going to drop dead?' at least. He's working on it.