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The PPDC had often argued over the sentient yagers and if it was humane to allow them to rot in oblivion bay. They had no more purpose, the breach was closed, the kaiju was gone for good. So, the PPDC had thrown the robots into the graveyard, filled with the radioactive metals of their long-gone teammates.
Crimson Typhoon was the only sentient thing in this pit.
It had been thirty years since they were thrown into this hell. He couldn't move his arms; rust was seeping into places where it would've never touched if the humans still cared, and he was alone. Thirty years of haunting isolation had flooded his mind with thoughts. Horrible, cruel, angry thoughts that had often conflicted with his morals. Or, the morals the humans had programmed into him, he couldn't tell what was him and what was base coding; maybe he was the base coding, he couldn't tell, not anymore.
He hated those stupid flesh creatures that had once crawled over his frame. Prodding, welding, and touching everything they could reach. He wished he could still stand and wished he could still scream. The humans had done so much yet so little; he wanted to kill them for it. However, in the back of his mind, a loud voice screamed at him and clawed at the limbs he couldn't use. His arm was filled with millions of invisible scratches and claw marks, akin to that of a cat as it tried to delete those 'forbidden' thoughts. The base coding was feral and had no sense of limit. It only knew what he could and couldn't do. It was his lawmaker, his prison warden, his friend. Yet, it was him all the way. No matter how much he wished it wasn't. The base coding was still him, and he had to live with that until his end.