"I could turn the air back on, if you like," Deathscythe offered, doing so without waiting for a yes or a no.
It had vents to the outside now, fresh canyon air and ozone smells started to replace the drier dusty ones.
...
After the first cloud of used to be skin came out of the vent, of course. With a small pile of mouse turds.
"Oh. Shit," it said softy in a sort of chorus out of several speakers before it could mute itself. It's camera's busied themselves camera's focusing on a now powdery looking Robin-that-was. "So!" It said, louder. "What can I do then?"