[Mettaton quietly hopes that Asriel can make a difference with brute force. For a few seconds, he dares himself to hope.

But as expected, neither claws nor force cause much more than surface damage. Tiny scratches on the glass of a vat braced with decrepit-looking, deceivingly strong metal.]

...Asriel, just...just stop. Don't listen to it, alright?

[He shifts slightly--very carefully because he doesn't want to set off the shock again--and then he addresses the young boss monster again.]

Don't play the game.

[What is he saying, he knows what's going to happen to him, and Mettaton is a little apprehensive of the prospect of his legs being melted off. Ah, but that was the point, wasn't it? The voice was trying to make a statement. It knew things about them.

It knew how terribly fond Mettaton was of this body, of his legs. It sought to take them from him. But even still...]

I won't be manipulated and neither should you.