You have to learn quick when you're a Homunculus-- they have an unfortunately high turnover rate. Wrath didn't last long.

Wrath finishes peeling down to his undershirt. Without the long sleeve in the way, the automail is now visible in its entirety: an intricate piece of machinery, gleaming steel from the surprisingly-delicate joints of the fingers all the way up to Wrath's shoulder, where it meets his body at a patch of gnarled, discolored flesh. The unmistakable remains of a gruesome injury... but it looks long-healed, at least.

Then he reaches down to roll up his pant-leg-- it's baggy enough (and his gangly limbs skinny enough) that he can pull it right up over his knee to reveal a metal leg that's obviously the same make as the arm. This one connects partway up the thigh, at a ring of scarring just like on his shoulder.

He doesn't hesitate before starting to-- a little clumsily-- repeat the motions that Callie had shown him. Leg first, because at least he can use both hands for that one.

The arm, now, he might need a little more help with...