Chapter 12: The world this Fic takes place in is actually pretty fucked up.
Disclaimer: This chapter is really lacking in quality, and not in the fun way. I wasn't feeling all that well.
"CAN WE DO THE PUNCHING OF THE DIO NOW?" Inquired the sentient piece of toast you had most likely forgotten was introduced by now.
Joseph rubbed his metallic hand on his temples and wished silently for death. He had never imagined the price of recruiting a powerful teammate to be so great. The constant shouting of this being was enough to drive any man to madness, and Joseph had to keep this idiot on a short leash at all times. The fist's of this bread knew only violence.
"It's time to ride." Protoman informed Joseph.
The small robot was correct. The sun had begun to set, and once it had Solaire would allow them to depart without a fuss. Joseph looked onwards towards his comrades preparing their Harley Davidson Motorcycles and took solace in the fact that at the very least he could count on some of his friends. Some.
With the setting sun at their backs and the dry desert air flowing through their hair, the team set out in search for answers. All hunched over in concentration, all aside from solaire who was standing straight the fuck up whilst riding. At least he was wearing a helmet.
Having been on the road for days the team soon found themselves approaching the destination where their objective lie. A bustling city no doubt, but Joseph took the three crashed Apache Attack Helicopters as a bad sign. Settling for a slightly exploded bar as the location of their brief respite, the various warriors of justice approached the bartender.
"Oh fuck no." Let out the bartender at the sight of a group of obviously important characters.
"A-and what will it be for you?"
"I would appreciate a spot of Sunny-D if you would be so kind."
Confused on why a fully armoured knight was requesting a shot of Sunny-D, the bartender nodded nervously. After witnessing the horror and devastation brought by the orange feline, he had learned just how precious life was. It was his precious life that he feared for now.
He had seen some shit.
"I would like to ask if you had seen anything… unusual lately."
"Well a muscular orange cat trashed my bar and teleported me to Chicago. At least the local authorities were understanding about the whole thing. Happens a lot apparently."
"Bizarre." Joseph admitted.
"Yeah." Agreed the bartender.
"So what can I call you?"
"Barkeep."
"Alright but what's your name?"
"Actually my parents named me Barkeep."
"That is highly depressing."
Shifting the subject the two began to speak of a great many subjects. The sharing of knowledge had immersed both to such an extent that both had failed to realize Toastaro jumping out of the nearest window.
"THIS IS NO TIME FOR TALK. FIST SHALL BEGIN NOW." Toastaro screamed quietly.
It was then that Toastaro noticed an eye catching poster plastered on the wall of a dark alley. Moving closer he inspected the paper, and what it promised intrigue him.
"THIS RANDY PROMISES A GOOD TIME AND SOMETHING ABOUT A FISTING. I AM OBLIGATED TO ENGAGE IN INVESTIGATIONS." Declared Toastaro.
Wandering through the dark network of back alleys that constituted the shadiest parts of this city, Toastaro continued his search for Randy. If this individual was truly so skilled with his fists and "Magic Fingers" then he would make for a valuable ally. Failing that however, he would prove a welcome challenge.
Finally arriving on the doorstep to the parlor of Randy the Enfisted, and was greeted to a grandiose display of oiled muscle and leather. Toastaro's inner confusion and mixed feelings were interrupted by a question from the greased up source of Toastaro's inner turmoil.
"Hey, does this rag smell like whatever the fuck chloroform was based off of to you?"
"WHY YES IT DOES."
"Perfect. We shall lure them into some form of trap thing and pick them off like flies."
"I AM UNCONSCIOUS NOW." Toastaro declared whilst unconscious.
"Let us retreat to the well oiled cave of leathery muscle."
Later in the well oiled cave of leathery muscle.
"We are in the well oiled cave of leathery muscle." Said the well oiled muscular man in leather, whilst in the well oiled cave of leathery muscle.
It was despite the name not a cave, nor well oiled. It was infact however the backroom storage area of the local Costco. Toastaro had awoken to the sound of a resonating villainous laughter, and prepared to break free of his bonds before realizing they were comprised of Metal Gear V disks. Thinking that he could not harm such treasures he instead scanned the surrounding for some means of escape.
Toastaro began to grin enthusiastically. He had viewed the area surrounding him and found his salvation.
"What is it that grants you such joy?"
"SQUAD."