G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. always prided himself on being a cat of simple means. He only ever wanted a few things: the company of fellow beings, moments of excitement that he could later turn into exaggerated stories, and lasagna either in pasta or .JPEG format. But somewhere in his circuitry he knew there were questions he longed to answer. How could an electronic feline come about in the land of Skyrim? Could he ever truly experience emotion? He tried not to think about anything beyond the surface level of artificial consciousness. Honestly, he was rather content with the simple, easy life he'd made without answering hard questions.
However, nothing made him long for the simple life more than the moment when Pam asked him what the fuck was going on. It was really one of those questions which were better left uncontemplated. Yet G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D.'s visual receptors and logic algorithms strived to find a solution to the query. Tactical programs were already suggesting multiple courses of action. Unfortunately G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. stood motionless inside the ring while he tried to make sense of the grotesque figure that descended the ramp.
Bioscans immediately determined 100% genetic similarity between the previously beaten wrestler who released this monster and the monster itself.
"He's a clone of that man you just vanquished," G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. relayed in hushed tones to Pam.
"Really? This is clone?" she angrily whispered back. "Because where I'm from clones look like replica, not irradiated garbage child."
She had a point. Though their genetic material was the same the new wrestler featured some glaring differences from his father. They shared the same face and complexion. However, the most noticeable problem with the clone was the impossible proportions of its body. He stood nearly a foot shorter than G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D., but his abdomen stretched twice the size of an average human's as if pregnant with a hedgehog fetus. The protruding gut poured into a pair of terribly well-tailored capris which wrapped tightly around the man's small thighs. These thighs were supported by rotund and muscle-bound calves that ended in stupid Krusty the Clown feet crammed inside tasteful heels.
Still nothing shook G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. more than analysis of their adversary's arms. Despite checking empirical data twice he could not conceive of how the limbs functioned. They hung all the way down to the wrestler's knees, hands and fingers elongated like they'd been molded from fleshy taffy and pounded until flat. The arms too were impossibly thin and lacking depth, though the fighter's brown jacket made them appear almost three-dimensional. G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. might have thought them made of paper were it not for bone scans which revealed osteoporosis-riddled ulnas and humeri barely supporting fragile skin.
It should have been unbearable for this man to move at all, yet he did so with fluid and graceful motions. He strode quickly and with confidence, spiderlike hands running up his chest and hips caressing his body in a show of sexuality G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. hadn't prepared for. The clone stepped over bodies of previously beaten wrestlers who upon hearing the click of his heels summoned what strength they had and fled. The clone gave a small chuckle and slid under the ring's elastic ropes, making sure to spend significant time arching his back and straddling the cords with spread legs. G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D.'s sensors notified him that this person's charisma and submission values reached record numbers.
"So I know this whole situation is weird but that was sexy right?"
"Yeah pretty hot," Pam solemnly agreed.
The wrestler finished his entrance by coming to a stop at the center of the ring and raising his brittle hand in a salute. Screams from the audience grew louder. The clone's father hobbled to the side of the cage yelling inaudible instructions, but the man just held his pose without breaking G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D.'s eye contact. He hadn't been given much latitude when it came to programs simulating feelings, but for a few moments G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. gathered data which normally would have been filtered out. Eye color, jaw angle, lip color. He couldn't help it; he was intrigued by this horror.
While G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. studied the clone, Pam made a stilted attempts at diplomacy. The announcer's joyful tones described the nature, rules, and goals of the fight about to take place as she asked the man his name.
"My father calls me Chris, but in here I'm known as the Pebble." His voice was high for a male but he spoke clearly and without hesitation. "You must be new. It's really too bad this has to be our first meeting." He stopped saluting and placed his long fingers at his hip. "Maybe later we can grab a few drinks and I'll show you both around." He never stopped staring at G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D.
"You don't want to fight me Christopher," Pam said. "We're only here to escape something chasing me. If you try and stop me, it not go well for you." She believed herself for the most part. Despite her psychic and supernatural abilities being limited she'd detected weakness in this man. She knew her own strength.
"With all due respect ma'am I have no choice in the matter." The Pebble's lip curled into a half-smile as he gestured toward his father. "I'm just here to do my job. I do what Daddy says."
Jarred, G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. tore his eyes off Chris and looked at the shouting wrestler outside the cage. The man waved his arms and pounded on the cage but in like, a really supportive and caring way. Pam nodded her head at the father.
"G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D., can you make sure original does not interfere? If we must fight, I want fair fight." The cat gave her a thumbs-up and jumped out of the ring. Pam was more than a match for the attractive stranger and he had no intention of being on the receiving end of her fury once more. Perhaps the father can help us get out, he mused. No need to be here longer than necessary. A bell rang somewhere. G.A.R.F.I.E.L.D. winced as he heard two bodies smack together. I hope she doesn't hurt him too badly. He seems nice.