So, first step on my quest for vengeance: Follow these huge-ass footprints to where that ginormous, walking wrecking ball has gone too. As I continue on past the other who live here, screaming and running around in a crazed panic, I slowly began to realize how stupid my plan actually sounds. I mean, what am I gonna do once I find the chap, rake his toes out? Actually having a rake scrape your feet kinda hurts, I might do that anyway.
Before I can get any farther into my ponderings, the voice stops me. Take heed, pupil, he says.
Hm? Didja find something? I scan the road ahead, managing to identify two small contraptions just like that big bulky bastard, only they almost come up to my shins and their eyes are a light blue color instead of red. And they appear to be perpetually stuck in a pelvic thrusting motion, which drew my eyes to their most notable feature: a schlong shoot on their pelvic regions that vaguely resembles the "out" end of a juicer. In fact, the smaller chumps look exactly like fruit juicers except with limbs and eyes.
These deviants are part a recent phenomenon in New Arcadia, my invisible pal informs me. Their carnal appetite for fresh fruit drives them to tiny acts of vulgarity.
Well, that explains the little fuckers' thrusting, I answer. Then the gears in my head start a-turn, turn, turnin'. Wait… fuckers… fresh fruit… Fruit Fuckers? Eh, good name as any, I guess. Plus, bonus points for alliteration.
The tin cans finally notice me staring at them and scurry over to me. One goes, "Tck… 01100110 01110101 011000111 01101011?"
I has no idea what the thing was saying, "Um, hello?" I say. In an attempt to show them I mean them no harm (I only want the bigger one, these little guys haven't done anything to me), I weakly hold out my hand as a sign of peace.
Too bad they didn't seem to like that gesture. They jolt up as if surprised and surround me, poised for attack. "Tck… 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011!" the other exclaims before leaping up at me!
In that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. I freak out for a split second, fearing the barely big beast may try to latch onto my face and force some disgusting fluid down my throat. I give out an "Ach!" and instinctively swat at it with my rake. The poor sap goes flying into a nearby telephone pole and explodes (!) upon impact. After shortly marveling at the unexpected combustion, I sigh, squeezing the bridge of my nose in annoyance as I mutter, "Goddamn moonspeak…"
The other, less scrutiny-inducing one freezes for a moment mid-thrust. "Tck… You killed FF-M01…" it says in a somber monotone. For a moment there, I feel kinda sorry for the guy; I probably just killed his one and only friend in the whole world. Note that I said "a moment"because the very next moment, the tin can sprints up to me grabs my leg and starts humping it, all the while repeating that I killed his pal, this time in a rage.
Normally, having this small bugger hump my leg so furiously would make me kind of aggravated and only mildly disgusted. But since these punks have dicks of literal iron, it's basically stabbing me in the leg over and over again, and it hurts like a motherfucker. "Aah! Aah! Get off me you bastard!" I scream as I attempt to stop the Fucker from painfully penetrating my leg. After hopping around like an idiot on my safe leg for a few seconds, I fall flat on my ass. Seeing as the one-legged rabbit maneuver is getting me nowhere fast, I take up yon rake and finally manage to pry the chugging chump from my leg, sending him tumbling a few feet into the air, and decide to take the awesome route: Batter at the ready, I give one hell of a one-liner:
"Hit a Graaaaannnd Slaaaaaaam!"
WHAM! Direct hit! The horny soup can goes flying straight into the same pole as before with the same results as last time. I rest my mighty 'bot-slaying weapon on my shoulder, feeling a great amount of satisfaction from that impressive maneuver. Unfortunately, my companion thinks otherwise.
You are so rather corny, dear Winter. He says in a deadpan voice.
Way to be positive, pally-o, I retort.
Who's to say it was? he also retorts, still in a deadpan tone.
I sigh, no longer caring and continue on my way, stepping over the scraps of my fallen foes.
Sometime down the way, the voice stops me once again. I look in to my left and notice a bright yellow cat lying on a house's porch. Yeah, Mr. Voice here really likes cats for some reason. I could care less. Not to say that I hate cats, per se. I just prefer they stay out of my way, especially when I'm out on revenge quests.
It appears to be beckoning you tither! Voicey tries to convince me. I look a little closer at the feline, it's not beckoning me anywhere. In fact, it appears to be asleep.
Dude, we don't have time to gawk at the animals. Hello! Revenge! Remember? I plead.
You will approach that cat. Now, he demands, sending a light surge of pain into my mind. Oh yeah, something you should know: McVoicerton here somehow gives me a painful headache anytime I do something he really dosen't want me to do (Read: Ignoring cutesy kittens). I begrudgingly comply and walk up to the sleeping lion.
The cat stirs as I kneel down to it, appraising my pained expression. "Hey, cat." I say to it.
"Mrowowl?" it mewls in response.
"Is that so? I never noticed."
Voice Guy catches my snark, unamused, and orders me to pet it. I do so, paying special attention to the chin and ear regions, which the cat seems to like. The cat seems soft, I mean, I couldn't tell because I neglected to remove my work gloves before setting out. I notice the worn collar around his neck and are clearly able to make out the name "T. Kemper."
After briefly wondering what the T stands for, I stand back up. At least, I tried to but the leg wound from the previous fight I has completely forgotten about causes my legs to buckle. The cat didn't even try to help me. Bastard. Using the rake as a third leg, I'm able to push myself back up and walk away. The cat immediately forgets about me and proceeds to lick himself. Voice Man makes no attempt to stop me, so I assume he's satisfied.