No, no, no (aka It's Not Small, Part II)
The children watched with fear as Big Bad Moe finished his last bite of cereal. "All right" he sputtered, milk cascading down into his beard, "since none of you will tell me who the fuck I'm looking for, I guess I'll just have to kill all of you."
He ignored their screams, slaughtering the children one by one until he was down to his final victim: a curly haired blonde in overalls. "Please don't" she begged, Moe responding merely with cold laughter. Only as he raised his rusty, blood spattered axe, a pair of yellow eyes blinked to life among the shadows of the Honeycomb Hideout.
"What the…" But before he could finish, a telescoping arm blasted out with shotgun speed, tearing a hole through Moe's larynx and pinning him to the wall. His cricothyroid muscles dripped down his neck like slugs descending a window, denying him the possibility of uttering the last words he so desired to speak ("I'm... not small").
HC920X rose, his various robotic parts beeping as his microprocessor executed the self-diagnostics preprogrammed to run in the event of physical damage. "HoneyBot, you saved me. You saved my life," the girl sobbed, overwhelmed by the sight of her massacred friends and the evolutionary joy that inevitably accompanies coming within moments of losing one's life.
HC920X pointed to the Clubhouse's trap door as five more Harleys roared up outside. "I can't leave you, HoneyBot! They'll break you!" The robot beeped, pointing once again toward the trap door as the cancerous, lunatic voices grew in volume outside the door. "What am I going to do without you?" she cried.
HC920X then did something the scientists who programmed him would have denied as possible. He extended his bloodsoaked arms. The child stood there in shock for a moment, then took a step forward. Then another. The robot held the child to its processor, its tactile sensors detecting the human heart beating against crude metal. Her pulse slowed, likely indicating a sense, however temporary, of comfort.
As the door began to cave in HC920X pointed for a final time toward the trapdoor. The child knew she had no choice. "I… I love you, Honeybot."
The words on the robot's chest, which had always read "Big Taste Honeycomb" rearranged themselves:
"A BOMB NICE GET THY SO"
"A bomb?" she spoke, then understood. She slipped out the trapdoor just as the motorcycle thugs broke into the cabin.
The explosion echoed throughout the valley, wildlife rushing into the safety of their caves, their nests, their burrows, as bits of flesh and bone and circuitry rained down on the trees. HC920X had served its purpose, traveling back in time to alter one single moment, to save a little girl's life.
This wasn't the end, though, for young Christina Arrow. Big Bad Moe was only a pawn in GeneCorp CEO Rex Peabody's game of chess—the stakes being the survival of the human race. There would more men to face, men far worse than Big Bad Moe could have imagined.
Only, next time, she would be ready.
He ignored their screams, slaughtering the children one by one until he was down to his final victim: a curly haired blonde in overalls. "Please don't" she begged, Moe responding merely with cold laughter. Only as he raised his rusty, blood spattered axe, a pair of yellow eyes blinked to life among the shadows of the Honeycomb Hideout.
"What the…" But before he could finish, a telescoping arm blasted out with shotgun speed, tearing a hole through Moe's larynx and pinning him to the wall. His cricothyroid muscles dripped down his neck like slugs descending a window, denying him the possibility of uttering the last words he so desired to speak ("I'm... not small").
HC920X rose, his various robotic parts beeping as his microprocessor executed the self-diagnostics preprogrammed to run in the event of physical damage. "HoneyBot, you saved me. You saved my life," the girl sobbed, overwhelmed by the sight of her massacred friends and the evolutionary joy that inevitably accompanies coming within moments of losing one's life.
HC920X pointed to the Clubhouse's trap door as five more Harleys roared up outside. "I can't leave you, HoneyBot! They'll break you!" The robot beeped, pointing once again toward the trap door as the cancerous, lunatic voices grew in volume outside the door. "What am I going to do without you?" she cried.
HC920X then did something the scientists who programmed him would have denied as possible. He extended his bloodsoaked arms. The child stood there in shock for a moment, then took a step forward. Then another. The robot held the child to its processor, its tactile sensors detecting the human heart beating against crude metal. Her pulse slowed, likely indicating a sense, however temporary, of comfort.
As the door began to cave in HC920X pointed for a final time toward the trapdoor. The child knew she had no choice. "I… I love you, Honeybot."
The words on the robot's chest, which had always read "Big Taste Honeycomb" rearranged themselves:
"A BOMB NICE GET THY SO"
"A bomb?" she spoke, then understood. She slipped out the trapdoor just as the motorcycle thugs broke into the cabin.
The explosion echoed throughout the valley, wildlife rushing into the safety of their caves, their nests, their burrows, as bits of flesh and bone and circuitry rained down on the trees. HC920X had served its purpose, traveling back in time to alter one single moment, to save a little girl's life.
This wasn't the end, though, for young Christina Arrow. Big Bad Moe was only a pawn in GeneCorp CEO Rex Peabody's game of chess—the stakes being the survival of the human race. There would more men to face, men far worse than Big Bad Moe could have imagined.
Only, next time, she would be ready.
posted by Alexis C. Jolly at 9:27 PM
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