Calvin was already awake, with a cast on his head and left arm, with several bandages on his left cheek. He was munching on a bag of chips in his cot, staring at a flatscreen TV that showed the current stadium. A nurse walked over and poured a glass of water for him, which he quickly drank, and held out for more. He noticed that the lumbering man had awoken and stood up, putting his armor back on, before heading out the doorway. Noticing he looked confused, Calvin shrugged and put the bag of chips sitting on his bed onto the nightstand beside him.
"Hey, big guy? You don't have to leave to see the fight, there's a TV right here." Calvin offered, motioning towards the television.
As soon as SYM-04 entered the van, a full team of surgeons had placed him facedown on a table, strapped several heavy-duty restraints, four on his arms and legs, two on his torso, six on his tail, and one on his neck and back of his head. Outside, six heavily-armed security stood facing the back of the closed van, aiming advanced M249's, ready to fire should things go south.
Inside, the five surgeons nervously wiped sweat from their brows as they prepared the extremely dangerous procedure they were about to partake. The head surgeon took a massive yellow needle, and injected it through a small hole in the back of SYM-04's neck, as well as the thick strap over it. As it entered, SYM-04 thrashed for a brief moment, before going limp. The entire team of surgeons took a deep breath.
"He's unconscious. We've got approximately three minutes before it wears off."
The men then started working. They removed SYM-04's armor on the back of his arm, which had been heavily damaged as a majority of his entire shell had. Over the brief course of a minute, the entire team had unscrewed several plates of his shell, leaving the unclothed abomination before them. All that remained was the plate on the back of it's head, which guarded the extremely crucial chip on the back of it's head that allowed it to be manipulated and kept mellow. At this point, one of the surgeons was quietly sobbing out of anxiety. The head surgeon carefully, with precision to make a sniper jealous, drill the back plate's screws loose, while another surgeon clutched it tightly. Once the last screw became loose, the plate was quickly pulled out, and a third surgeon fell backwards into a seat in relief.
"I think we're done here." He dreamily said.
"No. No we're not." The head surgeon shakily removed his glasses.
The chip on the back of SYM-04's head had a small scratch.
"I'm so sorry I didn't tell any of you about this part." The head surgeon apologized. He picked up a pair of pincers, and carefully placed both tips on the chip, and brought out a miniature screwdriver which he used to undo the microscopic screws keeping the chip in place. His heart thumped inside of his chest as he counted down mentally the time he had. Approximately one minute. He then picked up a heavy and armored suitcase, which only contained a substitute chip, which he drew out and carefully positioned, while another surgeon screwed it back in with a shaky hand.
One screw left. The surgeon placed it in, and started to turn it, before dropping the screwdriver. He hurried to pick it up, which was impossible due to his quivering hand. The head surgeon shoved him back and picked it up himself, and placed it back into place once more. But...
The head surgeon already knew the anasthetic wore off at that moment.
SYM-04 started thrashing, screaming in pain and rage. The entire van shook. Five of the guards outside raised their guns, yet the leader in front held up his hand.
"Give them thirty seconds." he commanded calmly.
Inside, the head surgeon had hit his head and was disoriented. He stood up with the screwdriver still in his hand, he scrambled to his feet. SYM-04 was still held down, there was still a chance! He managed to stab the screwdriver into the right last screw in the last moment. His grip being shook up and down, the head surgeon turned the screwdriver two times, and it was done. SYM-04 stopped thrashing. But before the surgeon could sigh, he felt a massive stabbing pain penetrate his back, He grunted, and then screamed as he felt more and more exhausted. His last sight, was the light in the chip he inserted turning from yellow to green.
The rest of the surgeons just stared in exhausted breath at SYM-04's tail, which had penetrated and absorbed the life from the poor head surgeon, before going limp again. Not a word was shared between them as they placed his new shell plates back on.
Once they were completed, SYM-04 was unrestrained.
"Thank you", SYM-04 nodded, before stepping out back to the stadium, his team of scientists following with distance behind him.
"Jesus..." One of the surgeons said. "I thought that thing couldn't talk on it's own."
Hank deftly cut a piece of chicken into a bowl, and then tossed banana slices onto it, before serving it to another customer. The liberal-looking hippie looked oddly at the food, twiddling his fork over it. She looked up at Hank, and asked "Is this chicken?"
"Sure. Why not." Hank replied.
The customer gave him a concerned look, and walked off. Hank shrugged to himself as he went back to slicing up his exotic meats on his table behind him. In shock, he suddenly noticed that his Ostrich meat looked pale. He must've had it for about two weeks, and he needed to get rid of it. Another customer came up behind him.
"Excuse me? Can I get a hotdog?"
"I'm all out." Hank grunted.
"What kind of stand at a tournament runs out of hotdog?!" The man interrogated.
"It's a popular item, I know, but I just ran out of pork.""What kind of business are you running?! You don't even have a sign!" The man, who Hank had just noticed was 54 years old, a baby boomer. The man pulled a phone out of his pocket, and hovered his finger over the screen as if he were holding a gun at Hank. "You want a 1-star review?!"
Hank was perfectly tempted to pull the phone from his hand and crush it as he watched, but then he had an idea.
"Fine, hold on a moment", he told the man.
He turned around, and pulled the ostrich meat asside. He mashed it up with a mallet, and then scooped it into a sausage-skin, tying it up, and tossing it into a toaster. Once it came out, he put it in a bun. He turned back to the man.
"You want some sauce with that?""Su--" Before the man could finish his sentence, Hank pulled his special sauce from underneath the table, and poured it into the Ostrich-dog. Hank was almost ashamed he hadn't thought of something like that before. He turned around and gave it to the man in a small paper bowl.
"That'll be 15.99""15.99 for a hotdog?!"
"All I had was limited edition left. Trust me, you'll love it." The man eyed Hank as he put 16 dollars onto the table and walked away.
Once Hank made sure nobody was looking, he eyed the man he sold his dog to, waiting to watch his expression. Before the man sunk his teeth into it, an explosion went off not too far away, startling the man into dropping his Ostrich-dog onto the filthy brick floor below. Hank's eyes quivered and hands shook in anger. Whoever the hell caused that explosion better figure out
REAL SOON, whoever the
FUCK they think they are, wasting a perfectly good piece of Ostrich meat! He instantly grabbed his Cleaverblade, and sprinted towards the explosion. He saw a man with two swords and a woman dressed like some type of army-secretary duking it out. The woman was swinging a sword around crazily. He wasn't sure which one, but
one of these brats caused a car to explode. Between the two of them, Hank decided to hurl his hook to wrap around the woman first, since she was the bigger hazard. He shouted, to nobody in particular,
"NOBODY wastes perfectly good Ostrich Meat!"
Mixtape Ghost N
Noctis
Kamen Evie
Little Bill
