Run Down Pt 1
Character no one cares about check B) I swear you'll like him, he's cute mini or big. The character is Ten btw! Forgot to put that..
“Hey! Check this thing out!” A voice calls from inside the run down house, actually…shack may be more accurate. Would “hovel" be too rude? It’s accurate, the building is sagging in the back right. The door and one window are entirely missing and the other window is so caked over with grime it may as well be a wall.
“What is it?” You call, not willing to get any closer, let alone go inside.
The girl pokes her head out of the door and rolls her eyes, “Quit being lame and come look.” She ducks back inside before you’re able to reply, coward.
Still, you enter the cabin reluctantly. At least it’s marginally warmer shielded from the wind. Your friend points underneath a bed with three legs, “It went under there! Do you think we should take it?”
“I don’t even know what “it” is. I’m too lame, remember?”
She’s preoccupied trying to look under the bed without touching her face to the floor, “Yeah, whatever, it looks like a kids toy but like…fancy? It was moving and everything. Come see,” She waves a hand, beckoning you.
“You called me in here for a toy,” despite the very judgemental tone, you pressed your face to the ground. Curiosity, cats, satisfaction, and weird toys abandoned in the woods. “Huh, yeah, that is weird.” Very weird, especially because the “toy” seems to have hunkered down in the furthest corner. You crawl forward.
“Can you see it?”
“Yep. Is it weird that it looks scared?”
“Maybe like a hide and seek game or something. Try to grab it!”
“No way, man, I don’t know where it's been.”
“Don’t be lame”
“I always thought peer pressure was for drugs, not manhandling possibly possessed toys.”
“Just do it.”
“Fi-” Thunk! “OW FUCK! It bit me!” You shake your hand, and snatch the toy as quickly as you can before retreating.
The devil toy is quickly passed off to your friend, who leaned in upon hearing your suffering. “Ew, why’s it look so busted?”
“It’s in the woods, dude. Forget that, why’d it bite me?” At her sceptical look (Did you really get bit or are you delusional?) you shove your thumb in her face (See look, perfect devil toy bite mark.)
She turns to look at the toy, which is twisting and writhing in her hands. Busted indeed, it’s a warm tan, with scratches all over, tiny writing on its back, and straight up holes? It’s also wheezing like an overworked engine, and trying to use its teeny tiny hands to pry her fingers off. In one last desperate effort it braces a leg on the heel of her palm and pushes hard, engine squealing, little face turning wildly around the room. “Shit! It’s kinda strong!”
“Dude, I don’t think it’s a toy. You should put it down.”
“Why do you thi-OW FUCK!” The toy hits the ground with a soggy thud, then bounces and hits the ground again. “Shit. It bit me.”
You’re the one to approach this time, and the little thing is not happy about it. It grinds out a warning, mini-engine growling, as it uses one arm to scoot all twelve inches of itself away. One of its arms is cradled against its body. “Shit.” she scooches closer, “Hey, uh, sorry. Are you like…alive?”
It stops moving, and turns to cast its baleful little faceplate up at you. Churr. Your friend looks at you like you’re stupid. “Okay,” That little face turns to watch your hand, and pushes it away when you try to scoop him. “Okay. We got off on the wrong foot,” He pushes more insistently at your hand. “Listen, my friend is very sorry for dropping you, and I’m very sorry for grabbing you. I thought you were a toy. But, if you let me pick you up, I can take you to my home and I can try to fix you.” He makes an odd grinding whirr, and still blocks your hand, looking wary.
Your friend scoffs at this, “hey! How come you get to keep it?” The tiny robot glances between you two and his grip on your finger shifts from pushing away to holding on. You scoop him up, and cradle him to avoid his hurt arm. The tiny thing clings to two of your fingers, and makes a mournful little be-woop. He’s kind of cute, in a messed up sort of way.
The robot clings harder to your fingers, and you hold him tighter in turn before addressing your friend. “You dropped him! Consider him payment for dragging me in here in the first place.”
She rolls her eyes, but has the dignity to sound cowed, “Only cause he bit me.”
That sentiment earns some very angry revving from your tiny new friend. Despite this the little robot seems sluggish, either worn out, hurting, or both. Definitely not a toy.
“He was scared.”
“You’re acting like it's alive.”
“Dude, I think he is. What company would create a toy that could bite kids?”
She lights up, a stupid smile spreading across her face, and shouts “It’s the bite of-” “Stop.” “Fun-killer.”
