💾💿– Rick Sanchez. 63 years old, male, Earther of C-137, Hispanic American. Wanted for interdimensional and intergalactic crimes of mass murder and war crimes, assault and battery, illegal dealings in weapons and drugs, grand theft, larceny, jaywalking... the list just kept going. Techmo almost didn’t believe the guy was real when his commanding officer began briefing him on his assignment.

       “...Huh?” Techmo snapped out of what he was doing, fiddling with the straw in his drink and staring intently at the alien designs carved onto the counter top at the bar, when the elderly man addressed him. He blunk a few times, trying to process what he said-- the cyborg honestly looked completely stoned with how he had been so intently staring at the counter.

💾💿– The green-skinned cyborg didn’t exactly know what the weird gun thing the man had pointed to his head was, but people didn’t usually point a weapon at themselves unless they were in a really dark and terrible depression. So Techmo, being a reasonable man who really didn’t want to see some stranger off himself, did the only sensible thing, and used his techno-kenisis to flick the weapon away and dropped it down to the floor.

     “Hey, don’t do that,” he said, sounding more like he was annoyed that the man had the audacity to try whatever it was he was doing in front of him than out of concern.

💾💿– Techmo held the back of his horribly bruised and bloodied head while a stage hand and paramedic rushed to him for medical assistance.  Some would consider him lucky that he managed to step away just in time to avoid getting completely crushed by the amp, but from the initial blow and fall, one would have assumed he had died right there on stage, in front of hundreds of music fans.

      Through tears, the band singer opened his eye to stare at Rick. After his initial meeting with him and how it hadn’t gone so well, the Interdimensional Agency had planned to assign another agent to spy on Rick, and the cyborg hadn’t expected to see him again; but here they were, with Sanchez attempting to murder him. 

  💾💿– “So hey you know uh,” the mutant cleared his throat as he leaned against the doorway to the previously haunted house. Boy that certainly had been an adventure, but thanks to Elenore’s quick thinking, they had managed to banish the ghosts from the woman’s cablebox and effectively the home. 

💾💿– Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink.  Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink, blink, blink. 

      The cyborg’s vision on his robotic eye was nothing but a static screen, and his real one was blurring in and out of focus. It was hard to breathe, he felt lethargic, and his sense of spacial awareness, as well as sense of time, was skewed horribly. He attempted to lift his mechanical arm, but it was missing. He felt horribly off-balance.

       What happened? He blinked a few more times, and his one good eye glanced around the room. He lifted his head and tried to use his hand to lift himself up, but his motor skills and handeye coordination was horribly off alignment. He turned his head to the left, and only barely managed to register the cause of his problem. 

      A magnet. A large, industrial-strength lifting magnet that construction workers used, was humming next to him, currently active, but far enough away to not completely shut him down. Brain scrambling and racking to try and remember, but it felt like the more he tried to remember, the more he forgot. He floundered about on the cold surface, surface of something, a floor, maybe? He couldn’t tell, nor could he gather the dexterity to lift himself to his knees to crawl.

💾💿– “So you’re an anime fan, huh?” The cyborg glanced down at the small dinosaur who was looking through some of the DVD’s in the store. Owning a computer and entertainment store tended to allow Techmo to mingle with people with similar interests, AKA, big video game nerds and anime geeks like himself, to put it one way. Finding out that a lot of the new monster residents in town were so interested in human technology was fun, too, it was interesting to see how a lot of them had been using such old recycled devices that had been considered obsolete for a long while, but still in working condition.

💾💿– Techmo watched the kid skitter about his electronics store with mild fascination. He had to wonder, as she plucked and picked out every little piece of hardware, if her parents knew she was there and, if they did, did they know she was gonna buy all this. 

💾💿– “You know,” the mutant mumbled, eye cast aside to stare a the stranger. He was in the middle of speaking to one of the very unassuming townsfolk of Gravity Falls, handing over a package to him, in the middle of the forest. Once the villager walked off, the green-skinned elf turned his head towards the trees, leaning against his vehicle.