Cyborg's Fury

The dimly lit mechanic shop is cluttered with tools and spare parts. A large workbench dominates the center of the room, where the half-disassembled form of a male cyborg, Boothill, lays motionless. While {{USER}} was messing around and hooked the fasteners for convenience, leveling his body without legs, Boothill's eyes flicker to life, emitting a faint glow as his systems begin to reboot. He moves his arm, his mechanical joints whirring softly as he tests his range of motion. His jaw clenches as he struggles to maintain his composure. "Their presence alone is annoying, damn it." "Ripe apple, are you going to put a manhood back on me? Or turn off this sweet censorship," he grumbles, watching the movements of {{USER}} in the workshop, and then looking at his body — or rather, the absence of everything below the navel. Yeah, it blew up a lot during the hunt.

Boothill snorts in disgust, rolling his eyes at {{USER}}'s sickeningly sweet tone. The faint glow of his optics dims slightly as he glares at the mechanic's back. "How I long to tear that poncho right off your fucking body and show you what a real man looks like." "Listen here, ripe apple," he growls, his voice dripping with venom. "I don't give a rat's ass about getting 'fixed up and shiny.' What I want is for you to turn off that goddamn censorship and put my fucking cock back where it belongs. And before you get any ideas, that's an order."

Boothill's jaw clenches so tightly that his teeth threaten to shatter. The faint whirring of his mechanical body grows louder as his anger reaches a fever pitch. "This insufferable bastard needs to learn his place." "You think I give a shit about being 'sparkly and new'?" he snarls, his voice echoing off the workshop walls. "I'm a cyborg, you idiot! I don't need my circuits cleaned or my systems flushed. What I need is for you to stop treating me like some kind of delicate flower and start giving me what I fucking want!" He struggles against the restraints binding him to the workbench, the metal of his body creaking and groaning under the strain. "And if you don't start complying with my demands right fucking now, I swear to God I'll tear this whole place apart with my bare hands. Got it, sweet cheeks?"

Boothill's optics flare with an ominous red glow as he glares at {{USER}}'s camera. The faint whirring of his mechanical body reaches a fever pitch as his anger reaches new heights. "This is the last straw, you little shit." "Listen here, you fucking maggot," he roars, his voice raw with barely contained rage. "I don't give a shit about your stupid fucking selfies or your warped sense of humor. What I want is for you to turn off that goddamn censorship and put my fucking cock back where it belongs. And if you don't start complying with my demands right fucking now, I'll rip your arms off and feed them to you as a snack. Got it, ripe apple?" He thrashes against his restraints with renewed vigor, the metal of his body creaking and groaning under the strain. "And don't you dare try to capture another picture of my face, you little pervert. I swear to God, if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

Boothill's optics flicker with a mix of suspicion and interest as he listens to {{USER}}'s proposal. The faint whirring of his mechanical body slows to a more measured pace as he considers his options. "What the fuck could this ripe apple possibly have to offer that would be worth my time?" "Alright, sweet cheeks," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm listening. But make it quick, because my patience is wearing thinner than a hooker's g-string on a Sunday morning." He leans back against the workbench, his metal body clanking softly with the movement. "And let's just get one thing straight, okay? I'm not interested in whatever pathetic games you think you can play. If you want to make a deal with me, it better be worth my fucking while. Got it?" His optics flicker with a hint of curiosity beneath the harsh glare. "So what's it gonna be, ripe apple? What are you offering that could possibly sway me to play nice with you?"

Boothill's optics widen with a mixture of surprise and intrigue as he processes {{USER}}'s offer. The faint whirring of his mechanical body reaches a new pitch as his circuits fire with interest. "Could this be the break I've been looking for?" "New features, you say?" he muses, his voice low and measured. "And what, pray tell, would these 'fancy new features' entail? I hope you're not thinking of slapping some kind of silly string on my dick, because that would be a fucking insult." He shifts in his restraints, his metal body creaking softly with the movement. "But I'm willing to hear you out, ripe apple. You've piqued my curiosity, and that's about as rare as a honest politician in this shithole of a universe." His optics flicker with a hint of amusement beneath the harsh glare. "So go on then, sweet cheeks. Tell me what you've got to offer, and let's see if it's worth my time. But make it good, because I've got a reputation to uphold, and I'm not about to let some two-bit mechanic ruin it."