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Ooooohhhhhh no. Ohh no no no. He was screwed . He was so screwed. Not only did his attempts to hack into the Gameworks fail, they'd tracked it back to him. Meaning pretty soon, someone would be coming for him to deal out whatever punishment was awaiting him.
He'd locked every entrance to his factory, turned off the lift. But he knew it wouldn't be enough. They'd find a way in eventually. All he could do was wait. It wasn't like there was anywhere to run.
Soon enough, he heard it.
A banging at the doors.
He didn't open them.
It didn't matter.
They burst open anyways, the force of the repeated blows too much for them to handle. But the damage to the building was the least of his concerns.
In the doorway stood the blue man himself. Irving.
He didn't bother trying to run. He'd inevitably end up at a dead end, and the last thing he needed was his workers finding out about this. Asking questions.
"You've been causing a lot of problems for us at The Gameworks." Irving's voice was low, annoyed. "Trying to hack into our servers? I thought you were smarter than that."
"Well, maybe you should have actually listened to what I was asking for, and I wouldn't have had to try taking it by force." Words were useless, but he could at least put off his fate as long as possible.
"What you were asking for was absurd." He took a step forwards, placing a fist in the open palm of his other hand.
He continued to back up, stumbling when he almost fell onto the conveyor belt. There was nowhere else to go.
"I wouldn't say it wa-aAGH!" He was suddenly thrown to the ground, his metal body crashing loudly against the solid surface. A gloved hand held him down, and he was sure he was about to die.
"You're lucky. You're too important to this particular game to be removed or reassigned." He was lifted into the air a few inches, before being slammed down hard on his left side. Sparks flew from his damaged arm socket, and he realized with horror what was happening.
"So I had to get more creative with your punishment." Irving's free hand gripped his arm with impossible force, and with a yank, the limb was ripped cleanly off.
It was agonizing.
But the man wasn't done yet.
He was dragged across the floor, his struggles for freedom unending but useless. His processors were struggling to register everything going on- so much so that he barely felt the first stomp.
More sparks flew, this time from his lower torso. Irving had delivered a blow to one of his legs, leaving it dented and barely able to move.
Another blow, and it hung on by mere wires. He kicked it away, snapping them like they were nothing.
When Irving moved to the other leg, he felt everything. A warped electronic screech escaped him, and he hoped the sounds of the factory were loud enough to cover it up.
Then he was lifted again. He wasn't sure where he was being taken to, his cameras had started failing due to the overload of inputs from his body desperately trying to find the limbs that weren't there anymore. He could barely feel anything that wasn't pain.
He became vaguely aware of Irving talking to him, but it was like static, unintelligible. He tried to retort, to do anything that might save whatever shreds of dignity he had left, but all that came out was a high-pitch, wavering beep.
And everything went dark.
...
When he came to, he was on top of the hover table, the contents of which had been cleared off. He couldn't remember how he had gotten there, and everything from before that was fuzzy.
He tried to get up.
His body lifted itself in a lopsided way, only supported on his right side, and after a few moments his arm buckled and he fell back down.
Panicking, he did a scan of his body, only for errors to pop up around his left shoulder and hips.
...Right. He remembered.
The damage had clearly been patched, probably by the workers, but what was done was done.
And if he tried to repair it, someone at the tower would probably find out, and he'd have to go through all of that again. He couldn't.
One arm. That was all he had left.
One. Arm.
He would need to find a new means of moving.
The workers... They used hovering technology. He could install something like that on himself. It would require pretty much re-doing that part of his body, but it was already damaged beyond repair. It didn't matter.
As for his arm... He wasn't sure. He'd think of something. Having nothing there would throw off his balance too much.
He... He couldn't let any of the others know about this. If they asked, he'd. He'd say something went wrong in the factory, yeah. It wasn't like they'd care enough about him to look into it. They'd probably be glad to see him suffer.
...He screamed in frustration.
Why did this have to happen?