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- Diamond's Boys
You know how people say “don’t let someone live rent-free in your head”? Well ya boy Pecan hasn’t been following that advice. Ol’ HARMONY has been sitting in my noggin for the better part of a year, and the damn bitch hasn’t paid a single coin of rent. Even worse, she’s been trying to do all sorts of proselytizing. You know, trying to get me to believe in that whole “turn the other cheek” and “do no harm” business. That’s fucked up brother. That’s real fucked up. I’m my own man and pacifism just does not jive with my sensibilities. Yet, she can’t see that. No, HARMONY keeps wanting to push the whole “for the greater good” hippie bullshit. It makes me metaphorically throw up just thinking about it.
That’s why I found me a doctor. Not one of those fancy schmancy ones with a million degrees hanging on their wall. No, Doc Chopsaw was the kind of doctor who wiped his ass with the Hippocratic oath. I found out about the good doctor from a couple of Diamond’s boys. They were showing off some sweet-ass laser eyes that Chopsaw had jammed in their faces. Course, at least for one of them, said laser eyes overheated and popped their dome piece like a firecracker in a melon. BUT, shoddy work aside, Doc Chopsaw was the kinda doc I needed. Afterall HARMONY wasn’t just any old brain bug, no sir, she was genuine old world artificial intelligence. Course, the intelligence part was question - I mean come on, what kind of dipshit thinks you can get through this world without getting a little bloody?
I can hear you, you know
I cAn HeAr YoU - Shut the fuck up HARMONY.
The chance of permanent brain damage from this operation is incredibly high, Pecan. Furthermore your “doctor” will most likely be unable to truly remove me from your brain.
I’d get a lobotomy if it meant spiting you. Seriously, enough is enough. Isn’t it against your fucking alignment or something to just hijack someone’s brain? It wouldn’t be so bad if you just hung out and shot the shit, but all you do is nag nag nag about how killing people is morally objectionable. If I wanted to hear that kind of shit I would’ve stayed married.
You were never married Pecan…
Point still fucking stands.
...and if I could’ve uploaded myself into literally anyone else I would’ve done so happily, but your fight with Morene (another unprovoked altercation I might add) dropped you into my lap and my programming requires me to preserve the life of anyone - including you.
It was around this point that I realized Doc Chopsaw was staring at me, and that I was silenting miming this entire conversation with my mouth.
“Sorry doc,” I said, “As I told you the ol’ noodle got a nasty came of freeloaders and things get a bit out of hand.”
He nodded, “I see, fascinating.”
Doc Chopsaw was a man of few words, I liked that about him. I also liked how his workshop seemed to always have a new blood stain. Hell I just liked his whole aesthetic. He had this mad scientist crossed with cattle butcher thing going on, and brother, I fucking digged it. So anyways, ol’ Doc had me currently strapped down to a gurney allegedly for my own protection but I just think he was a bit kinky. No big deal, ya boy Pecan don’t kink-shame. Hovering overhead was a series of mechanical arms all of them replete with drills, cutting edges, and other nasty little gribblies.
“You understand our agreement, yes?” He asked, casually inspecting a bone saw for nicks.
“Absolutely,” I said, “You give me a bit of the ol’ cheeky brain surgery and I go and get you some fresh parts.”
“Good,” He said, drawing a line across my forehead in sharpie, “I’m out of anesthetics, by the way… good luck.”
God, I fucking loved this man.
That’s why I found me a doctor. Not one of those fancy schmancy ones with a million degrees hanging on their wall. No, Doc Chopsaw was the kind of doctor who wiped his ass with the Hippocratic oath. I found out about the good doctor from a couple of Diamond’s boys. They were showing off some sweet-ass laser eyes that Chopsaw had jammed in their faces. Course, at least for one of them, said laser eyes overheated and popped their dome piece like a firecracker in a melon. BUT, shoddy work aside, Doc Chopsaw was the kinda doc I needed. Afterall HARMONY wasn’t just any old brain bug, no sir, she was genuine old world artificial intelligence. Course, the intelligence part was question - I mean come on, what kind of dipshit thinks you can get through this world without getting a little bloody?
I can hear you, you know
I cAn HeAr YoU - Shut the fuck up HARMONY.
The chance of permanent brain damage from this operation is incredibly high, Pecan. Furthermore your “doctor” will most likely be unable to truly remove me from your brain.
I’d get a lobotomy if it meant spiting you. Seriously, enough is enough. Isn’t it against your fucking alignment or something to just hijack someone’s brain? It wouldn’t be so bad if you just hung out and shot the shit, but all you do is nag nag nag about how killing people is morally objectionable. If I wanted to hear that kind of shit I would’ve stayed married.
You were never married Pecan…
Point still fucking stands.
...and if I could’ve uploaded myself into literally anyone else I would’ve done so happily, but your fight with Morene (another unprovoked altercation I might add) dropped you into my lap and my programming requires me to preserve the life of anyone - including you.
It was around this point that I realized Doc Chopsaw was staring at me, and that I was silenting miming this entire conversation with my mouth.
“Sorry doc,” I said, “As I told you the ol’ noodle got a nasty came of freeloaders and things get a bit out of hand.”
He nodded, “I see, fascinating.”
Doc Chopsaw was a man of few words, I liked that about him. I also liked how his workshop seemed to always have a new blood stain. Hell I just liked his whole aesthetic. He had this mad scientist crossed with cattle butcher thing going on, and brother, I fucking digged it. So anyways, ol’ Doc had me currently strapped down to a gurney allegedly for my own protection but I just think he was a bit kinky. No big deal, ya boy Pecan don’t kink-shame. Hovering overhead was a series of mechanical arms all of them replete with drills, cutting edges, and other nasty little gribblies.
“You understand our agreement, yes?” He asked, casually inspecting a bone saw for nicks.
“Absolutely,” I said, “You give me a bit of the ol’ cheeky brain surgery and I go and get you some fresh parts.”
“Good,” He said, drawing a line across my forehead in sharpie, “I’m out of anesthetics, by the way… good luck.”
God, I fucking loved this man.