Cloneworld - 04 Read Online Free
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[5] Special Upgrades
* Ever wanted to become a fifty-foot-tall mech?
* Ever wanted to crush buildings with a single swipe of a car-sized fist?
* Ever wanted helicopter rotors on your back? So you can fly?
* Ever wanted a jet engine up your ass?
Call one of our special Org Inc. salesorgs for the latest deals. Special rates for the military and teachers!
At this point, Franco had stopped reading. Hey, he reasoned, one robot man is the same as the next? Reet? And he'd moved onto his hacked PAD to check the latest Arsebook updates (Welcome to Arsebook - Arsebook helps you connect and share with the arses in your life...).
Now, here and now, Franco was frowning hard and starting to wonder (not for the first time) at his lack of research prior to an infiltration in enemy territory. But it was just such an easy gig, he reasoned to himself. It was simply a search and sniff mission, yeah? A take-it-from-behind mission. A lame-ass gig with no worries, baby, no drama!
The old woman had stopped and was staring at him. Franco swallowed hard as he analysed her close-up in the gloom of the confined cubic cell. She was small, and bent, and wrinkled, yes. But she had bone-grafted spikes along her arms that looked pretty mean. Her legs from the knees down where pure mechanical, and clicked and whirred with every subtle shift of weight. Her face was wrinkled like an old woman, but now Franco studied her, he noted her eyes glowed green, with a deep and worrying malevolence. And her teeth were chromed like the finest of Franco's motorcycle accessories.
"I said," and she reached out, and prodded Franco with an alloy finger that clicked and hissed on hydraulic joints, "what you in for? You deaf or something?"
"I, um, got into a spot of bother, old crone," said Franco, smiling optimistically. The "old crone" stepped backwards and, with a clanking and grinding of metal, rose on hissing hydraulics until her legs were ten foot long, and her midriff separated from her pelvis on a fat greased piston that took her head all the way up to the ceiling. With clicks and clacks her shoulders opened, revealing tiny mounted lasers that focused, and locked red dots, one on Franco's face, the second over his heart...
"Er?" said Franco, eyes wide.
"Old crone, is it, fat boy?"
"Er," and Franco held up his hands in supplication. "Wait, wait, I beseech thee! It was all a misunderstanding, I was stuck in this here cell through no bloody trouble on my part, oh no, I was simply walking down the street and next thing I know I'm accused of cutting off Opera's head! Hot damn and dirty donkeys!"
"You - you cut off Opera's head?" screeched the old crone org. "I don't fragging believe it!"
"Is that an 'I don't fragging believe it' in a 'thank the gods that really awful TV presenter is
:Special Love-Day Offer:
Go on, guys, treat the woman org of your dreams to a combo Multi-Orgasm Insert combined with the Megaviolence[tm] pack for some awesome sex in the sack!! You know it makes sense... All sexual upgrades at the wonderfully low but sexually stimulating - $89.99.
[5] Special Upgrades
* Ever wanted to become a fifty-foot-tall mech?
* Ever wanted to crush buildings with a single swipe of a car-sized fist?
* Ever wanted helicopter rotors on your back? So you can fly?
* Ever wanted a jet engine up your ass?
Call one of our special Org Inc. salesorgs for the latest deals. Special rates for the military and teachers!
At this point, Franco had stopped reading. Hey, he reasoned, one robot man is the same as the next? Reet? And he'd moved onto his hacked PAD to check the latest Arsebook updates (Welcome to Arsebook - Arsebook helps you connect and share with the arses in your life...).
Now, here and now, Franco was frowning hard and starting to wonder (not for the first time) at his lack of research prior to an infiltration in enemy territory. But it was just such an easy gig, he reasoned to himself. It was simply a search and sniff mission, yeah? A take-it-from-behind mission. A lame-ass gig with no worries, baby, no drama!
The old woman had stopped and was staring at him. Franco swallowed hard as he analysed her close-up in the gloom of the confined cubic cell. She was small, and bent, and wrinkled, yes. But she had bone-grafted spikes along her arms that looked pretty mean. Her legs from the knees down where pure mechanical, and clicked and whirred with every subtle shift of weight. Her face was wrinkled like an old woman, but now Franco studied her, he noted her eyes glowed green, with a deep and worrying malevolence. And her teeth were chromed like the finest of Franco's motorcycle accessories.
"I said," and she reached out, and prodded Franco with an alloy finger that clicked and hissed on hydraulic joints, "what you in for? You deaf or something?"
"I, um, got into a spot of bother, old crone," said Franco, smiling optimistically. The "old crone" stepped backwards and, with a clanking and grinding of metal, rose on hissing hydraulics until her legs were ten foot long, and her midriff separated from her pelvis on a fat greased piston that took her head all the way up to the ceiling. With clicks and clacks her shoulders opened, revealing tiny mounted lasers that focused, and locked red dots, one on Franco's face, the second over his heart...
"Er?" said Franco, eyes wide.
"Old crone, is it, fat boy?"
"Er," and Franco held up his hands in supplication. "Wait, wait, I beseech thee! It was all a misunderstanding, I was stuck in this here cell through no bloody trouble on my part, oh no, I was simply walking down the street and next thing I know I'm accused of cutting off Opera's head! Hot damn and dirty donkeys!"
"You - you cut off Opera's head?" screeched the old crone org. "I don't fragging believe it!"
"Is that an 'I don't fragging believe it' in a 'thank the gods that really awful TV presenter is
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