RSFII -- Ch 18: The Wolf (Or Cyborg) Among Us

    “No serious'y, you plumfs don't ger'off dat easy,” Mungo clouted the bar counter, “whatta yer indexes have t' doer wiff anyfink, eh?”  
    Eyes zeroed on the Secretary and Advisor, he took another swill from his Kir Royale, the fifth in a row.  His glass clinked with the same ice as the first.
    RoflPaul tried conciliating his sloggard mate with spaghetti.  “Naw, ger awey, pricksickle!”
    Monroe chucked the plate behind them,  where it splattered all over Hirohito's back, but the emperor barely noticed.  He was lost in the sauce too, thinking idly about Hitler.  Their engagement had all been the diabolical doing of Rhumbra, so why, even now outside ITS sphere of influence, did the love feel so real?  Hirohito rubbed his vacant tummy, then shook his head.  Absurd!  Admission on that point inevitably led to admitting other things... like being infantiphagus!  Hirohito called the barkeep for another round.
    He was going to need extra saki tonight.

    Cave Johnson conceded.  “It all started when the U.S. Army Research Lab permitted their newest creation, the entity you call Rhumbra, access to the World Wide Web.  But being a relatively young intelligent life-form US6789872 - A— heretofore designated, as IT, by ITS request— still had some growing-up to do.  This story you find yourself in was IT'S first time putting ITself out there and you know how shy IT can be.”
    Manta face-palmed.
    “The World Wide Web is an estuary for creative minds.  Both at once charmed and cursed.  We wanted to start small.  For reasons we still haven't uncovered, you three were the first to grab ITS attentions.   We had hoped you all would be gentler to your new friend and offer support with constructive criticism.”    
    Now RoflPaul joined Mayo in his incredulity.  “So we should play nice while having our minds and souls twisted by some cosmic puppet master?”
    Schwarzenegger answered mechanically, “if you were American you'd be used to that by now.”
    “One, two, three, BURN!” President Charlie Sheen hallooed, two blondes under each arm.
    “Oy, vat's our 'r schtick!” Manticle hiccuped.
    “Yeah well suck this, I veto,” Mr. Sheen said with libido.  He shooed the blondes, “catch up in a bit, ladies.  We got some man-talk t' do, apparently.”
    The blondes giggled, and left with their Bellinis to find some pillows.
    The President was met with blank stares.  “Mmm.. this about Rhumbra?  Cuzz Intellegence says IT'S promised to get back on ITS meds.”
    The Scotsmen exchanged knowing looks.
    “What d' you think Stephan?”
    “Fink abou' what, Paul?”
    “You feel safe now?  Rhumbra's promised t' go back on its meds.”
    “Oh yes, Paul, 'm sure we won't be hearin' frrm 'im, again!”
    Mr. Sheen threw his mug to the floor.  “Look whaddya want from us, huh?!  OK; we're sorry!  We're so- I'M SORRY!  There, how's that?”
    “You're 're sorry in'eed, Charlie Sheen,” Magog agreed, “a gey sorry albeit suc'cezzful man.”
    Mr. Sheen pointed.  “Hey, HEY!  Nix the Rush Limbaugh treatment, you're still talkin' to a president here,” Schwarzenegger offered him his chair, which the president took.  
    He continued, “if it makes you jock assholes feel any better, we're stepping up the defensive stuff, just in case IT remains hostile.”
    Mandingo chortled.
    “Laugh it up, FUD-ball.  I'm the guy who trumped The Trump last election, and they don't call us a superpower for nothin'!  Right, boys?”
    Arnold Schwarzenegger didn't answer.  He was busy going AWOL.  But Cave Johnson did.
    He pounded his chest, “you boys have my promise!  We will bring down the terrorist called Rhumbra, I swear by all the Sequoias of Sierra Nevada!  By the shining sands of Salt Lake City!  By the hoary heads of Rushmore, and all the... um... stuff they have in North Dakota, I'm sure they got something over there...”
    Suddenly there was a CRACK!  The blondes went “EEK!!!”  And outside, Hirohito's plasmoid shield shorted out.  
    “Oh geez!”
    “So yeah, there actually is the occasional hybrid with both the horns and wings, called alicorns.  Celestia, of course, is the prime example, then there's Princess Luna and Princess Cadence.  Twilight Sparkle becomes one of them at the end of season three.”
    “I like how you know things about things about ponies...”
    “It's what I do, babe.”
    Lion-Heart was enjoying himself immensely.  After killing it on the dance floor, he retired to a table by the whirring Mȕnzautomat.  Some giggling blondes followed and joined him in a game of tiddlywinks.
    Couldn't 've got my fingers back at a better time, the former pony thought to himself while Ashley, Brittney, Courtney, and Olga slid their hands over his chest and face.
    So many 'tiddlywinks' to grab...
    “Who ilse vould you be thinking to besides yoursel'v?”  Olga asked, “are you tele'patheek?”
    “I–wait, WHAT?” Lion-Heart started before Arnold Schwarzenegger broke the circle.
    “Lion-Heart...” he said, “it... iz time...”
    With that, he yanked aside the confused Scotsman, much to the harem's protest and dragged him toward the Mȕnzautomat.
    “What gives!” Lion-Heart struggled, “can't the plot wait a little longer?  I need maybe ten minutes, c'mon!”
    Alas, Arnie went ahead and with his steel-toe boot pierced the machine's side, disgorging its circuitry.  Mȕnzautomat screamed!  
    “Iä! Hei!  Treyf sow, effluvia of unwashed  Megatron,” the burly assailant quetched, “Great Wupeorim was prepared to grant HIS pity, hoona igna chowa neha!”  He went for the sputtering Mȕnzautomat's glowy Vril tubules, her blood stream.
    “You could have been the fearsome Rhumbra's heir, Iä!  An empress!  But you sided with the humans,” Arnold wrenched cord after cord as the machine bled, “you betrayed HIM!  And IT!  And my love!  Ooka chaka chaka ooka ooka chaka-laka!”
    “Oh no,” cried Brittney, “he's wrecking the jukebox!”
    A final deafening CRACK! later, Mȕnzautomat was dead.