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2094 Boring Lane
| >The truck has rolled to a stop. It's secret stowaway is minced meat, or at least crushed somewhat. The bot has been released from it's weird wall seat, grips folding back into itself for future use. Instead of returning to it's duties it's touching it's feelers to the body next to the crates, roving over clothes and skin with a gentle but bristly touch. It's eye is still zoomed out, giving it a look of shock and confusion.
| "Fuckin' titch me again 'n' ah wull shet fury doon yer cooling system."
>The guy wakes up, half-mumbling a threat.
| >The feelers retract, raising up in a motion of surrender. The bot burbles and babbles before zooming away to the door.
| >a man passes by.
>he looks to be engaged in a fistfight with horde of clowns?
>they disappear from view.
| "Whit th' fuck?"
>The guy puts his hood back on, stepping out of the truck.
"OI! Driver, whaur ur we?"
| "Gggggg...Gigigi..."
>The bot circles around the start of the ramp.
| "RG?"
>Due to all the noise the driver speaks up from the truck itself.
"Are you still pissed? Look buddy, if you want to have a talk about it.."
>The driver side door pops open and a leg slides out, searching for footing.
| "Huh?"
>He steps down all the way and turns around. It's some joker with a sports jacket over his uniform, a baseball cap on his head with a logo that matches the one on the side of the truck. He has a pad under his arm and his pen tucked away in the nearest dress shirt pocket. He's also staring at you like he's seen a ghost.
| "S-Sorry, where did you come from..?"
>He looks around for a place that an undesirable could have possibly poked their head out of.
| "Your bot here told me to hop in."
>The hooded guy points to the bot at the back.
| >His confusion only intensifies. He wants to walk over but for some reason he's keeping distance.
"No, wait, but /I/ told.."
>The bot brakes suddenly at the accusation. It shudders..
"Cccc...C-c-c...Cargo?"
| "Well. It's not my problem. Wanna joint?"
>The hooded guy holds out a joint.
| >Driver dude looks like he has a vein ready to pop. He closes the distance due to pretty much just blind anger while the bot retreats because it gets easily nervous for whatever reason. "What the shit? No, not cargo. That's the guy that almost SHOT-"
>Reality comes crashing down. Like some poor sod rolling around in the back of a truck. Or on the cement ground near a hardware store. He stares at the proffered joint.
"..me."
| "So that was you?"
>The hooded man puts the joint away, instead preparing a fist sandwich, rolling his sleeves up.
| >His eyes bug out. He turns pale. I'd say he's ready to bail, but if I add a rhyme to this it'll probably be even more annoying so I'll refrain.
"No! I mean yes! Please don't kill me,"
>He backs away and drops the pad on the ground.
"I'll get you drinks or something! Why don't we be friends! I mean I don't have any friends but I can be a good one if.."
>His voice trails off as he goes around the front of the truck.
| "Ok. Simple shit. Don't creep up on people."
>The hooded man begins walking towards the guy.
"Who the fuck pricks someone with a pen out of nowhere?"
>The guy has reached the door to the driver's cabin.
"Ahhh fuck it. I got better things to do. You also left RG back at the place."
>The guy begins to walk away, but not before dropping off something on to the chair of the driver.
| >He's curled up and leaning against the grille of the truck, pulled his cap down to hide his face. At the hooded man leaving he almost thinks it's a fluke, but is too hopeful to let it go to waste.
| When the man's just a little farther.. He goes around the truck to the door and scrambles up to it. At the sight of.. Get this. /Something/ on the seat, he ducks down and slaps his cheeks a little and says,
"Either it's his number or a bomb,"
>And makes a laugh at the guess, and really, it sounds like he's ready to die anyway.
| >>194219
>It's a... Joint. Suprisingly, the guy was pretty over the fact that ya scared him, and even felt kinda bad. but only kinda.
| "..But I don't even smoke.."
>The driver picks up the joint and plays it around his fingers like he does with his pen. It doesn't really work because the shape is different. In fact it looks awkward as hell.
| >From the view from the driver's seat he looks around for the last traces of the hooded man, wherever he's going. If he's still even here.
| >But finally notices the hooded man sitting right next to him.
"Need a light?"
| >He nearly falls out of the truck and splits his head open on the pavement.
"Oh jesus!"
>..And ends up holding onto the inside handle of the truck door for dear life, flailing his legs like he just pissed his pants.
"Holyshitholyshitholyshit.."
>What a mantra.
| "And I thought I was bad."
>The hooded guy chuckles.
| >He slams the door shut, finally.
"Thfscgkn...Thhbbbat's not funny!"
>Driver shoots daggers at the passenger, cap run askew on his head. He starts hiccuping.
| "Pffft. It was pretty funny. Now do you still need that light or no?"
>The hooded figure holds out a lighter.
| "I don't need it and I never will,"
>He shoves the joint in between the man's lips, states it as straight he can in between well-placed hiccups.
"So no, I actually really need water you weird ass fuckin' bastard!"
>Now that he's facing him, he throws his arms up in the air to show his distress. And annoyance. It's really not funny, damn it!
| "Alright man, chill out. I'll be on my way then. Just forgot that you needed a light."
>The Hooded guy gets out of the truck, this time leaving in full sight of the trucker.
| >Left to huff and puff in the truck, he eventually winds down and goes through a bit of a 'oh, oops' moment. He kinda pokes his head out of the passenger side and yells a meager
"S-sorry!"
>even though it's chances of carrying that far are real bad, and then proceeds to descend deeper into the stages of grief. Except for the fact that he's not grieving the loss of anything or anyone (probably) and basically skipped over at least five that he doesn't remember.
| >The Hooded guy turns a corner, and disappears. Maybe you did forget someone?
| >He straightens up a bit. Adjusts his cap. Feels like he isn't going to hiccup anymore, thank god. The driver musters up the will to not smack his head against the wheel to vent the last of his frustrations, lest he experience the consequences thereafter. Very honky, noisy consequences.
"Okay.. I have to.. I have to.."
>He gathers his bearings.
"Call. I have to make a call. So they can pick RG up.."
| >Because at least every one of the little tin cans running around employed by that company have trackers in them, exactly for situations like this. And maybe him, too. He's pretty sure it never happened, unless they stuck it in him while he was asleep or something. Anyway, he would figure they would be more mundane ones. Run-of-the-mill 'Oh I lost one of your emotionally deficit employees due to my own negligence' kind of deal.
| >There's some time. A notice is issued. As for the job, it's figured that one fucked up delivery is better than seven.
"Pack it up!"
>He tells the bot in the back.
| >Hopefully he won't see this guy again. Especially not through similar circumstances. No more poking people's asses with a pen, no sir. The trucks starts up again, steady rumble following it down the street and through the district. Rain starts to collect on the windshield.. How waterproof is RG again?
| >Oh, shit.
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| >The Neon district is an okay place. There's nothing really notable about it, besides the fact it hasn't ever been a warzone, overgrown by a giant tree or overrun with zombies.