Las stands in a combat stance.
With his left hand, he grips Sifu's staff tightly.
His right mechanical arm is raised forward, palm open—
steam hissing from its joints, sparks snapping across the metal,
accompanied by harsh mechanical whirs and electric crackles.
The Scarface machines fix their glowing red eyes on Las.
In an instant, they begin scanning him—
data racing across invisible displays, analyzing every inch of his body at impossible speed.
TARGET:
Monkey
RIGHT ARM:
Original biological limb — SEVERED
STATUS:
Severe trauma
CONDITION:
Irreversible
REPLACEMENT:
Mechanical prosthetic detected
LEFT ARM:
Biological limb — INTACT
OBJECT HELD:
Staff
MATERIAL:
Hardened wood
COMPOSITION:
Unknown
WOOD TYPE:
Unknown
As the analysis continues,
the machines begin to move.
Step by step, they advance toward Las—
their metal frames clanking heavily against the arena floor,
their voices overlapping in distorted, sarcastic laughter.
Scarface Robot 1:
"Well, well… little monkey.
Where's your mommy? Did you get lost on the way to the zoo?"
qe qe qe qe
Scarface Robot 2:
"Target confirmed: Las.
Subject is holding…
a stick.
An actual piece of wood."
Pause.
"He doesn't even know what it is.
Strange choice—considering he could've used it as firewood instead."
..
heho heho heho
Scarface Robot 3:
"Hey, monkey!
With that height, you should try the NBA.
Oh—right.
You'd still be benched."
Ho ha ho ha prrrrr
Scarface Robot 4:
"Guys… look at his right arm.
Metal.
Just like us."
"Ho PAPAPAPA .... ho ho ho
Las stares at the machines with a bored, cartoonish expression,
his eyes twitching slightly as if he can't believe what he's seeing.
Las:
"Seriously now???
Your laughter is worse than Scarface himself."
Bobo looks on, visibly irritated.
Bobo:
"Stop talking nonsense and standing there like a statue…
fight, Las!"
As the robots move closer,
Las turns his head toward the control room, looking up at Bobo,
grinning stupidly and mocking him.
Las:
"These things move slower than a tur—"
Suddenly—and violently—
Las is launched through the air and slammed hard against the metal wall.
His body crashes down onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Las:
"What the—"
As Las struggles to push himself up, trying to understand what just happened,
he looks ahead.
At a distance, one of the robots stands completely still,
like a statue—
its fist raised high in a striking position,
frozen mid-attack,
aimed directly at Las…
mocking him.
Robot 1:
"The monkey was hit." qeqeqeqe
Las gets up quickly, angry.
He raises his left hand and wipes the blood from his nose with the back of his arm,
his eyes locking onto the four robots standing to his right and left,
positioned at short distances from one another,
slowly trying to surround him.
Bobo:
"I told you… don't stand still."
Las bends down to grab Sifu's staff from the ground—
but before he can reach it, Robot 3 throws a punch.
The metal fist slices past Las's head by mere centimeters,
then slams into the metal wall behind him,
piercing it and tearing open a deep crater in the steel.
Las turns his head, staring at the robot, irritated.
Las:
"I didn't see it… you stupid machine."
Robot 3 bends forward, lowering its head to stare directly at Las.
Its glowing red eyes lock onto him, scanning and analyzing.
TARGET:
Monkey
…
MISS DETECTED
Strike too slow
Robot 3:
"Monkey… lucky."
Hoha hoha prrrr hoha…
At the same time, Robots 4 and 2 charge straight toward him.
Robot 4:
"You will die, monkey.
I'll kick your red butt."
Las grabs Sifu's staff and starts running fast around the arena,
circling it as he moves,
trying to read the movements of the robotic machines.
Robot 2:
"Look at him—running back to his mommy."
Heho heho heho.
Las:
"That laugh is giving me a headache."
Bobo:
"Shut up and fight, or you'll die."
Las:
"Interesting. You should've said that earlier… I would've never come into this cage… you crazy psychopath lizard."
The robotic machines lock onto Las, analyzing him, and immediately start chasing him from behind, trying to land hits.
Las runs in a wide circle around the arena, pushing himself harder and harder—doing everything he can to dodge the punches strikes , the snapping kicks, and the fast, sharp strikes from the metal lizards' tails.
Las"
This is hell
As Las kept running, Bobo's irritated voice suddenly blasted from two huge loudspeakers, mounted high to the left and right outside the control room.
Bobo:
"Stop running around the arena… stupid monkey."
Las looked up at the speakers, confused, his eyes widening with that dumb, cartoonish disbelief.
Las:
"What is that up there?"
Bobo:
"Stop asking questions, stupid monkey!"
Las shot an annoyed, exaggerated glare toward the control room—still twisting and stepping to avoid the robots' strikes.
Las:
"Then what am I supposed to do, you stupid psychopath lizard?!"
Bobo:
"Use the metal hand to hit the machines."
Las:
"How?"
Bobo:
"I don't know—just make a move."
Las shot him an incredulous look, pure are-you-kidding-me in his face.
Las:
"It's your build and you don't even know how I'm supposed to punch?"
Bobo:
"I'll kill you."
Las clenched his metal right hand into a fist.
A harsh metallic-electric whine sparked to life—then the entire arm wrapped in bright blue electricity, crackling and spitting sparks like a live wire waking up.
Las stared at it, stunned.
Las:
"Awesome…"
He stepped forward, dropping into a fighting stance, spinning his staff with his left hand.
Robot 2 went perfectly still. Slowly, it lifted its arm—and beckoned him with a lazy, mocking gesture.
Robot 2:
"Come on, little monkey… come eat my banana."
Las lunged—charging straight at Robot 2—throwing a punch with everything he had.
But the fist shot out way too fast, dragging Las with it. The force yanked his whole body forward—completely out of control—
—and slammed him into the wall with a brutal impact.
Las got launched face-first into the metal wall—so hard it left a dent shaped like his entire face, a perfect, ridiculous imprint.
He slid down and collapsed onto the floor, sprawled out like a broken toy.
The Scarface-machines immediately burst into mocking laughter, pointing at him as if he'd just performed a comedy show for them.
Robot 1:
"qe qe qe qe—
The monkey made graffiti on the wall."
Robot 3:
"His face looks like a monkey's ass—hahohaaa… prrr prrr!"
Robot 2:
"You can't fight. Go be a ballerina."
Robot 4:
"Ho ha— the monkey hit!"
Las stayed on the ground for a beat, teeth clenched, eyes twitching with pure irritation as he glared at all four of them.
Las:
"Idiotic robots…"
From the control room above, Bobo's voice blasted out—sharp, furious.
Bobo:
"You control it—it doesn't control you! Take control!"
Las grabbed his staff and forced himself back up to his feet, breathing hard.
He tightened his jaw, then closed his metal hand, squeezing the palm like he was trying to choke the power into obedience—charging it again, forcing the sparks and energy to gather under his control.
He tried to regain control of the mechanical arm—clenching, focusing—
but the power jerked away from him again.
In the next instant, he lost balance and slammed down face-first onto the metal floor.
The Scarface-robots kept laughing, louder, crueler—like they were programmed for humiliation.
Robot 3:
"He actually turned red… like a monkey's ass."
Las pushed himself up slowly.
His face was stiff. His jaw was tight.
Then his whole expression snapped—his cheeks and ears flushing bright red with rage.
Las:
"Now I'll show you."
In one sharp movement, he whipped Sifu's staff straight at the robot 3.
The staff spun through the air like a boomerang, slicing a tight circle—
and before Robot could even react, it smashed into its head with a heavy crack.
The machines dropped hard to the ground.
The staff completed its arc and returned cleanly into Las's hand like it belonged there.
Las stared at it for a beat—then smirked.
Las:
"Sick… Hey, idiot machine—did you like that?"
Las looked up at Bobo with a dopey, happy grin, like a kid who thought the level was cleared.
Bobo:
"Stop looking at me with that stupid face."
Las:
"But I won."
The robot on the ground twitched—then slowly sat up.
With a dry, mechanical motion, it reached down, picked up its fallen head from the floor, and—like it was the most normal thing in the world—placed it back onto its body.
A sharp metallic click.
The red eyes lit again.
Las stared, completely stunned.
Las:
"What the—… What is wrong with these machines?!"
Bobo:
"You think it's gonna be that easy, huh?"
"If it was easy, I'd come down there myself and beat them up."
Suddenly, the four machines locked onto Las—their red eyes flickering as they analyzed him in sync, sending signals and data to each other at blinding speed.
For a moment, they all stood perfectly still—silent, motionless, like statues.
Las:
"What now…?"
The machines burst into motion, breaking into a threatening sprint straight toward him.
As they rushed at him at insane speed, Las's mechanical right hand began to twitch and shudder like a living machine—spitting sparks, humming with electricity.
The current ran through the metal fingers… and bled into the wooden staff.
For a split second, it was almost clean—a perfect, soft harmony of power, metal, and wood, the staff lightly buzzing as if it had always belonged to that hand.
Las:
"...Sick."
The four Scarface-machines leapt into the air together—perfectly synchronized—whipping their metal tails down in a single coordinated strike meant to smash him.
Las just laughed, sarcastic and bored.
The tails crashed downward—
—and Las snapped into a fast aerial flip, lifting his body with his arms and slipping cleanly past the synchronized strike, dodging it at the last possible moment.
The machines' tails slammed into the metal floor with brutal force—cracking it open, the impact echoing through the arena like a cannon shot.
Up in the control room, Bobo started clapping in a steady rhythm, way too pleased with himself.
Bobo:
"Nice dodge. Good job, Las."
Las snapped his head up, horrified, letting out a panicked scream—his eyes practically popping out of his skull in full cartoon mode. He spun around, furious, glaring straight at Bobo.
Las:
"This isn't training, you psycho lizard!"
Bobo:
"Shut up and fight, banana-head."
Behind Las, the machines reset—cold, efficient—preparing another heavy strike. They started creeping in from behind him while he was still turned toward Bobo.
Las pointed an accusing finger up at the control room, yelling mid-rant:
Las:
"Look who's talking—green nerd with glasses bigger than his head!"
Bobo let out a full-on cartoon shriek through the speakers:
Bobo:
"BEEEHIND YOUUU!"
Las whipped around, annoyed, his face twisting into that irritated, deadpan look.
Las:
"Can't you see I'm talking, you stupid machines?!"
The machines burst into motion—sprinting in a tight circle, building speed and momentum—until they formed a complete ring around Las from every direction: right, left, front, and behind.
Las let out a dry, mocking laugh, spinning his s staff in his hand like a toy
A combo storm—kicks, fists, and whipping tail-strikes—layered in waves, each machine syncing with the next like a cruel, mechanical dance.
Las moved on instinct.
He dodged and blocked every hit, one by one—clean, sharp, and strangely harmonious—his metal right hand sparking as it intercepted blows, his staff snapping into place at perfect angles.
Robot 2 readied a heavy, spinning punch from behind—aimed straight at Las.
But Las ducked.
In the same motion, he twisted hard, gripping his staff with both hands, and brought its tip down vertically like a hammer.
CRACK.
The strike slammed into Robot 2's legs from underneath—splintering the metal supports and snapping them apart.
The machine's balance vanished instantly.
It dropped with brutal force—face-first—its body hitting the floor with a dull, crushing slam.
Metal bent. Parts scattered.
Robot 2 lay there destroyed.
The machines stared at the wrecked Robot 2.
Their heads snapped side to side—fast, mechanical—then they looked at each other, perfectly still, exchanging analysis data inside their hollow metal skulls.
Then—in sync—all three turned their heads toward Las.
Their red lights traced over him, scanning every inch of his body with absurd speed.
Data Analysis…
1… 2… 3… 4…
Punch…
Dodge…
Vertical strike to the ground — Robot 2's legs.
Las narrowed his eyes, uneasy.
Las:
"What are they doing…?"
From above, Bobo's voice echoed, smug.
Bobo:
"Artificial intelligence."
Las blinked, annoyed.
Las:
"What is that?"
Bobo's laughter crackled through the speakers—mocking and loud.
Bobo:
"HAHAHA—what, you thought this would be easy, huh?"
The machines suddenly hissed—steam blasting from their legs—and in the next instant, they lifted off the ground.
They hung in the air, hovering like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Las's eyes went wide, his face twisting into pure disbelief.
Las (shocked):
"You've gotta be kidding me."
Bobo sounded way too happy over the speakers.
Bobo (cheerful):
"Not even a little."
The machines' arms shift with a harsh mechanical click—metal plates sliding, joints rotating—until their hands morph into automatic machine guns.
From above, they open fire.
RATATATAT—!
Bursts of bullets rip downward at Las in relentless waves, sparking off the metal floor and chewing the air around him.
Las bolts into motion, sprinting in a tight circle around the arena, throwing himself into desperate rolls—flip, tumble, slide—barely staying ahead of the spraying gunfire.
His face is pure cartoon panic: tears streaming, mouth wide, voice cracking as he screams while dodging.
Las (crying, shouting):
"Somebody save me from that insane lizard!!"
The machines track Las from above, hovering as they fire nonstop, their gun-arms chattering without mercy.
Las sprints straight for the wall—and runs up it, feet pounding against the metal surface as he climbs higher, bullets sparking and screaming past him.
The gunfire doesn't stop.
At the peak of his climb, Las launches himself backward—
—an inverted backflip through the air.
He sails clean over their heads, flipping upside down as the muzzle flashes strobe across his face.
The machines react instantly.
Still firing, they snap their bodies around in a violent, mechanical twist—aiming to follow him midair—
—and in that split second…
Their streams of bullets cross paths.
RATATATAT—!
Metal screams.
Sparks explode.
The hovering Scarface-machines shoot each other, rounds tearing into their own bodies as they keep spraying wildly.
As Las hangs in the air, the machines behind him detonate mid-flight—one after another—bursting into violent flashes of light and steel.
He drops fast.
And as he hits the ground, the arena rains metal:
Shredded iron plates, snapping cables, and jagged chunks of machinery slam into the floor all around him—clang after clang—sparking as they land, skidding and bouncing across the metal ground like lethal shrapnel.
Las lifts the staff and spins it around his wrist—like he just cleared a mission in a video game, like he's the king of the arena.
He throws an ironic grin upward at Bobo.
But Bobo just grins back—and presses a button.
Las:
"I'm bad ass, I'm cool, I—"
The metal and iron scraps from the destroyed robots begin to tremble.
Las:
"What the—"
Bobo laughs—low and demonic.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Cables and metal shards start jerking violently, yanking toward each other like they've suddenly been given a command.
The lights above the arena flicker nonstop, strobing the place in harsh flashes—dark, light, dark, light—
And in that broken rhythm…
Two purple glowing eyes begin to form in the darkness.
Las:
"What did you do, you crazy lizard… WHAT DID YOU DO…?!"