I found Dr. Jackelope in his little workshop, tinkering with whatever mechanical thing scientists of his ilk tinkered with, and I just stared, waiting for him to notice me.

He sat at his bench, and from my spot on the floor, I couldn't tell what he was doing, but he had his goggles on, a little headlamp on his head, and his black rubber gloves that all told me that whatever it was, was probably important.

I looked around. The walls were filled with tools--saws and hammers and clamps--the desks and tables covered in dust, and the floor was grit with tiny metal shards and filthy with dirt, but he didn't seem to mind.

In the center of the room was that metal table I had seen earlier. Straps dangled off the side, and it was roughly human-length, which was neat, so I zipped out my arms to climb up and check it out.

And just when the bottom rim of me tapped atop the table, Doc spun around in his chair. "Oh! Yes, you have returned. Bravo."

I looked over at him. On the desk were various types of meats and slices of bread and cheeses and lettuce and tomatoes and everything else that would go in a sandwich. He was making a sandwich.

I sort of shimmied in his direction to face him, tilted over just a bit, and vomited out my clumps of iron onto the floor.

I looked at the mess almost sadly, then back to me. "Good show, then. I'll begin work presently, but it's lunchtime, so feel free to do whatever you wish."

I stared.

He blinked. "You do not need to be present. Crafting your upgrades will take time and resources, and whenever I need something, I will let you know. For now, it's lunchtime."

I sighed inwardly, but he wouldn't know. Instead, I hopped off the table and rolled out.

This was a pain. I wanted my new body now, not later, and the sooner I could get it, the sooner I could fuck off from this place and go to where Jenna was. Wherever she was. If she were even still alive.

Gah! It burned thinking about such things, but I saved the thoughts for later. If my future power was dependent on this weird old scientist, then I would just have to wait.

The cabin door clicked shut behind me.

And I took a deep breath.

The passing villagers now looked at me freely with hints of smiles on their faces. Some even nodded in acceptance.

It was about time I had some respect around here. I slipped out my arms and anchored them to my hip, or where my hip should've been, and I stood proudly in the shining sun of this place.

Some found it amusing. Others covered their smiles because maybe they thought I looked cute. But I wasn't cute! I was a manly alpha man, and being a manly alpha man, I decided to go fuck around for the better part of an hour to see what was up with the village.

And so I did.

I walked aimlessly around, hands on my hips, swaying confidently with every left-right step of my body, almost comically-even, past curious villagers, bathing in gazes of lesser men who wished they were me, and of beautiful women who wished they had husbands as good as I was. Of course.

I checked out the stables. There were horses. They snorted at me.

I went to the wheat farms. The golden branches and hands waved in the breeze, and I waved back in approval.

I headed to the pasture. There were cows and pigs and sheep and goats and a whole buncha chickens. The chickens were assholes and chased me away. I would've eaten one, but others were watching, and I didn't want my popularity to drop, so I just repositioned myself further away. I didn't run. I don't run. Only cowards run. I wasn't a coward, so I didn't run.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

And after some time, I found myself just chilling on a porch, riding on a cushioned swing, hearing it creaked back and forth gently as I rocked on the softness of it, enjoying the shade and the breeze and the simple quiet of this country life. And it was nice, all of it. I felt relatively safe here. Not chased by city employees, or soldiers, or rebel groups, or crazy trash can-fetishists.

Just the simple ol' country living.

A man stepped out of a nearby house, and the door creaked shut behind him. A child held his hand firm, a young daughter, probably, and they smiled at one another, and he said something too quiet to hear, and that adorable little kid lit up in the sweetest, warmest of smiles, and together they laughed.

He swept the kid up in a hug, and they laughed, and laughed, and seeing this made me feel both warm and empty. That man, with the thinning hair and the mustache and the scars on his hairy arms, was the same guy I had saved from that bullshit spider cave.

He had a kid who was so very happy to have him back, and that was my doing.

Was this the reward for that quest? To feel this weird sense of emptiness and joy for doing something decent for someone? But I didn't. I didn't do it for anyone else. I did it for me.

Maybe one day I'd have kids, and maybe one day I'd be as good to them as that dude over there is good to her, but that thought seemed as far away from me now as I was to the hopeful young squire I was in my youth.

So impossibly far.

I shook off the thought and hopped off the swing seat. The old lady who had welcomed me on her porch nodded sagely at me, her mouth still puffing her pipe, and I gave her a little metallic salute, and I went off again.

I caught a whiff of some really nice smells, like fresh bread right out of an oven, and while I didn't really care about trying to eat, I wanted to go check it out anyway. It came from one of the houses, the chimney billowing thin wispy smoke, and before I got too close, the door snapped open, and a young woman hurried out. She was blonde, pretty, wore simple peasant's clothes, and carried in her hands a plate of food.

I watched.

She offered a polite smile to me, then hurried off, past the open grassy area in the center of the village, far to the edge near the mountain skirt, and into a tiny little shack. Was it her home? I couldn't have been. It was way too small, and the windows were barred, and it was so segregated from everything else that my mind simply wouldn't stop racing as to what in the hell could've been inside that would've required both a meal and a pretty young woman to deliver it.

I rolled over to check it out and stopped right at the outside wall.

The barred windows were open, and I heard quiet voices within. It was the girl's voice, speaking in a happy tone, and a familiar gentleman's voice speaking back. They laughed softly together, kind, and they seemed to be having a nice conversation.

I rolled over to the door and found it propped open.

It was a prison. The girl sat across the cage, covering her mouth mid-laugh, face flushed, but she froze when she saw me. Her demeanor deflated, the conversation cut short, and she stood up, lowered her eyes, and stepped past me to leave.

I watched her go, curious as to what strange social misstep I might've just taken, but I looked back to the prison.

A pair of legs rested there, crossed lazily on the floor covered in hay. With my spider-like arms, I crept in quietly, and the figure eased into view from around the corner. Black soldier boots. Black leather pants. White peasant's shirt. Fancy hair slicked back on one side.

It was that asshole with the puns! The officer who attacked me on that rooftop!

I stopped right in front of him, and he stared back, not in hate or spite, but in tired resignment. He rested with his arms cradled behind his head, laid back against a bail of hay, and beside him, a plate of leftover food.

"Of course," he said. "You would be here."

I said nothing.

He sighed. "Redrim, Redrim. How they speak your praise, but it appears now that you've grown... lazy. Heh. You get it?"

I said nothing.

He took a deep, sad breath. "2 out of 33."

This dumbass was still rating his own puns, and it seemed even he knew they were shit.

He sat up, slicked his hair back, and looked at me with a dark expression. "We're far from done, you little shit. Once they release me, I'll smash you to bits."

I brought my hand over to flip him off, but I couldn't get it to look right, so it just looked like I was waving at him.

He shrugged, then flopped back down on the hay. Dust plumed off, and the light from the barred windows caught it. "For me," he said, "this is just a small obstacle in my career, but you, you will always just be trash."

Hmmmm-click.

I reached into my mouth and drew out a beautiful little note I had crafted for him, and I slid it under the bars.

Just a simple message was all it was, a timeless classic, a thousand thousand words all boiled down to just a few, and it read, "GO FUCK YOURSELF," and I rolled out.