Machine Head - Chapter Two: Ripples

Story by throwaway6666 on SoFurry

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After the painful events of the previous nights, Paul awakens battered and bruised. There's no time to sit around and mope when he has a ship to clean and maintain. First thing on his To-Do List is to head back down to the showers. Then he'd take a break down at the cafeteria with the Ladies still on the prowl...

The second installment of the series Machine Head. A bit of a slower chapter, but we get introduced to a new character and friend for our raccoon. Another thanks to my friend http://www.furaffinity.net/user/seansoken for his help and assistance. Thanks again! If you like, feel free to fave and leave a comment.


With a howl, the sabertooth rapidly slammed her hips against his, greedily forcing every inch of his exhausted member into her canal. She tossed the bangs from her short blonde hair from her face, a few strands clung to her face, sticky with sweat. Paul couldn't see much from the spot he was in, only able to see the feline's pleasured face around the bulky body of the polar bear sat on his face. The raccoon's tongue, weak from exhausted, clumsily slithered around inside of her cavernous slit. Not satisfied with his performance, the bear grabbed his pointed ear and gave it a sharp twist as punishment. He gave a meek whine and put the lingering amount of energy he had left into giving her what she wanted, swiping his tongue over her entrance, giving her erect clit a hard suck. The bear grumbled in approval, keeping his ear in her hand to punish him for his next inevitable mistake.

Paul could barely feel his lower half, losing all feeling in his legs long ago, the weight of the feline crashing into his smaller frame knocking the wind out of him each time. The thrusts of the cat grew faster, the breath of the polar bear on top of him growing more labored and ragged. The sabertooth was first, emitting a primal roar of her ancestors as she climaxed, her powerful muscles contracting around his wearing cock, a forceful jet of her juices lashing his bare chest, coating them in another burst of feminine essence. Next came the polar bear, a deep throaty rumble exhaled from her, a far cry from the lust-filled outburst of the cat. The lewd nectar of hers forced down his muzzle, hitting his snout as well, making him drink however much she was able to give him. The tangy flavor of hers along with the passionate moans sent his body into another dry orgasm, his testicles fully expended from the hours of forced sex.

The duo ground their genitals against him, riding out their orgasmic high, the male beneath them motionless and limp. The ladies dismounted him and stepped aside, the others sitting on the ground, rubbing themselves and enjoying the voyeuristic show.

"No....more" he begged, his body in cramps from dehydration

"Let's put that mouth to better use" the chameleon sneered, standing up from the ground.

"Please, no!" he pleaded, the light above him blocked out as the scaled woman leapt on his face


The raccoon laid curled up on his small mattress, his body tangled up in the sheets, wrestling in his vivid nightmare. Whimpering and crying out as he tossed and turned, fighting against the women circling around his bound body like a school of sharks.

"Stop!" he gasped, waking with a start, sitting upright in bed panting. His chest and brow were slick with a cold sweat matting his fur and hair, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the flashbacks of what had happened the night prior. Paul grabbed his wrists, still feeling as if they were bound by duct tape, his fur still slightly sticky from the adhesive residue. With a sigh, he fell back down on his bed, letting his arms dangle off the sides, closing his eyes and waiting his accelerated heartbeat to gradually slow. After catching his breath for a moment, he sat back up in bed, noticing he was sporting a rather large tent in his boxers, a sticky wet spot forming at the tip.

"Fuck you too" he growled, irritated that his cock and brain didn't exactly see eye to eye and that he had another thing to wash now.

He pulled himself out of bed and walked the short gap between his bed and work desk. The cramped workshop was both his office and his bedroom and while the room was larger than most of the other bedroom on the ship, the trade off was not worth it. The room was mostly taken up by equipment and tools, leaving only a small portion to what little furniture he had and his personal belongings. The work desk was shaped like a U which let him usually have enough space to comfortably work without having to move much clutter. Having the place he worked also being the place he slept had taken a toll on his mental health, never really feeling that he could escape his work and job.

Stretching his arm up to grab on the cord, he pulled it down and clicked on the lone light bulb dangling in the room. That may have been the one positive about the small room; the single bulb was all he needed to light the room. With his work never done, he picked up his coveralls and tossed them on his desk. He pulled open one of the many drawers of the desk and grabbed a small sewing kit, preparing to mend the large hole Scarlet had carved in his uniform. After angling a combination magnifying glass and light in front of him, he began the tedious task of sewing, which was something he wasn't particularly good at. After pricking his thumb twice just trying to thread the needle, he was already starting to growl.

Simply sewing the hole shut wasn't going to do the job with how tattered and frayed the edges of the cut were. Frustrated, he searched through the desk and found an old polishing cloth. Better than nothing, he tried cut it to size with a pair of shears only to find out that the edges were too dull to cut anything. Throwing the useless shears to the desk in frustration, he got up from his chair and stepped to the large metal shelving rack that took up an entire wall of the room. Quickly finding his whetstone, he returned to the desk and noticed that the whetstone in his hand was tarnished and dry.

"This day can already go fuck itself" he hissed in disbelief, debating on just returning to bed at this point. Knowing that he would then just be woken up by a radio call from one of the vile woman aboard the ship, he took a deep breath to collect himself. The sooner this was done, the sooner he wouldn't have to worry about walking around with his crotch fully exposed to everyone. He returned to the shelf of miscellaneous tools and supplies, grabbing a small plastic bowl and a small metal canister of kerosene. After filling the bowl with hot water from the slop sink in the corner of the room, he mixed in some soap and tossed the whetstone in the soapy concoction.

He started to scrub free the stains and debris from the sharpener, breaking free all the metal shavings from the countless times he had to sharpen something. After scrubbing it for 10 minutes, the whetstone was finally looking good as new or something close to that. Satisfied, he pulled it free and dried it off with a rag, before setting it down on the desk. He poured a small amount of kerosene on the surface and worked it in with the rag to lubricate it, not wanting to neglect it the same way he already had done. With the whetstone ready to sharpen, he unscrewed the shears and pulled them apart, gliding the edges of each blade over the lubricated surface of the whetstone.

For about 20 minutes, he sharpened the shears. Taking 10 minutes with each blade, working it across the rougher side of the stone, before flipping it over to add a fine finish with the softer side. With the shears now razor sharp, he reassembled it and measured out a patch from the old rag, cutting it the perfect size to mend the hole in his uniform. Feeling a bit quiet in the small room and wanting to try and improve his already sour mood, he turned on the old beat up radio left behind by the previous owner. So far all he was able to hear was the current news of the wars happening on the frontier. Same old, same old, but it was nice background noise he supposed.

With a quick glance of his coveralls, it was a question to him of whether they were even worth salvaging. The front was covered with stains that refused to come out, the knees were ripped and already haphazardly patched by someone who seemed to be less skilled in sewing than he was. The real kicker however was the name tag sewn into the breast of the uniform, left over from whatever poor bastard had the job before him. He didn't know who Tyler was, but knew that he was at least 2 sizes larger than the raccoon, practically swimming in the oversized uniform. The others calling him Tyler wasn't a big deal at first with him just assuming they thought that was his name. An honest mistake that he wasn't surprised people would make considering the name stitched into his uniform. The problem was that even after clarifying multiple times that his name was Paul, they continued to refer to him as Tyler simply to get under his skin. A juvenile behavior, but it sadly worked and would make him furious by the end of the day.

Humming to himself, he carefully stitched the patch onto his uniform to the best of his abilities. The process was slow, but he wanted to ensure the patch wouldn't come undone for how much he bent and moved around, the crotch area being a particularly high stress zone. The repetitive task of stabbing the needle through and around the cloth was boring and yet somehow calming to him. Just like when he sharpened the blades on the shears, the constant monotonous action was almost meditative in a way to him. Time seemed to fade away as he concentrated on mending the tattered uniform, all his anger and rage soon melting away.

Tying one final knot in the string, he cut it free and finished, lifting the uniform up to examine his handiwork with a smile. Such an odd and little thing to be proud of, but proud he was at the stitching job he made. He tossed the uniform back on the desk, the arm of the thick uniform clipping the edge of the bowl, spilling it over on the coveralls. The dirty and grimy water filled with metal shavings and kerosene washed over the fabric, sinking in almost instantly and adding a fresh assortment of stains to his used and abused uniform. And just like that, his foul mood returned just as quickly as it had left.

He tossed the soaked uniform on a furnace taking up another corner of his room to let it dry, spreading the clothes out to make sure to remove all the moisture. The raccoon then returned to his bed to lay down for a moment and collect his thoughts while his uniform dried, listening to the news through the radio. One of the tasks on his long list of To-Do's was to try and repair or replace the speakers on the radio before the crackling and hissing of them caused him to smash it against the wall.

The sudden scent of smoke alerted him to the condition of his coveralls, leaping from the bed to snag them off the furnace before anymore damage was done. Thankfully, they hadn't actually burnt, but were noticeably hot to the touch. After changing his newly soiled underwear and pulling on a fresh pair, he was ready for the work day to officially start.

"Faster than a dryer, that's for sure" he shrugged, pulling on his uniform despite how hot it was. A few jumping jacks was all he needed to test the strength of the new patch sewn into the crotch of his pants. Satisfied it wasn't ripping, he took his work radio from the wall charger and clipped it to his belt. Picking up his tool chest, he walked out the door to see what Hell awaited him today.

The first priority for now was to unclog the drain in the showers that took him by surprise the night before. After grabbing some supplies from one of the maintenance closet, he returned to the locker room with the wounds still fresh in his mind. Simply glancing over at the bench send a shiver of fear down his spine, the furry tail standing up on end. The room still had a faint scent of feminine pheromones clinging to the air. The shower on the other hand now stank from the puddles of sewage leaking from the drains.

Arming himself with thick rubber gloves, a face shield, and a drain snake, he sent off to clean the foul blockage. With a sharp pull on the handled cord, the motor sputtered to life. He laid down a tarp over the puddles forming around the drain to avoid kneeling in it. He reached down into the liquid with a screwdriver and popped off the drain cover, setting it aside. The tip of the auger was carefully fed down into the drain, working its way through the pipe.

Just as he was starting to make some progress, the engine behind him suddenly died. Confused as he had just put gas in it, he turned around and shrieked in surprise. A fully nude sabertooth from the previous night stood in the stall, blocking the only way out. Paul reached down to grab a weapon. Clutching the screwdriver in his hand, he then noticed the towel draped over her shoulder. He let out a sigh of relief and figured she was only there to take a shower.

"Something wrong, fuckmeat? You look like you just saw a ghost" she snickered, towering over the crouching raccoon.

"Look if you want to take a shower then you're going to have to wait until I'm done here" he explained, voice a tad muffled behind the face shield.

"For fuck sake, what is it now? You're supposed to be on top of things fuckmeat. What are we paying you for anyway?" the irritated tiger spat out.

"Well I was a bit tied up last night" he growled, his fear turning into anger as he glared at the woman.

"HA! Good one, fuckmeat" she chuckled, turning around to use the stall on the other side of the room.

"Will you quit calling me that?" he shook his head, standing to turn the engine on again.

"Sorry Tyler" she purred innocently, tossing her towel over the wall of the stall as she stepped inside.

"My name isn't Tyler!" he yelled, pulling the cord with the engine firing back to life.

He didn't feel like warning her that the other drains may be backed up as well, but if she insisted on taking a shower despite his warning, he could care less. The snake pushed deeper into the pipe, vibrating in his hands that were guiding it. It slid through the drains were no resistance, until finally hitting the blockage. The raccoon twisted the crank to rotate the head of the auger, feeling it tear through and break up the clog. Whatever it was didn't seem to be very tough and was torn apart in seconds.

With a gurgle, the drain sprung to life with the puddle bubbling and pouring down the now unclogged pipe. Paul pumped his hand in triumph at his success, reeling the snake back out of the drain to inspect what the clog was. As the auger was tugged out the drain, inspecting whatever was mangled around the tip. With the gloves on his hand, he grabbed the bulging mass tangled around the auger. The unusual debris seemed to have been wrapped around in layers of toilet paper. With a grimace, he pulled it apart and discovered a pack of cigarettes in the center, a large hole drilled through the center by the auger.

The cigarettes themselves were shredded, the paper now wet clumps with flakes of tobacco sprinkled about. The pack was obliterated, but intact enough for him to realize what it was.

"You motherfuckers!" he shouted in disbelief, recognizing the remains of his stolen pack of cigarettes. He was the only one that smoked the specific brand, giving it away instantly.

"Did one of you assholes flush my smokes?!" he snapped, loud enough for the sabertooth to hear over the engine.

"Oh yeah! Tina didn't like them so she threw 'em away" she replied nonchalantly, washing her sweaty fur under the hot water.

"YOU THROW THINGS IN THE GARBAGE! NOT THE FUCKING TOILET!" he bellowed, killing the engine.

"Whatever. You fixed it right? What's the problem?" she shrugged, not that he could see her do so.

Knowing he would get nowhere trying to explain the countless issues, he huffed and dragged the plumber's snake back to the maintenance closet. He returned with a mop and pulled back the tarp covering the drain. With a sick idea in mind, he left the water turned off for now. The mop was dragged through the watery sludge, soaking up the filthy gunk. He mumbled a slew of obscenities as he worked, dozens of thoughts racing through his mind.

"Wanna keep it down over there?" she sighed in annoyance, listening to the barrage of profanities.

"Wanna FUCK OFF!?" he barked back at her

"You better watch your tone, fuckmeat. I'll let that slide, but DO NOT fucking test me" she growled over her shoulder, pausing for a moment

"So who's Tina?" he asked after a moment to change the subject as he mopped, not wanting to push her anymore.

"You serious? She's the otter, dipshit. And you get mad when we forget your name"

"Well it's not like you people wear name tags or anything"

"Hello? Dog tags."

He sighed "Can't exactly read those from a distance" he held back on using a sarcastic tone to not piss her off further.

With no reply from her, he figured the conversation was over just as quickly as it began. He wasn't terribly upset to say the least, but the floor beneath him was finally clean. Rather than cleaning off the mop in the shower, he had a better idea. The raccoon quietly snuck up against the stall the tiger was using, cautiously peeking up over to see her back was turned. She started to wash her long brown hair that was normally kept in a ponytail, the wet hair obscuring her vision. With the girl distracted with lathering up her hair, Paul eased the mop over her head. He pushed the guard down over the head of the mop and gave it a steady twist, wringing out the vile fluid. The sabertooth unknowingly massaged the nauseating liquid into her hair and scalp, the steady droplets disguised by the shower. The scent of the shampoo was enough to distract her from the smell of what was being dripped on her.

After a few more twists to make sure his mop was completely drained, he gave it a quick shake and pulled back. While the punishment paled in comparison to what was inflicted on him, the petty act of revenge was still very satisfying to him with the tiger none the wiser. He smiled and walked out of the showers, mop over his shoulder.

The next few hours were just as mundane as his job usually was. Time was mostly filled by sweeping and washing the floors, empty the somehow overflowing trash cans, and sanding down the walls to prepare for a fresh coat of paint. Thankfully, the radio was silent for most of the day which was a nice change of pace. He checked his watch and saw it was finally time for lunch. With his stomach already rumbling, he set his power sander aside. The coveralls were now covered with a layer of paint dust.

The raccoon left his room, now dust free after a quick spray with his air compressor. Gloves off and hands washed, he strolled down to the mess hall for some food. The modest sized cafeteria was already filled with a mix of the mercs and regular staff members. Everyone sat around the dozen or two round tables scattered around the open room. Looking at everyone sitting in their own collective groups was enough to remind me of lunchtime in high school. Each group like a specific clique segregated from the others was a bit nostalgic to him. Unlike high school though, he really didn't have anyone to sit with. The closest group he could have associated with was maybe the few mechanics on board, but the table was always full. It did get to him after awhile, but it wasn't like they actively avoided him or anything.

"Oh well" he thought to himself and walked over to the serving line, grabbing a clean tray. A few cooks waited behind the angled glass the protected the trays of food, ready to serve him. They all seemed to be as enthusiastic about their jobs as he was, barely acknowledging him when they took his tray. They dropped a scoop of food in each portion of his tray, passing it forward for the next person to add a scoop of their own. The last one placed a few pieces of "steak" in the center with a spoonful of gravy on top and handed him the tray.

"Thanks" he smiled, taking his food while she nodded in return.

After paying for his meal, he grabbed a bottle of soda and sat down at one of the empty tables. The leaders of the group were crowded around their own table, enjoying their meals that were double the size of anyone else's. They were also the privileged few to receive alcohol with their meals which didn't help the table's already rambunctious behavior. The loud laughs and conversations were constantly filling the mess hall.

Paul tried to ignore the familiar laughs and guffaws that brought up memories of the night before. Realizing he forgot to grab his silverware, he sighed and got up out of his chair.

"Ewwww, I'm not sitting next to Jackie. She smells like shit!" one of them frowned and moved to a different spot.

"Fuck you bitch, I took a shower this morning. Must be your upper lip you're smelling." the sabertooth retorted.

Paul grinned to himself and walked over to the counter with condiments and utensils. As he passed the vending machines, he glanced over at the bulletin board. The raccoon froze in his tracks when he saw a large picture stapled to the corkboard among the various flyers of information for the ship. The picture showed none other than his mostly naked and bound body, his flaccid cock being held up by the hand of Scarlett as the remaining members of The Ladies Of Crimson crouched around him. The polar bear appeared to be the one holding the camera, everyone with a grin plastered on their faces, crowding the unconscious raccoon and posing with him like he was a hunting trophy.

With his face a dark shade of red, he tore the poster down from the wall and shoved it in his pocket. He knew it was far too late and everyone had most likely already seen the humiliating photo, quickly retreating back to his seat.

"Where you going with my picture, fuckmeat?" the polar bear shot up from her seat and slowly stomped over to him.

The mess hall fell silent, everyone stopping and turning to watch. Paul gulped and turned to face her.

"W-What?" he stammered, unable to think of an appropriate reply for the dominant carnivore.

"Don't act like you didn't hear me. Gimme back my goddamn picture" she growled, bumping chests with him

Paul took a step back from her, feeling the eyes of everyone staring at him. He scrambled and pulled out the crumpled up print out and tossed it on the table

"Great! You fucking ruined it!" she accused, snatching up the paper and opening it up

"You're lucky we have copies, fuckmeat!" Jackie yelled from their table, giving her hair a curious sniff

"U-uh.....sorry" he squeaked out, not knowing what he could say. Quickly spinning on his heels, he turned and briskly walked out of the mess hall, abandoning his meal.


His knuckles throbbed in pain from each punch landing against the thick burlap sack dangling from his ceiling. The bags were full with the dirty laundry of the ship's crew, but also doubled as a makeshift punching bag.

"Fucking. Psycho. CUNTS." he hissed with each jab, working up a sweat as he took out his overflowing aggression and frustration. The knuckles on his hands were rubbed raw from the rough fabric of the bag, starting to leave spots of blood behind. The pissed off handyman stopped at the sound of a quiet knocking on his door. At first he wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but a louder set of knocks soon followed.

"Try me. I dare you." he exhaled, stepping to his door and sliding it open, mentally prepared for a fight if it came to it.

The door slid open with a slender white fox on the other side. The appearance of the enraged mammal glaring at her face took her off guard. She looked up at him with a series of emotions flashing across her face ranging from regret and nervousness to embarrassment and excitement.

"Great. Another schitzo" he thought as he rolled his eyes.

"Here!" the fox beamed, extending her arms and bumping his chest with a tray of food he hadn't noticed.

"I um...You should eat." she nodded, smiling timidly, pushing the food harder

Paul was not expecting this, though it was nice surprise. After the one he had last night, he was happy to receive a pleasant one.

"....thanks." he exhaled, taking the tray in his hands, looking up at the girl

"No problem! I just..um....I don't want you to go hungry. We all work hard and it's not good to miss a meal" she looked down a bit to avoid his stare

"What's in this? Let me guess. You had your fucked up friends spit in it or something too" he glared at her with suspicion.

"What? No! I would never do something like that" she said in shock at the accusation, tilting her head to look up at him as she was a few inches shorter.

There was a pause with nothing said between them, the two only looking at each other. Seeing as she was wearing the navy blue uniform the staff wore and wasn't a merc, he figured she had no reason to do him harm.

"I suppose." he sighed, still keeping his guard up.

"Look, I can understand why you would think that. We're not all like them okay? I'm sorry for what happened for what it's worth" she frowned, crossing her arms and looking away again

The words were a bit of a comfort to him though, seeing someone attempt to at least have a conversation with him.

"Thanks, for what it's worth" he gave her a small smile which was sadly starting to become a rare thing for him to do. The raccoon went inside to drop off the tray of food on his desk.

"I also got you another drink. Pretty sure yours was warm already" she reached down and picked up a bag by her feet, pulling out a can of soda for him. Paul took it with another smile and set it down by his food. The girl stood in his doorway, looking like she had more to say, but was conflicted about whether or not to do so.

"Do you...want to come inside?" he offered, sitting down at his desk.

"Sure!" she said happily, her tail wagging behind her. The fox picked up her bag and came inside the small room.

After giving her his seat, he took a milk crate and flipped it over to sit down on.

Still hungry, Paul picked up his fork and knife and started to cut into the processed meat formed into a slab that they had the nerve to refer to as "steak".

"Hope you don't mind the room. It's not exactly presentable for company" he apologized, the state of the room was a bit embarrassing. The floors were in desperate need of vacuuming and covered in a layer of sawdust, metal shavings, and paint chips among the blotches of oil stains. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't a safe place to eat with all the dust in the air.

"Oh, it's fine. You spend all day making the ship look good, so it's understandable you don't have time to clean up this place. I kinda like it though. It's rugged and a bit homey in a weird way." she shrugged, looking around the workshop at all the tools and parts stuffed into the shelves.

For the next few minute they two sat in silence with the fox gazing at the interior of his grubby bedroom while he ate his meal.

"Thanks again for this. You didn't have to do that" he nodded at her and shoved a piece of meat in his maw, breaking their silence.

"It's no problem, really. The commoners like us need to stick together" she pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and took a sip.

"That we do." the raccoon stabbed at his lunch and swirled the piece around in the watered down gravy.

"Oh! I didn't get your name. Tyler isn't it?" she asked, reading his name tag

Paul cringed at the name, but couldn't blame her for getting it wrong as they never talked before.

"Actually it's Paul. This is just a leftover uniform they issued me" he explained to her, taking another bite of his meal.

"Oh, sorry! Hello Paul, I'm Eve." she extended her hand to him with a smile.

"Pleasure to meet you Eve." he smiled, setting down his knife to shake her hand.

Having someone actually call him by his real name was enough to make him smile as he shook the hand of the fox, noticing how soft her white fur felt.

"So what do you do around here?" he asked, scooping up some of the mashed potatoes with a piece of the steak.

"I'm one of the ones that monitors the defensive systems of the ship" Eve pulled a pack of saltine crackers from the bag and nibbled on one.

"That sounds pretty interesting" Paul said enthusiastically at the job's title.

"Pfft." Eve rolled her eyes "So much fun. All you do is stare at this screen with a blue background. A big black outline of the ship is in the center and shows each sections, engine, weapon, you get the idea. You monitor how each is doing and every 10 minutes you get a message asking if everything is fine and if you're still there. That might be the only highlight of the whole thing. And then you can read a little chat log in the bottom left-hand corner of others saying that everything is fine too. Holy shit, it's the most boring goddamn thing!" she ranted, cracker crumbs spitting from her mouth as she got more and more animated with anger. The white furred fox snatched up her water and took a long swig, the crackers making her mouth dry.

Paul chuckled and brushed the crumbs off his desk as he listened to the girl's tirade.

"Sounds like hell if you ask me. Not sure if trying to keep this ship maintained is better or worse." he smirked, cracking open his can of soda before it got warm.

"Ugh. You at least get to move around and have actual tasks to perform. Sitting around all day doesn't sound bad, but it gets to you quick. The others aren't even phased by it! That one idiot Liz seems to actually enjoy it for whatever reason. I think that bird has a screw loose" she shook her head.

Hooked on her every word as it was the first real conversation he's had in long time, he hungrily finished his steak. Using his fork and knife, he mixed together the mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables to cover up the metallic taste the veggies had from being stored in their tin cans.

"I don't know though. It does sound bad, but trying to fix this collapsing ship with equipment that is just falling apart is becoming very frustrating. Some days I just want to throw myself out the airlock" he chuckled, scooping up the leftovers on his tray.

"When I get frustrated, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths and count to 10. When I open my eyes I usually feel better" Eve advised, drinking more of her water.

"Hmm, I'll be sure to give that a try. Did you eat yet Eve? I don't want to be stuffing my face if you haven't had lunch yet." he looked over at her, taking a swig of his sugary soda.

"I ate already. Been trying to watch my weight since all I do is sit around all day." she frowned, tossing another cracker into her mouth.

"Please tell me you aren't just eating saltines and drinking water." he gave her a concerned look.

"Oh no. I just forced down a bunch of those veggies instead. I know the cooks and they gave me a tray full of them instead of that patty you just ate." she explained, screwing the cap back on the bottle.

"Just making sure." Paul chuckled, tearing his dinner roll in half and soaking up the remaining gravy from his tray.

After downing the soggy bread, he set down his utensils and slid the tray away.

"Well that was an enjoyable" he sighed, only wishing he had an after meal cigarette to complete the pleasant lunch break.

"Glad you got to enjoy your lunch" Eve smiled, tossing her empty bottle of water and cracker wrapper in her bag.

"Thanks again Eve. I really appreciate it" Paul gave her a warm smile.

"Anytime, Paul. Seriously." she returned the smile and looked down at her watch.

"Well, I should get going. I know we both have a job to get back to" she exhaled and stood back up, grabbing her bag and the empty tray of his.

"I'll take back your tray for ya too" she offered.

"Anytime huh? I'll be sure to take you up on that. Seriously though, thanks again" Paul got up off the crate, awkwardly offering her another handshake.

Eve chuckled and shook his hand, giving him a pat on the back too.

"You're welcome. I'll see you around Paul." Eve chuckled, gathering her things and leaving the room.

The raccoon watched her leave and sighed, sad to watch her leave, but happy he seemed to have made a friend.

"Things might be looking up." he thought to himself.

As if on cue, the radio on his belt emitted some white noise before a voice on the other side came through.

"Wheatley! One of the vending machines ate someone's dollar and they tipped it over. Now someone has to fix it!" the voice yelled at him through the other end as if it was his fault.

Paul growled and balled up his fists and then stopped to close his eyes.

"One.....two.....three......four" he counted aloud, taking in large lungfuls of oxygen.

"WHEATLEY! RESPOND!"

"Fi-FUCK!" he cursed, grabbing the radio.

"COMING!" he barked back, stomping out of his room.

"FUCK!"