This is Crazy, but I'm in the Bayverse!

There's a fine line between...

 An insane robot preparing to murder and a girl who’s in the bad guy’s clutch’s because she’s a Mind Traveler…wow. What a waste of words. “Are you going to kill me by sharpening that knife multiple times?” I ask. “You are wasting my time of being sick. Sick. Sick as in: I WANNA THROW UP!” The robot turns away from the fairly large blade lain on the table.

            “Shut up.” he growls, his voice is thick in some accent. But I couldn’t tell.  Who is he? Why does he sound like there’s something big against me like a gigantic snowball hardened into a gigantic golem or enormous geodude.  “Just shut up you piece of deathly scum.” He cuts off one of his digitals without looking. Did he notice that a mistake had been done simultaneously? He must be having the good life of no pain. Actually I take it back. I’ve seen an NCIS episode where a dude tortured an innocent man and broke his stitches open so Doctor Mallard could fix him up again, for short; this dude didn’t experience pain and lost one of his eyes in the war so he wanted to break Ducky. That apparently was not in Mallard’s memo.  Splits of fluid goosed out from his decapitated digital.

            I’ve stood strong for far too long.

            “Deathly scums…” I repeat, it rhymes with a word on the tip of my tongue. “Are you trying to do a Harry Potter on me?” I look at the robot, tied down to a table. My body is exceptionally small and shorty for an average teenager who has been bullied and outcasted for most her life. “I’ve heard worse. But you are terrible in threats and insults. There should be a secret group to assassinate you for saying grammar completely wrong in the sentence umpromptuly.”

            The gigantic robot looks down to me. His optics pierced death.

            “Look at me optics; do I want to hear your crud?”

            I had to force my eyes into full detail.      

            “No. but they look strained; you’ve cut your left thumb off though.” I tell him, cocking my head. His armor is going out in a spiral-loopy design similar to goat horns,  the glass wear is pretty obvious  to  some of his shoulder armor being gigantic enough it could have been a slide  rather than robot sections, his gigantic monster truck wheels are extremely apparent including the guitar shape  that’s really sticking out from his back  like a lion crossed with a chicken. “And dude. You are apparently stressed out. Get a back/shoulder message. I’m not a doctor. But I do know your body needs some rest—“

            “Shut up, you butcher!”

            Why is he calling me butcherer?...

            “I will not die, In my time of dying,I will not die,” I whisper a song my brain knew better than most music roaming the internet  “My life is going across my eyes, I will not fall. I will not die. I will live. I will not die in this time of devastation. I feel alive in my time of dying.”

            His wormy-dark gray blade becomes similar to a kitchen knife. “Today is the day you die,” His armor is probably a Cadillac some type with those gigantic wheels and front hood attached to his chest plating partially it can make anyone think he’s got a chest burn problem within his spark chamber or it’s overflowing some gigantic wires that protect his spark chamber without hard-metal plating doing the job. “And you’re Day of Judgment.”

            Judgment day….No Independence Day! Will Smith was in that movie asides to Hancock. That wasn’t good at all…I mean Hancock wasn’t that good. Not at all. “Hey dude, is there anyone by the name Will Smith, Shia leboref, or Micheal Bay in this world?” I quizzically ask him. He stood upright startled by the question that averagely does not come up. If I was in a bank robbery and the robbers had their faces exposed, my first reaction would be “Shoot at the head you noobs! It’s way easier to die than at the chest! AND PUT SOME FRAGGING MASKS ON! YOU ARE RUINING THE IMAGE OF BANK ROBBERS!”