The last sliver of light rapidly disappears, enshrouding you in hot, slimy, sticky darkness. The squeak of rubber tongue and smooth hardness of titanium teeth around you are dulled by the slippery mire of the synthetic lubricant which passes for saliva in the robotic maw you find yourself trapped in. There's only one way to go now: down, into the tight confines of a pseudoflesh throat, a trip that ultimately ends in the cold fusion chamber in the 'droid's belly. Conversion into electricity to power a miracle of technology isn't the worst way to go, is it?
Commission for TheFallenWind
Farore and art by me!