Sam's Intro

Sam Robertson (Redux)

whipding | Sam | Flora
Sam's moped veered precariously from side-side as it trundled down the road, as he desperately tried to keep it under control. Despite having rode it for a while, he'd never quite gotten the hang of it, only continuing to do so because his boss insisted. Apparently regular bikes just weren't fast enough.

"There's a dozen pizza places in this city!", he'd said when Sam questioned the decision. "We gotta have something that sets us apart from the rest of the trash, eh? Ten minutes from your phone to your door - that's a Bombinoes promise! " The moped jolted violently as it went over a bump in the road.

He hadn't ever really wanted this job, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice. Living alone - even in Pembina - wasn't exactly cheap, and hero work didn't really bring in the money. Nowhere else had wanted to take him, not with his... spotty record.

Speaking of which...

Another bump in the road was enough to unlatch the top-box behind him, and he could hear a series of evenly-spread thuds as one by one, the pizza boxes inside escaped from their metal prison. It took him a moment to work out what was going on and slam on the brakes, and by the time he did, the box was all but empty, a trail of pizza guts splattered out behind him.

"Oh shit, not again..."

He soon found himself ankle-deep in cheese and sauce, a tiny figure on a massive circle of pizza. There was probably something morally ambiguous about using his powers to fix such a mundane problem, but he really, really needed to keep this job. If the boss found out he still hadn't fixed the latch after last time; well, it was most likely his head on the block.

Thankfully, one of the pizzas had survived relatively intact inside its box, but he somehow needed four of them if he was going to get outta this. The good news was that making a lot out of little was kinda his specialty. The bad news was that it was gonna be real messy.

He pulled out his utility knife and got down on his knees, hacking away through the cheese all the way through the base, cutting out a rough circle. He repeated this a few more times, and soon enough he had three more 'pizzas' ready for delivery. The bases would be a little thick, sure, but it he could just blame that on the cooks or something. As far as anyone knew, the only thing he'd done was ran a little late.

His body expanded out to full size, the makeshift food scaling with him. He packed his new creations into the slightly dented boxes, and replaced them back onto his moped.

Of course, now he was covered from head-to-toe in grease, with hand-sized patches of cheese sticking to his clothes, and tomato sauce filling his shoes, each giving a disturbing squelch with each step he took.