Number deux - Porkpatch! Still one of my favourites, even after all this time. :V I feel like I improved a lot since my old version of this dude; his posture looks natural as opposed to having wonky knees like last time, and the head looks a little better. There's a long road ahead of us! Hopefully you'll stick around.

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Perfection.

That was all Porkpatch strived for.

A flawless world, with flawless inhabitants; was that really so bad? He didn't think so. He was a genius, truly - a savant in the field of science, creating and perfecting various inventions that served to make the citizens of Animatronica content and happy.

He didn't feel as content as they did, though. He wanted...more. It was all well and good to benefit others, but what about himself? Porkpatch felt as if he deserved something in return for all of his hard work - all these civilians received perfection on a silver platter and thought nothing of it!

He stood over his gleaming work desk one late night, eyes sunken and snout twitching as he thought about this intensively.

Surgical tools lay on the table in front of him, and beyond them, strapped to a bed, was a furiously-convulsing animatronic. Porkpatch didn't get their name - he didn't care what it was.

When he looked at them, all he saw was imperfection. A glitch in the system - something that shouldn't belong.

Porkpatch snorted at that thought. Of course his mind would go there right after his close encounter with one of those accursed things. Oh, well. Nothing had been lost from it. He'd seen so many things when he went near it, though. His dreams of perfection, of a world without blemishes and flaws, were idealised in perfect clarity within his mind - and with them?

Instructions on how to carry those dreams out.

A calm and gentle voice whispered things to him - encouragement, advice...commands, even.

Such as the one he was receiving at that very instant, as he stared at the desperately-thrashing animatronic lying on the surgical bed. Their voice box had been extracted, so as to avoid screaming.

'Rip him open,' The voice whispered in delight, 'so that you may be improved.'

Well. Porkpatch had never been one for disobeying others.

Once finished with his experiment, Porkpatch stood and admired his handiwork.

Perfection had to start somewhere, right?

He lovingly stroked the patches and extra endoskeleton pieces now melded into his body, with any excess from the robot thrown away.

Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette. Whatever the hell an omelette is. After all, when he'd finished with improving himself, he'd set out and do the same to any surviving citizens - a king must have subjects.

Before he could do so, however, a blinding light came from behind him. Whirling around whilst snorting furiously, Porkpatch was surprised to find a hunched-over figure, covered completely by a tattered robe, standing there just a few feet away.

His snout twitched in confusion, but before he could ask who the intruder was, their voice answered the question for him.

The voice in his head now stood before him, suddenly having a physical form.

Before Porkpatch could say anything, however, the entity spoke.

"I am impressed with you, Porkpatch. You have proven to be a most valuable friend." Porkpatch swelled up with a surge of pride, commending the voice in turn for its assistance in his heinous experiments.

"Indeed." It replied. "However, you and I both know that you cannot perfect this world without coming across some...obstacles. Therefore I wish to ask something of you; how would you like to become unstoppably flawless, Porkpatch?"

The animatronic's porcine ears perked up at this, his CPU barely having registered the question before he found himself frantically nodding his head.

The figure chuckled.

"I'd figured as much. Very well, then. I give you...your power."

And just like that, Porkpatch felt his code, the very essence of his being, waver and become susceptible to modification.

He began to grow in size, until he towered over the figure he'd previously been at eye-level with. His claws and teeth grew more pronounced, and his ears morphed into a more efficient shape. His eyes were reinforced with steel, and sank further back into his sockets.

Most notably, however, he suddenly had an insatiable hunger.

He no longer wanted to perfect the world; he only wanted to perfect himself.

The figure sent him out to Lilygear Lake, where he was to guard a strange ripple in the fabric of the world; oddly enough, it was shaped like a key.

On his way, he'd collected many new parts and improvements, taking breaks to meld them into his grotesque form until he was a mishmash of colours and steel.

The industrial giant licked his tattered chops with a metallic tongue he'd stolen mere minutes beforehand, watching as four animatronics approached him in a small wooden dinghy, determination apparent in their eyes as they stared at the key lying just behind him.

Porkpatch prepared himself for combat, thinking of how perfect it would feel to kill them all.



