A Slice of Intergalactic Conspiracy

. . . and there she was, looking me right in the eyes
that female chiasma of robotic strength and alien vehemence,
a mutant the likes of which I had never seen,
all green and tumorous and rippled with muscle,
and plated in alien alloys,
I could smell decay on her breath
like she was rotting from the inside
as her lizardous tongue
lashed out at my face,
It was a goddamn intergalactic conspiracy
what landed me in that dirty cell with
her.
My hands were bound to the walls with circumnavullarila chain
melded together with werhif fragments, making it all but
impossible for me to wrangle or jimmy free.
I wasn't sure what to expect, but I leaned as far forward as I could
into that putric stench, until my nose was pressed against her face,
and I said, "You can't touch me!"
and with a blaze of fury and vigor
she uppercut me six weeks from Sunday,
I slunk against the wall, those chains the only thing
keeping me from lying crumpled in a mess on the floor.

And she offered a devious smile, and wiped a bit of green drool from the side
of her mouth, and said, "You dumbshit, I'm breaking you out of here so cut the
arrogant half-man, half-robot bullshit. It's all a cliche out here anyway." She held
her arm out like a game-show prize girl showing off a "BRAND NEW CAR." "Everybody's
a half-something, half-something, out here so cut the shit."

As she started cutting the chains, she laughed and said, "You're never going to guess who
sprung the money for your rescue this time."

I was still a little delirious from that stiff uppercut she'd delivered. Her pneumatic hammer arms
were much more powerful than I'd first reckoned. I was reeling. Who could it be? I thought.
Who could have sprung me from this hellhole? And why did they send a mutie to do the job?
It was all starting to smell worse than her breath.