The Flucks — Chapter 10 — Back in Black
Slacy’s new robot companion is more than just a snack vending machine
The Flucks is my (Ed) first novel and an experiment. We are independent creators, publishing chapter by chapter as a podcast and text. It’s designed to be heard. We’d love to receive your feedback so we can tell stories better.
Continue reading for Chapter 10, start at Chapter 1, or find where you left off.
Audio performance by Anthony Michael Malec
Guest image by LM Sypher
Text copyright © 2025 Ed Herrington
⚠️ Content Warning ( may contain spoilers, see footnote → 1 )
Last time on The Flucks
“Snackbot, please put my chair in the back and ride shotgun.”
It did so with a tune in its step, understanding my idiom without undue bloodshed. I didn’t expect the car to have enough room for Snackbot’s two-meter frame, but its legs shortened, disappearing who knows where, to fit perfectly in the co-pilot seat.
Once we hit the highway, I gunned it, feeling rocket acceleration under my control for the first time in decades.
Slacy’s new robot companion is more than just a snack vending machine. The pair retrofit a car and prep for long-distance travel. But a cry in the dark threatens to rip them apart.
Chapter 10 — Back in Black
“Okay, that’s done.” I closed a panel on Snackbot’s back. It sat on a packing station, legs dangling—well, as much as a 2.2-meter killer robot could dangle. I’d been using the packing station as my workbench in the Shmamazon warehouse.
Snackbot helped me move the large table (by letting me watch) to the wall of open rollup doors. I crutch-walked to face Snackbot. Natural breeze and light brushed my back. A row of silent delivery vans and Vanny were our audience.
“Let me tighten these screws, then give it another try. Hopefully this is the one.”
🎵 tick-tick-tick-tick 🎵
We’d been working on this all month. Snackbot was helping me outfit the Voltivian S524 to be road-warrior ready. I first handed Snackbot the inventory tablet when we got back from Voltivian. It somehow internalized the data, then returned the tablet. Now it could locate anything within the warehouse.
The problem was Snackbot had to climb fifty-meter-tall shelves to get to things. Climbing down with boxes in hand was a recipe for broken things. The chest cavity made wearing a backpack floppy, and while Snackbot had mounts for various attachments, we didn’t have any.
The cavity was for mounting combat power cells. The onboard power system was next level, but limited. Combat cells powered extended missions or heavy weaponry. Neither of which I had nor needed. But I did need snacks. Not just snacks, though—I needed it to carry things.
We tried duct taping a basket in the center space, but it’s surprisingly hard to root around in your own body cavity and find what you need. Cue the vending chute. I used a shapeformer to print a vending machine. Snackbot could drop anything in and recall it on demand—hypothetically. Until now, everything had jammed up the mechanism.
“Let’s give this a shot.”
I pushed a screwdriver, a snack bar, and a K-pop disc case into a slot in the top center panel where the big Snackbot-sized donut hole used to be. The slot slid shut.
“Hand me a snack, would ya?”
A bit of whirring, then Snackbot held a hand under a small sliding door as an item dropped. It unwrapped it and held it out to me.
🎵 Anything you want (You got it) Anything you need (You got it) 2 🎵
“Thanks. Neat trick—like when that guy regurgitated live goldfish.” I took a bite.
Pink dot eyes focused on me, then turned to slits.
“You know what? Forget it. I’m not sure that was a real memory.” Another bite.
🎵 wubb wubb wubb 🎵
“Alright, buddy, I think this version is a winner.” With the final bite, I tossed the wrapper in a bin, and slapped my hands across each other like it actually cleaned them.
🎵 untz untz untz 🎵
Snackbot hopped off the workbench. As it turned to walk away, I watched in fascination. Under its smooth matte silver skin, synthetic muscles rippled, bunched up, then stretched flat. Human, yet so very not.
I’d read Snackbot’s specs on the devslate. Actually unreal. Its skin was ablative, self-healing. I wanted to shoot it just to see if it deflected bullets. Maybe I’ll ask Snackbot later…
The S524 was parked inside at an open rollup door. While Snackbot was off shopping for my wishlist, I rolled to the car and continued working on modifications. Shit, where’s my screwdriver? I just had it. After an hour looking for it around the workbench, Snackbot walked up.
“Hey bud, how’s the list going?”
🎵 womp-womp 🎵
“Don’t sweat it. Take your time.”
I returned to my search. Snackbot held up a single digit. Whirring sounded, then the vending chute opened.
“Ah, there it is. Thanks, buddy.”
The sun, low on the horizon. A cool breeze came through the doors, making me put on a hoodie. Snackbot went outside to cool off. Its micro-fusion reactor built up enormous heat. Though small, in a day it could generate enough energy for a few hours of continuous work. Then Snackbot would have to rest most of the day while the battery trickle charged.
Snackbot laid on the cool concrete spreading its arms and legs for maximum surface contact. Vent ports opened and hot air rushed out, turning white in the chilled air. I imagined it took a cat nap, but I couldn’t be sure it actually slept. It would be like that for hours though, so I kept tinkering with the car.
I needed a ton of room for storage and sleep. With back seats folded flat, it had a cargo deck long enough for my height. But a mattress would take up all the gear space. So, I built a platform 30 centimeters over the deck to support a mattress above and rolls of solar panels below. I shifted back and forth between the car and shapeformer printing new parts on the workbench.
I looked up and it was dark out. I don’t remember it getting dark. I rolled outside. Snackbot was still there, blank faced, sound asleep. Do robots dream of electric snacks?
The moon, behind trees—setting. With no city light pollution, I could see so many stars. I started to identify the constellations Chuq taught me over the years when I heard a howl, low, close.
I looked out, pinpointing the howl’s location. A yelp cut through dry air, followed by growling. A whine, so high pitched, so distressed, made my heart stop.
“Hey, Snackbot.” Nothing. “Snackbot, wake up!”
Another yelp.
“Snackbot, it’s go time!” Its face remained blank, no pink eyes focused on me.
Fuck it! I rolled toward the sound. My arms, strong from constant wheelchairing, still burned, ached. I didn’t know what the wolves attacked, but I couldn’t just sit by and listen.
My wheelchair hit the curb at the end of the parking lot. I used the momentum to fling myself onto one and a half feet supported by the crutch. With eyes adapted to starlight and full moon coming through trees, I saw the pack. Five or six wolves encircling a large rock.
Atop the rock, a dog cowered, fur glistening, slick and matted. The wolves were trying to get it, but each time they stood against the rock, the dog bared its teeth, clamping its jaws ferociously. It was half the size of the wolves, but holding its own—for now.
Two wolves stepped up and snapped at its flank, one scoring a hit. The dog yelped, turned to face them, then laid back down, growling. Those were only a distraction. The largest wolf had decided to go in for the kill. It coiled, shifting weight, sensing the distance, readying a jump. The others stood still.
I plucked Sir Terry Hatchet off his crutch loop and launched him, cartwheeling head over shaft. He smacked into the wolf’s broadside with his flat head—really needed more practice throwing. The wolf yelped, but held its ground, then rotated toward me and snarled. The rest of the pack faced me as well. Oh shit!
The pack split—three loped my way. They could spare a few to hold me off while the rest went for the dog. To them, I was a contender for their meal. My turn. I raised the crutch and my other arm, making myself look bigger. That didn’t work—they still came, low and easy. I did my best to stand on one leg without putting too much pressure on the bad one.
I held the crutch in front of me, thrusting it at any wolf that got too close. They circled me, mouths slavering with long strings of saliva. The wolf Sir Terry attacked lunged at me and I swiped it with the crutch. The wolf rocked sideways from the hit, but with reactions being equal, I was knocked off balance and fell on my side with an oof as the crutch flew out of reach.
They had decided I was now on the menu. The pack closed in.
A black bear leaped over my prone body, landing between the rock and me. Wolves turned to the new threat. From the bear, a metallic growl wailed. Wait—not a bear. Snackbot—black and on all fours.
🎵 I’ve been too long, I’m glad to be back 3🎵
“Yeah, get it Snackbot!” 4
It lashed out with tentacled, chain-like arms, swatting each wolf into a roll. But they came back, circling wide, snarling, dripping. The dog yelped again. Snackbot did an impossible flip-twist to land by the rock.
🎵 I got nine lives — Cat’s eyes — Abusin’ every one of them and running wild 🎵
Snackbot’s limbs bent in all directions. It was like one of those cheap TV horror mashups. Bearsquid or Grizzlopus. Three wolves went tumbling into the woods.
🎵 Well, I’m back in black — Yes, I’m back in black 🎵
I scrabbled across the dirt and grabbed the crutch, using it to pull myself up. Snackbot recovered Sir Terry, then scooped up the dog and cradled it in fluidic hammock arms. The remaining wolves faced me. I turned and started hobbling toward the warehouse.
Snackbot ran up behind me, slamming through and scattering the wolves, then in a motion I still quite don’t understand, bent, jutted its head between my legs and lifted me onto its shoulders. I grabbed under its chin with my right arm and raised the crutch in my left, yelling out a “Let’s go!” Good thing I was wearing sweatpants today or Snackbot would need to clean the back of its neck.
When we reached the warehouse, Snackbot slid to a stop, bending down, planting my feet on to the ground, then breaking free. It placed the dog gently on the workbench. I shouted “Med aisle—rabies biopuck, now!” Snackbot, returning to all fours, took off like a greyhound.
I went to work, looking over the dog’s wounds. It whimpered.
“Easy boy, let’s take a look at you.”
His back was covered in saliva and blood. I kept a medkit under the workbench since I use power tools and I’m me. It was mostly medseal, woundflush, tweezers, and scissors—not enough for bite wound triage. I slid on gloves.
Snackbot returned, setting a biopuck on the bench, still running. It jogged to a stop just outside the door, then collapsed flat, spreading limbs like a concrete snow angel to sink its overflowing heat. Vents opened and hot vapor poured out in a mirage warble, hissing.
🎵 I’ve hit the sack5 🎵
I spread fur between the dog’s shoulder blades and pressed the biopuck onto exposed skin. Gel spread out, setting as the device drew itself tight. I held my palm like it was covered with test answers and I was sharing them with the puck. It projected vitals. A little high, as to be expected with the stress, and the patient correctly identified as canine.
I flicked my fingertips to swipe through the screens until I found pain management. I squeezed my fist to confirm. The puck beeped a warm tone. The dog sagged against my other hand as its breathing slowed. The calming effect of the puck would make the next steps easier.
I laid his head down and started palpating the wounded areas and using woundflush. A few bites could fit my pinkie tip. Most were shallow, though. I applied medseal to the deeper ones and covered all of them with secondskin. The combined matrixes would keep out infection and speed muscle and skin knitting. Tomorrow I could do a deeper cleaning, shaving, and analysis.
The dog snored. I held my palm out to check vitals again and verified rabies countermeasures were active. I didn’t know if the wolves actually had rabies, but the risk was too great. I piled some blankets in a corner and wrapped the dog up, then set down a tool tray of water.
I crutch-walked outside and laid beside Snackbot.
“You didn’t tell me you could do that.”
🎵 Oh, I’m done hidin’ now I’m shinin’ Like I’m born to be 6 🎵
We lay there, silent. Snackbot literally had a mask face, though I could see its pink eyes focused above.
“There’s Sagittarius. That’s how you can find the Milky Way, it’s right behind it.” I pointed.
🎵 bwaaahh 🎵
As I pointed out other constellations I could name, the dog walked between us. He stared at the stars too. I remembered how Chuq named her cats after astronomers 7. This dog seemed like one.
“Hey there, Galileo.” I pet his head, the only place I knew was unmauled. He licked my palm, wagged his tail, then curled up next to Snackbot, enjoying the warmth radiating off its chassis.
Author’s Notes
It’s been a while, huh? Not exactly though. We’ve spent a lot of time in the Flucksverse over the holidays. But nothing in the new year. How did that happen? Well, good news is 2 more posts are ready to go after this one so we’re back in black.
I would like to say that no dogs were harmed in this story, but as you’ve made it this far, that would obviously be a lie. Sorry. At least Slacy is handy with first aid.
Hopefully you listened to Anthony Michael Malec’s stellar performance to hear him sing Snackbot’s lines. No matter what I throw at him, he nails it. Thanks to everyone who helped with song suggestions, especially RM Greta.
Like MA Knight doing coyote research, I had to research wolf behavior for this one. Did y’all forget about the wolves?
How was the fight scene?
⚠️ Content Warning: Blood, medical care, animal attack
Roy Orbison: You got it
AC/DC: Back in Black
AC/DC: Back in Black
EJAE, Audrey Nuna, and Rei Ami: Golden — K-pop Demon Hunters
Can I buy a Snackbot? Or at least an album by Snackbot? 🎶🎵
Ahh this was wonderful, the narration with the songs makes me smile 😂 Yay! A new biological companion!