Nigel’s Funk Trunk
Born in the Tech quadrant of an off-sector Etherium mining plant, the tiny bundle that was Nigel inhaled his first breaths beneath the crumbling smoke stacks of an illicit Simian-5 auto-generator.
Abandoned by the Matriarch and left in the trunk of an ancient, battered TeslaChev-EV9 (alone but safely swaddled in heaps of rad-deflectors and core sheathing); it would not be long before the tiny funkster was found and adopted by two humble (but gene-depleted) Mechazoids.
May The Funk Be With You!
Only too happy to raise him as their own and deeply versed in the art and arcane wisdom of ‘The Funk’, Nigel quickly grew strong. Swiftly mastering the ancient skills that his mentors were eager to hand down, he soon became adept with the Phaser, easily blasting the fall-fruit from the tabbard trees that surrounded their isolated stead. Next was the Wah-Wah with Nigel honing his skills on the unsuspecting magwits that slithered and writhed from their maw-pits as darkness descended.
It was a long process with many happy years spent within the close-knit bosom of his adopted and protective family and a fine day indeed when Metazoid One and Metazoid Two both summoned him into the communion chamber.
Fuzz-Tone Talk
“Nigel. We have something for you.” they verbed in unison.
It was rare for them to speak in this way (directly to him in Fuzz-Tone) and the combination and synchronisation of harmonics reverberated through his body with an all enveloping warmth as their words seemed to rise and send ripples from within him; from the pit of his very own stomach; whilst simultaneously emanating from his adoptive parents.
“You have grown now Nigel”, their words vibrating rhythmically from his solar plexus sending waves through every nerve of his body to the extremes of his senses.
“One and I are very proud of you”, said Two as if aware that the intensity of emotion from speaking in fuzz-tone was becoming too much.
Now it Belongs to You
“It is time for you to to learn a new art” spoke One, reaching up above the therma-clave to unhitch a hollow, staff-like object almost as long as Nigel himself and handing it to him.
“This Flanger belonged to our Progenitor and to their Progenitor before them.”
“Now it belongs to you.” They verbed sending waves rippling again thoughout Nigel’s’ body, the intensity doubling now as he accepted the Flanger into his own hands.
A shimmering purple light rippled across its iridescent surface as Nigel traced his fingers over the delicate patterns and symbols etched into its surface.
To be continued…