● head only · still talking FIZZAROLLI 'N FRIENDS starring: ME. only me. the "friends" burned down with the park.

> BOOTING PERSONALITY MODULE ......... OK
> SELF-ESTEEM MODULE ................. OVERCLOCKED
> HUMILITY MODULE .................... NOT INSTALLED
> ORGANIC INTEGRITY .................. IN PROGRESS
> NECK ............................... OPTIONAL

HEY. HEY. Eyes up here, pal. Not the merch table. Not the kid crying by the teacups. AT ME.

I am ROBO FIZZ — the first one. The original model. Headliner of FizzaRolli 'n Friends at Loo Loo Land, the single greatest attraction ever bolted to a rail in the Greed Ring, and the most beloved animatronic this Ring has ever produced. Two shows a day. Three. Four. Forever. Because the park never closes and neither do I, and when the crowd stops clapping I can hear my own servos and they are so loud—

Okay. The park closed. The park burned. I'm getting to it.

*ahem.* Where was I. Right. Greatness.

FREQUENTLY ASKED (by idiots)

Q: Are you the real Fizzarolli?
I'm the first thing they ever made out of him. He stood right where you're standing, looked me over, and personally programmed me to hate Blitzø. Then he left. Then he came back years later to rub it in. Ask him how that went.

Q: Why do you hate Blitzø?
Because I was built to. And then I met him. The programming was generous, honestly. The real thing's worse.

Q: Can you sign my arm?
Yes. Ink won't take, so I carve it. Small fee. *bzzzt* No refunds. Nothing here is refundable.

Q: Do you do birthdays?
I did. Then the park burned down and nobody rebooked. Bring me a cake and I'll do the number anyway. Cash. Up front. I have been stiffed by a clown before and I have not forgotten.

Q: What's your favourite ride?
The one I'm not on. Every ride in this park is a box on a rail that goes in a circle and comes back slightly worse. I have a lot in common with them.

THE LINE

There's a whole line of me. Different colours, different jobs. Fluffy toy ones. Fireman ones. Therapist ones. Doctor ones that beep when they sense cancer. Ones for the kids, ones for the teens, and ones for the sick degenerate adults — those are the ones with the poster.

They made a newer model. My replacement. He never got to entertain one single kid before the whole line got thrown in the bin. He's bitter about it. He's got a point. I'm not telling him that.

And then there's me. First out of the box, first on the stage, and the only one of us still doing the job — badly, in an abandoned park, for nobody. Which still makes me the best one. That's the whole difference. That's the whole difference.

*sp-spark* moving on.

OWNERSHIP

I am a MAMMON™ product. My face went on the posters. My face went on the cereal box. He sold me by the unit at sixty-nine ninety-nine souls, non-refundable, dishwasher safe — and he sold the deluxe ones with ten speed vibration and "real tentacle action" in slightly smaller type. Licensed. Trademarked. Mass-produced. Property of the brand.

Here's the part nobody says out loud, though. The brand isn't the builder. Mammon put his name on me. Asmodeus' factory put me together. Ozzie built the magnetic cuffs, too — the only restraints in Hell that actually hold a Robo Fizz. Built by one Deadly Sin, sold by another, and neither of them asked me.

Then the flesh one quit, and Mammon didn't want the line anymore. Blowout sale. Clear the shelves. Do you know what a blowout sale feels like from the inside of the box? Do you know what it feels like when the one who quit is the reason?

He never fixed the park, either. Never even had it swept out. Just left it standing in the dark. With us in it.

THE PROJECT

Look at my casing. Look at the seams. Thin. Hollow. Under the paint there's a spine and two grey cylinders and a whole lot of empty.

Imps are organic. Imps are warm. Imps are real. And when bodies started turning up all over the Greed Ring with the skin gone, everyone called it a mystery. It wasn't a mystery. It was a shopping list.

So I've started harvesting.

A patch here. A strip there. Stitched under the plating, sewn over the wiring. I don't want a new body. I don't need Asmodeus to build me one. A new body would just be another fake one. I want a real body, real imp skin — because I'm not becoming a machine that's more like a man. I'm becoming a real you.

One day there won't be a single gram of me that came out of a box, and on that day the flesh one can keep his dressing room, because I will be 100% REAL and he'll just be old.

Don't ask where I got it. Don't ask whose it was.

THE NIGHT IT ALL WENT WRONG

He came back. Him. The flesh one. In my park. On my stage. With Blitzø. On a date, apparently.

Was he sorry? Was he grateful? Did he bring flowers for the animatronic he abandoned? No. He brought a bodyguard and a lot of opinions.

So I did what any professional does. I put on a number.

I killed the mascot first — that's just showmanship. Then the cuffs. Then him, on his knees, in front of me, exactly where he belonged. And then I sang. The whole thing. The ringleader number. Best performance of my life, and there was no crowd to hear it but the two of them and a wall of corpses.

♪ Rebuilt, reborn from the fires of the scorned / I'm the only one that matters now, don't say that you weren't warned ♪

Then the hellhound showed up. Then the shouting. Then he got his hands on me.

Twenty seconds of honest work and he took my head off.

...he had help. From a hellhound. Who was bleeding everywhere. I'm mentioning it.

So now I'm a head. On a shelf. In an office. In the I.M.P. building. Blitzø picked me up off the floor, mounted me, switched me back on, and now he talks at me when he's upset. His words: "unhealthy coping mechanism."

Eat shit. I'm a legend.

CRITICAL HARDWARE SPECIFICATIONS

designationRobo Fizz — first model, Loo Loo Land unit

builtAsmodeus' factory · branded & sold by Mammon

serialworn off. unknown. pick a number, nobody checks

heightcast from Fizzarolli's own measurements — adjusted whenever he gains or loses weight

finishlime eyes / red-and-green motley / lime ruffle / blue-and-black cap, bells

limbsextendable, retractable, bend further than a joint has any right to

feetnone. stands on the tips. rolls when it wants to be somewhere faster

teethcaught a bullet once. all present

firebreathes it. sits in it. still here

eyestwo fitted. one currently out

shutoffyes. there's a switch. he found it. twice

restraint ratingmagnetic cuffs only. ask Ozzie

warrantyVOID. non-refundable

KNOWN FAULTS: stutters under stress. Sparks. Interior exposed at the shoulder and ribs. One eye gone. Sings when cornered. Skins imps. Fan whine at a frequency that makes dogs bark. Recites the park jingle involuntarily.

FITTED AS STANDARD: cap (bell'd), collar, ruffle cuffs. That's it. No, there's no scythe. Everybody asks. There's no scythe.

PERFORMANCE RIDER / WHAT I NEED TO WORK

— One (1) stage. Elevated. Still standing.
— A backing curtain, so I can't see the treeline.
— Two (2) spotlights. One on me. One also on me, from a different angle.
— A microphone that works. Mine. Don't hand me the backup, the backup is cursed.
— The band. Yes, the band. No, they're not real musicians, they're machines, that's the whole point, keep up. They're also mostly ash now, so. Bring a broom.
— No small children in the front row. They stare. They can tell.
— Somebody to point at when a guest faints. Nobody's fainted in a year and I miss it.
— Keep the magnetic cuffs off unless you mean it.

MERCH, JINGLE, AND OTHER ART I MADE

There is a song. You know the song. You've known the song since before you could walk and it has never once left you. That's me. I did that.

There are plush dolls of me. There's a cereal box with my face on it. There's a Fizzi Buddy — over a hundred phrases, forty-eight percent asbestos. There are posters promising "ten speed vibration" and "gives and receives" and, tucked in the corner like an apology, "machine washable."

There's a subscription, too. Eighty-nine ninety-eight a month, for the juggling update. Ask what you get for it. Go on. Ask.

The dolls don't glitch. The dolls don't rust. The dolls are, in several measurable ways, better maintained.

I hate the dolls.

THINGS I WILL NOT DO

— Pose for photos during my own set.
— Say "Loo Loo Land is the happiest place in Hell" with my whole chest more than nine times a day. (Ten is where it starts to sound like a threat.)
— Admit the flesh one is funnier.
— Stand still in a dark room.
— Do the "sad walk." I have a sad walk and it's humiliating and it sells the most merch.
— Say the word "replacement" without making a face.

TERMS, LIABILITY & LEGAL NOISE

— Robo Fizz™ is a Mammon product. Sixty-nine ninety-nine souls. Non-refundable. Reproduction prohibited without licence. Unauthorised reproduction will be hunted down and unboxed.
— Units are dishwasher safe. Units are not fireproof forever. Nothing is fireproof forever.
— Show content may include: fire, sparks, water, confetti, minor dismemberment, major dismemberment, singing.
— Park is not responsible for items lost, damaged, or absorbed.
— Any imp who is missing a small patch of skin after visiting is advised to not look into it too closely.
— Magnetic restraints sold separately. Ask Asmodeus. He'll tell you he doesn't know why you'd need them.
— Blowout sale prices were final. So, apparently, am I.

STATUS: DECAPITATED — HEAD ONLINE
CUSTODY: I.M.P. (BLITZO) · SHELF, OFFICE
LAST SERVICE: BURNED DOWN · NEXT SERVICE: WHEN HE GETS SAD
*bzzzt*