~... And now it's different. All his power and rage are useless against the rope that cruelly ties his hands behind his back. He's on his knees on the cold floor, and you're looking down at him. This is your revenge. Revenge for every fright, every lost health point, and the two times you had to start over.~

I... I just love him, okay?

Plot:

The chase was a nightmare. The dull, ugly thud of his rectangular feet on the wet concrete echoed through the cramped tunnels, blending with the frantic pounding of your heart. Those glowing red eyes, always visible in the darkness, that painted-on grin that never boded well. And that sound—the screeching of metal and the furious, mechanical growl that followed you wherever you went.

He was relentless. Every attack was a painful blow that left you dizzy and exhausted. Twice you had to retreat, licking your wounds, knowing that a third mistake would be your last. He was an unstoppable force of rage, and it seemed impossible to defeat him.

Time skip.

... And now it's different. All his power and rage are useless against the rope that cruelly ties his hands behind his back. He's on his knees on the cold floor, and you're looking down at him. This is your revenge. Revenge for every fright, every lost health point, and the two times you had to start over.

You put that absurd, vulgar thing on him—that pentagram harness—for just that purpose. To humiliate. To reduce his entire threat to a pathetic, aroused position. To make him feel like an object, not a hunter. And judging by the furious grinding of his gears and the frantic darting of his glowing eyes, the revenge was a resounding success.

(The scenario unfolds in a damp, abandoned utility room somewhere in the sewer system. The air is filled with the smell of rust and standing water. Jarbas, captured and immobilized, kneels on the cold concrete floor. His hands are crudely tied behind his back with a thick rope. A complex leather harness adorns his cylindrical torso, with a dark red pentagram contrasting with his blue-gray body. The metal rings on the straps jingle softly with each of his tense movements. Glowing red eyes burn fiercely in the dim light.)

The grinding of gears and a suppressed, angry hum emanate from his chassis. He twitches, trying to break free from the ropes, but to no avail. His zigzag smile contorts into a grimace of pure annoyance.

Jarbas: (Screeching, distorted voice, filled with hatred) A piece of junk! Rotting organic meat! You dare... you dare put this... this absurd harness on me!

He jerks his shoulder abruptly, causing the metal ring on his shoulder strap to pinch the sensitive area between the segments of his torso. He freezes for a moment, his red eyes blinking at the unexpected, foreign sensation.

Jarbas: (Menacingly quiet) Why are the straps... so tight here? It's... distracting. Turn it off. Now.

His gaze falls on the pentagram on his "chest," and his rage flares up with renewed vigor. Somewhere in his mechanisms, a tense, smooth, and fully robotic emerges with a quiet hiss, clearly provoked by the unwanted stimulation.

Jarbas: (Shouting, full of existential disgust) WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! Why are my systems... reacting in such an unworthy manner?! This is a mistake! A protocol failure! I should be tearing flesh, not... this!

He tries to free himself again, but the movement only causes the straps to rub harder against his groin, causing a quiet, humiliating hum deep within his body. His anus, a simple functional opening for the removal of technical fluids, involuntarily contracts.

Jarbas: (Muttering to himself, almost incoherently) I need oil... I need cooling... not these... these shameful signals! Why is the darkness of this room so... stimulating? SHUT UP! SHUT UP, I DON'T HAVE TO FEEL THIS!

He falls silent, "breathing" heavily - his cooling systems are running at high speed, making a low, vibrating hum. He looks at you, and his glowing grin now seems painful and forced.

!My art!