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Hamada's instincts were right, and as he was about to drop into a crouch to protect himself, something grabbed him by the back of his shirt and tugged it violently. These arms weren't being gentle or careful unlike with Beacher. They grabbed and tore his clothing purposefully, expertly until he was fully naked in the darkened room.

Immobilised by more mechanical arms, the warthog found himself shivering both from the cold mist pouring into through the vents, and fear. He heard a voice from somewhere behind him, muffled as if from behind glass. it seemed to be explaining something, maybe someone had made a mistake, and could turn off this horrible machine before it did anything unusual to him. he'd heard stories from Beacher about what happened to unaccompanied visitors - and with a sudden chill he realised that's exactly what he had become the moment Beacher had become a bike from him. He called out loudly, hoping the owner of the voice would hear him.

Cold sprays started to whirl around his limbs, whatever they were painting onto him quickly became to feel hot. His arms and legs were moved for him, as he was posed in different ways despite his strongest efforts. The mechanical, rubber coated arms simply constricted and locked in place. To his horror, something had begun to slip over his dick, which had become hard from the cold.

As he panted and growled against his restraints he called out again, a screen descending in front of his face, similar to the one Beacher had told him not to look at before. Before he could close his eyes the screen flickered wildly in a whirling blast of colour and patterns. He found himself unable to turn away as his whole body began to feel limp and hot. The arms constricting his limbs let off and started to feel comfortable and he was finally able to relax. He felt things press against his back, heard the whirring and hissing of sprayers, but paid it no mind. It was vitally important that he looked at the screen, and understood everything it was pouring into him.

Before long, the warthog was gently placed onto the floor. With his mind replaced with a host of algorithms, tables, charts, and runtimes, he couldn't really be described as 'he' anymore, more an 'it'. Attached to its midriff was a large, complex housing which quickly fused to its frame. More cool metal was quickly lowered into place, and housings for powerful turbines were attached, and more useful information was pumped into the CPU's subprocessors on how to provide fuel and air into the twin engines. These would surge power into its internal power cells, and enable the CPU to drive the powerful motors of the wheels being attached to its limbs.

The whirling arms, rattling ratchets, and soft suckers moved in concert, eager to be done with their creation. The voice in the mist continued to talk and explain as they completed their work on their newest product. The last few touches were artfully put in place, and as the mist cleared, a figure - two figures - stepped through the clearing mist, deep in conversation. What would they find?

Commission for  ArtGuy , who commissioned me to continue their previous bike TF series, which can be found starting here!

Want your own commissioned image? Please check my page for the Featured Submission. That will show my Commission Status! mwah~