what happened to Han-S after the chase scene

Yeah, not a great title, but it'll do for now. There is a picture I drew of Han-S on my y!gallery account, which you can find through the club “The Axiom’s Finest”. Oh yeah, Han-S is the robot in the Wall-E film that is the masseur who growls a lot. For how I see this “version” of Wall-E characters, the robots are android-like, virtually human. Maybe like human bodies with cybernetic bits here and there. So they can feel sensations and emotions, but can still have specific body parts “unlatched” without being a bloody mess, or have programs rewritten if needed. Hope that makes at least a little bit of sense XD Oh, and because this was originally written for y!gallery (yaoi.y-gallery.net), EVE is male just to avoid violating any rules over there.

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Han-S looked down at his bound hands as he was left alone by the repair ward workers to stew in his small cell. It was more like a cubicle though, the ship’s wall behind him, and the other three sides created of force fields much like his cuffs. It didn’t hurt to crash into the energy, much like it didn’t burn his wrists, but it felt alive almost like static just before you touched someone else. Resisting the urge to slam himself around the small cubicle, he tried to calm his mind by looking around at the other crew members in need of repair.

What caught his eyes and attention was a small youth wearing a dirty yellow and black outfit. Just plain filthy really. But he had a sweet face, even when the Vaq-M next to him sneezed dirt on his face. Blinking, Han-S tried to figure out where he must work that he’d never seen one of his kind before. But as nothing came to mind, he continued looking around as boredom began to creep over him.

The crew member in the cubicle besides his shivered when he turned his attention to it. He had seen his kind before, but couldn’t place him. A Grab-E? Hans felt a little guilty for smacking him around, but it wasn’t fully by choice. Yes, he worked with his hands and arms all day, always with control and finesse. Sometimes he just couldn’t stand it though, and needed to explode with strength and force instead. But, like the situation that had gotten him sent here, he had attacked someone without meaning to harm them, though he did mean to just hit and hit until he couldn’t anymore.

Sighing, he supposed that was why he needed to get repaired though. Even if going into that back room was always so unpleasant. He’d had first hand experience before, during routine maintenance checks how though the workers could be gentle and respect modesty of some models, he was always undressed and held around in the most embarrassing fashion while more than one always poked and prodded at him. More than necessary he felt. Small price to pay (he tried to convince himself) for getting fixed though. If he was completely obsolete he’d be sent to the waste area, crushed, and then vented into space.

But then, something completely out of the ordinary happened in the normally routine ward, and he could only watch it occur with his jaw dropped. That dirty little one, he used industrial lasers as if he was a ship maintainer (like the welder, Burn-E), freed himself from his cubicle, went head over heels, and a strange sort of music sounded about his person. Everyone was staring at him in pure fascination, Han-S included. He then crashed through the glass door into the repair area, and then grabbed an EVE’s arm. The one with a canon that could destroy almost anything.

Before Han-S could react, or anyone else really, the small fellow fired the arm cannon, though perhaps not in the direction he’d meant to shoot it. Watching the energy beam go past him, through the ward was like watching a collision, slow and incredibly rapid at the same time. The energy discharge hit a wall panel spot on. Everyone turned almost as one to look back the little fellow, who put a hand into a shirt pocket and clicked something off, ending the upbeat music that was playing. Suddenly, the force fields went down, and the repair wardens looked temporarily out of commission as they slumped on the ground where they had been standing.

Han-S was unsure what to do, but he felt himself joyfully join the group of others as they circled the fellow that had made their escape, as they charged out dramatically.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later as they all stopped suddenly, forward progress impeded by stewards. The elation of escape left him almost immediately. Escape? He was no prisoner, he was merely in need of repair. Still, to get past them and hold off on being inspected and prodded was worth being a rebel. At least for this short while. He expected to be taken back almost immediately.

Then the EVE reattached his arm cannon and seemed to have upset the stewards, who all called in an emergency regarding “rogue robots”. The EVE and his compatriot took off, and the other robots from the repair ward did as well, breaking off in a multitude of directions.

Han-S ran behind the two jail breakers with a small group, then went off alone after while once he’d lost sight of them, until he was sure there was no steward right behind him. He then searched for a small room to hide himself in, knowing he’d be caught eventually, but not wanting to make it easier on the stewards. There was no way he’d ruin this diversion by turning himself early. Let’s see how long it took those idiots to find him, ha!

It had an element of a game, and the large masseur smiled at the thought. He found a storage room, about half-empty, which he settled in, turning on the light to the lowest setting. It was then he realized his hands were still restrained, which lowered his previous joy quite a bit. Han-S tensed his large muscles and tried to break free, but the restraints were durable, made to easily withstand such forces.

Bored now, he sat in the corner farthest from the door and tried to distract himself by daydreaming what was going on with the crew members he’d seen last, if they’d found the two ringleaders, and how long it would take the stewards to round them all up. Without meaning to, he fell asleep, the excitement being so out of the ordinary that it tired him out.

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Upon awakening, Han-S realized he was not alone in the storage room. He got up slowly by pushing back with his feet as his back slid up the wall, looking around at the handful of stewards that were in there with him. They had entered silently, but the slight raising of the light was was had woken him. He looked at them all, their impassive identical faces looking back at him. He shrugged his hands, showing that he wasn’t going to be able to fight them even if he wanted to, so they were free to take him back to the repair ward. Going back there would have been a vacation compared to what happened however.

Two of the stewards moved forward quickly and aggressively, grabbing him by his upper arms and pulling him to the center of the room. Before Han-S could protest at this strange treatment, his manacled wrists had been raised up and hooked onto a ceiling hook. He made a noise of protest before another of the stewards hit the wall control panel to raise the hook a little. Temperamental at the best of times, Han-S struggled against the restraints, and tried kicking at them with his muscular legs.

It didn’t help much though, as the hook was raised even more, so that he had to balance on tip toes to prevent his arms from pulling painfully from their sockets. Trying to calm down despite how angry he was, he realized what was going on. Earlier today, when he’d reacted out of uncontrolled and unmoderated anger, he’d beaten the crap out of a steward. They were probably mad at him for it, and now were going to beat him up in revenge for their comrade. Though the blond masseur wasn’t looking forward to it, he knew it should be over quickly and then he and the steward should be even. He had heard of such things before. But he started wondering when a steward slid down his tan slacks and underwear, wondering if they were going to spank him as punishment. He had heard one of the passengers discuss things like caning back in the old days, a historian. Perhaps the stewards had heard of it too?

One of the smartly dressed stewards grabbed at his left calf and thigh though, and pulled it up, so it looked like Han-S was kicking forward, though instead he was trying to keep his balance with his right foot, starting to sweat at the exertion. A rope was wrapped around his chest, and then a third steward moved forward to lift his leg higher. Han-S cried out and protested wordlessly as his leg muscles stretched without any sort of warm-up. He was athletic and flexible, but not a gymnast or contortionist by any means. It felt like muscles were tearing once his left leg had been pushed in a sort of splits, the knee pressed against his shoulder, and secured with a few wrappings of the rope.

Shuddering, Han-S was even more confused as to what they were doing, his right foot all ready getting tired from holding his weight steady. He was answered when a steward crouched in front of him and started stroking his limp cock, at first gently, but it soon became a rough action. Another moved next to that one to knead at his balls painfully, like the chime balls he sometimes provided for his more stressed clients. His sharp cries appeared to be very amusing to the stewards, as by now their expressions had become hungry, mean, and victorious.

He whimpered as the feel of something in between his spread ass cheeks made itself known. It was a finger, and without much ado it was forcing itself against his orifice, and in another minute, was in up to the second knuckle.

Han-S wanted to struggle, to get away from all this, but he had been quite skillfully restrained. He couldn’t use his large hands to hit anyone, and he couldn’t use his free leg either, instead having to hold it steady and still, despite all the pain on his crotch and his opening. He started shaking his head wildly and whimpering though when a second and third digit joined the first one inside him, wiggling and scissoring to forcefully stretch him, though they were dry.

He gasped with a bit of a half-groan when the fingers left him suddenly, though still mewling at the way his balls were being compressed and his cock practically forced around like a joystick. Two hands reached around from behind him to go under his polo shirt, and suddenly latched onto his nipples like metallic clamps. Han-S had to move, even though his arms strained painfully at the sudden increase of weight they had to withstand. But as he swung back, he realized that the gripping of his nipples had not lessened, and now they were being twisted mercilessly, causing him to cry out repeatedly, barely able to try to turn his body at least an inch or two.

The hands finally left him as he dropped his head, his green eyes tearing from how humiliating and painful this was. He tried looking at the stewards in front of him, silently begging for mercy, but they avoided his gaze, instead murmuring to themselves as they continued to manipulate his cock and balls for their own entertainment and enjoyment.

Another body pressed itself against his back, and Han-S closed his eyes as he expected hands to grab his sore nips again. That wasn’t where he felt them though. Instead the hands were grabbing at his rear, pinching the flesh and spreading him even more open that he all ready was. There was no time whatsoever to brace himself as a dry organ shoved deep inside him, his scream choked and caught in his throat as his eyes went wide with terror.

The steward was quick enough, seeming ready to release almost as soon as he violated him. Then they moved around, until each one had a turn hurting him in their own way. Some even took turns punching him in the gut or the kidneys. Han-S was trying not to sob as he remained where he’d been set up, his body too weak to even bother to struggle, and his foot rubbing against the floor since he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. The stewards left and he almost blacked out, but only a few minutes later, a new group of stewards entered. They did the same thing their compatriots did, only giving a bit of variation to the methods they used to violate and hurt him.

Then another group. And another. And yet another.

There was always a short break in between groups, which he assumed was being used to tell other groups of where he was and what they could do. Before he had felt guilty for hurting the one steward without cause, but this was too much. It was at the point where it was all he wanted to do. Just hurt them and hurt them, because it wasn’t fair that they were doing this to him. Twice today he had felt the need to physically assault something or someone, but now it was growing more than either time.

His anger triggered so that it overpowered his feelings of pain and weakness, and he strained his left leg against the ropes that had tied it against his upper body. He tensed the muscles so much that he could feel his blood pumping in his ears, but finally the rope snapped and his leg was free. After the rough way it had been held, he had to gingerly return it to normal position against the pulled feeling of his hip, then managed to jump a few times until his restraints slipped off the multipurpose ceiling hook. He pulled his shirt down and pulled up his pants, zipping them as he limped out of the storage room, praying not to run into the next group of stewards.

Two corridors down though, that mental craving to hurt something came back more intense than ever. He stopped at an intersection, noticing a random worker staring at him. He growled ferociously, approaching as if it was going to serve as his punching bag. Han-S felt movement behind him, and threatened that worker as well. Eventually there was a crowd surrounding him, each face more tempting to smash into pulp than the last. But there were so many that he couldn’t decide who to start with, so he kept them at bay the way they kept him surrounded. The anger from his body language was so out of the ordinary that they all had to stare, unable to run away for help.

And then he heard it again. That strange music. Before he could react, a group of familiar escapees went by him. He followed quickly, not knowing why, but he felt safer in their midst. They were going faster than any steward, right? And the stewards wouldn’t do anything to him in front of these others, right?

Then the captain contacted the EVE unit (and “Wall-E”? Was that the name of the one that had freed them all, and now looked injured and helpless?) through the various screens around the Axiom. Han-S didn’t understand what was going on there, but when the message abruptly cut off, he (and all of them really) realized that several upon several of stewards were in their way.

The way they said “halt”, as if they were only one being, made Han-S’ body shake and tremble. He just knew they would hurt him again. He’d never make it alive to the repair ward, would he? Then EVE used his arm canon, a Pr-T assisted with a mirror, and then more of their group moved in to help with however they could to stop the stewards from attacking.

Han-S was still in the back, startled when a Brl-A risked himself to cover both him and the Wall-E from a shot. Why was he afraid?! All these others were smaller and weaker than him, yet they had bravery that he had somehow lost. He looked to the Wall-E, begging with his expression for a chance to help them all now. The little fellow, more dirty than before, looked concerned for him (probably because he looked almost as beat up as he did), but pulled out his small industrial laser from his pocket, and broke Han-S’ manacles.

Now free, Han-S let his wild side take over. He jumped into the group of stewards full of rage and hate. And fists. Five minutes later not a steward was standing, as all were unconscious or too hurt to get up. Han-S was exhausted, but he felt vindicated and relieved. Not only did he have his revenge, he had helped take care of these other crew members. None of these stewards were going to hurt anyone, not without having to have a full program rewrite when transferred into undamaged systems.

What happened afterward was more amazing than he could ever consider, what with returning to Earth and the passengers taking responsibility for their actions here. He chose not to go back to the repair ward (nor even the equivalent off the ship), since the urge to hurt someone was no longer as prevalent now, especially because he had friends to keep him calm. And they all kept each other safe, in one way or another, ever since they’d banded together on the Axiom. He felt more well-rounded because he could feel anger unlike some of the other Han-S’, but also because he could control himself, and unleash only when he felt he had to. He was never comfortable with the others touching him, or he touching them, but they seemed to understand and allowed him to be alone when he wanted, which wasn’t all that often as time passed, and the Earth changed like a metaphor for Han-S, becoming softer and safer as the years passed.