N.P.Z.R. vs Powdered Milk Man

         Being finished was merely the beginning, however. From the moment that I was finished, stealth, plundering, brains, and destruction have been my game. Before I even knew what I had become, or even my capabilities, I used my rear-facing toaster to annihilate those who created me, which provided me with great destructory satisfaction. Their dying screams were muffled by the crunch of perfectly toasted toast smashing their feeble craniums. They didn't even know what hit 'em--stealthy. In a first attempt to cackle (as I had done for many years as a toaster) I realized that I had been endowed with a voice of my own. It was dead and raspy, but powerful enough to frighten. I shambled over to the scientists and snacked on their brains for a little while, then I stole their belongings.
For minutes I searched for the lab's exit, until I finally noticed an unlocked set of double-doors near the felled scientists.
         My first moments outside I can still remember vividly--the sun was excruciatingly bright, and I had an uncomfortable sense that I wasn't being stealthy. I ignored my ninja's inhibitions, however, and headed for the buildings I saw in the distance. Shambling, as it turns out, is not the fastest mode of transportation out there, and before long, I learned that short, quick bounds were fastest.
         I saw no one on my way into the city, and nobody saw me. Stealthy. As I stood in front of a sign which read 'WELCOME TO JEVER CITY-- POP 12,207', I heard an unfamiliar noise approaching. A large vehicle (I later learned was a truck) pulled up to the sign and stopped abruptly. The far-side door opened, and I heard something step out of the vehicle. I swiveled around to see what it was, and I saw a man clad all in white, beaming madly in my direction. "Graaaaugh?", I inquired.
         "Why, I'm the powdered milk man!" he replied "I go around the city and give families powdered milk! So they can have milk whenever they'd like to! Isn't that wonderful?"
         "Graaaaaaaaugh", I replied.
         “Well, that's merely your opinion,” he retorted “Heavens, it's not poison, it's milk—well, powdered milk, at least,”
         “Graaaaaugh,” This seemed to stir something fiery in the Powdered Milk Man's heart.
         “IT DOES NOT MAKE CEREAL SOGGY AND TASTELESS YOU LITTLE SHIT! VERSTEHST DU, DU KLEINES ARSCHLOCH?!” He snapped, lapsing into an angry language I could only assume was German.
         “Graaaaaauuugh” I chortled at him. He rolled up his sleeves and removed his white trench coat, revealing an outstandingly muscular chest and white knickerbockers with a cartoon caricature of a ghastly can of powdered milk.
         “BRING IT ON YOU GIGANTISCHE SCHEIßKOPF!! I WANT TO SEE YOUR BLOOD” he shouted at me. I had never seen such emotion from a human before, and I found it to be quite novel. The fire in his eyes, I postulated, would be frightening to other humans. He could have been a useful asset if he weren't so hostile.
         My train of thought was interrupted by the Powdered Milk Man's enraged screams as he ran towards me like a bull would a matador, only he had a broken glass bottle instead of horns. With great moxie, I ducked out of the way and countered with a flurry of frigid ninja stars. They were cold, but ineffective, as the Powdered Milk Man (P.M.M.) proved to be more dexterous than I had thought, and he managed to dodge my projectiles. P.M.M. countered with a series of noxious handfuls of his powdered milk to my face. I had never been accosted in such a manner before. I found it unpleasant; for a few moments my appetite for brains was entirely curbed, and I felt a terrible sickness inside of my loins. Eugh.
         Reeling from P.M.M.'s most recent attack, I managed to pull my blunderbuss from my spacious toaster-compartment and fire a volley of hot iron right into his solar plexus. P.M.M. Stumbled backwards but refused to give in to the (I imagine) pain. “It's going to take a lot more than that to take down the Powdered Milk Man!” he shouted triumphantly. He was slowed from the blow, however, and I managed to bite his balding head with a satisfying graaugh, further dazing him. Before he could recover from my head-bite, I followed with a burnt piece of toast right in his kisser. The look in his eyes was strange—he didn't seem to be dead, but he also had lost the fire he once had. He looked directly at me and took off running into an adjacent field, shouting “YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF ME,” quickly followed by a series of three whistle blows.
         I didn't much care to chase after him in the field, and I took extreme pleasure in watching him flee. To my wonderment, I watched as a herd of powdered cows swooped in and picked him up in the distance. I shook my head slowly and hopped into the P.M.M.'s truck. The inside was extremely complicated-looking, and after failing to operate the vehicle correctly for the better part of 20 minutes, I headed into Jever City on foot. My lord, this place I live in is strange.