Keto Versus Shakespeare

"Umm, Lawrence, I have no idea how you think you're going to win
with this...stick. But it won't."
Shakespeare's smile vanished, and was replaced with a look of
annoyance. He'd spent a lot of time trying to come up with an idea,
and he was certain this would work.
"Excuseth me? You hath doubt'sd upon the capabalitlies of thy demon
Tybalt? A pox on you, ignoble competitor!" He said with vehemence.
Keto raised his arms in defiance. He stepped back towards the
refridgerator.
"I'm not trying to criticise, Lawrence, but you have to be real
here. Wake up from your middle english fantasy." He patted the top of
the immoblie Ointmentator.
"Your, TYBALT, has no chance against something as mighty as the
Ointmentator. It will be crushed."
"Charles, the onl'st thing to be crushed, are your spirits! The
landeth of golden'dt praise nears my fair waters!" Stated
Shakespeare, pulling the trolley close to him and looking down at his
stick.
"Hah, the Ointmentator could detroy your pathetic attempt any day
even in the state it's in now!" scoffed Keto. He patted the top of
his robot again and looked at Shakespeare. "That wouldn't even get to
the first round."
"Ah!" said Shakespeare, "Perchance, a Duel?" His eyes flashed
wildly. Keto looked at the Stick, and then at Shakespeare.
"Accepted!" he shouted.
Shakespeare waved his fist at Keto and ran over to one of the the
corner's of the room, whilst Keto moved his robot to the other side of
the room. Both adopted a fighting stance and looked at each other
with contempt.
From his medical viewscreen, Holly rolled his eyes. "I hope no one
is taken ill any time soon."
"Horatio," said Shakespeare, referrign to Holly. "An introduction
most suitable, if you please."
Holly sighed.
"Let the trial begin!" he said, in the style of a 20th century
comentator.
The Ointmentator slowly moved forward on its crumbling tracks,
whilst Tybalt lay in the centre of the floor, Shakespeare standing
behind it.
"Any last words Tybalt?" asked Keto, moving the Ointmentator gently
forward with his remote control.
The stick said nothing.
"Forswear, Ointmentainter, words of finality spring forth!"
The refridegerator also said nothing.
"Shakespeare," said Keto.
"Keto," said Shakespeare.
"Now!" they said in unison.
There was a slight rumbling as the refridgerator moved slwoly
forward and then stopped. Sparks, once again, causing it to destory
the tracks and crush the engines. It fell to the floor, circuitry
broken and fizzing. Keto shouted loudly.
"Argh! Curse this wretched robot!"
Shakespeare grinned, his stick still lying on the trolley.
"Now, the turneth take effect," he said. Keto folded his arms,
wondering how on earth an inanimate stick would move and destroy a
refridgerator. His query was answered by shakespeare who picked up
the stick and charged at the Ointmentator, a battle cry sounding
around the medibay. He brought the stick down hard on the top of the
refridgerator and there was a small cracking noise as fine lines
appeared on the top of the shoddily built Ointmentator.
Keto could only stand still, forced to watch as his beloved ointment
storing device was gradually pummled by Shakespeare and his stick.
A few minutes later, after a lot of manic shouting and hitting, and
the wreckage of the Ointmentator lay on the ground with Shakespeare
standing over it victorious.
Keto looked up at Shakespeare, who stood smugly holding his stick.
"Well, I have to admit," began Keto, apologetically, "that stick of
yours is..." He was cut off as the top part of the stick seemed to
wobble then fall into pieces. Shakespeare and Keto looked down at the
pile of match sticks next to the metal wreckage. They looked up at
each other.
"...Also destroyed," finished Keto.
"Perhaps a truce, for a teameth we could employ, and then the honour
will be shared," suggested Shakespeare.
"Good idea, Team Medical we could be," nodded Keto. "Now if we
could just think of a robot."