Wapol looked through the mean, rowdy, smelly streets of Detroit with a broad smile on his metallic face. “Haha. So this is Detroit? It’s no Evil Drum Island, that is for sure.” Wapol laughs and scurries down the street. 

Wapol then looks down at a man sitting down near a cardboard box. The stench coming from him almost causes him to projectile vomit. Wapol plugs his nose and speaks to the man. “Do you not bathe? Go fix yourself.” Wapol walks off, laughing. Undoubtedly, the man would listen to a member of royalty after all. Wapol rounds the corner and sees a group of homeless men surrounding a small pit of flames. Wapol goes closer and devours the can with one bite. He burps, the fire warming his belly before he laughs. The homeless men were not happy about it, as one rushed him with a knife and slashed at him. Wapol might be royalty but he was as quick as a cat and quickly maneuvered around the man. Then, with one more bite, devoured the knife and laughed. Then, with a kick, sent the knife-wielding hobo through the brick wall adjacent to them. The remaining homeless, knowing they stood no chance, dropped their weapons and sprinted away in pure defeat. Wapol laughed, devouring the rest of their knives and laughing. 

“What a meal”. He exclaimed before continuing down the street. Wapol thought to himself, wondering what mischief he could get into. Of course, these streets would need his knowledge and expertise. There’s a reason why Evil Drum Island was so successful when he was their leader after all. Maybe he should open his own business? Talk to the governor, secure a political alliance, and become ruler? It’s a tempting thought.