“I told you that I wanted BEEF,” Karl groaned as he waved a hand to dismiss the technicians.
“But, Sir… this model will be excellent in combat once all the brine is removed.”
Karl stared at the vaguely humanoid figure and its swatch of high-textured orange, red, and yellow plating and shook his head. “No, the whole theme was supposed to be retro.”
“But isn—”
“Try harder!” Karl shouted, although his expression seemed to carry all the rage of a soft kitten. “Send in the next crew.”
With a sigh, the third group left, and in their wake, the next quartet entered the display chamber. At first glance, they appeared to have nothing on their person but a…
“Is that a boombox?” Karl asked as he leaned forward and dropped the side of his face into one of his waiting palms. “When I said retro, I—”
“Begging your pardon, Chairman,” the man at the center of the group spoke softly as he gestured for his companion to set down to outdated piece of technology. “It’s just part of the… full package.”
“Well I do like me a full package every now and again,” Karl whispered as he sat at attention. One of the engineers—Birkin or something was his name—grinned widely as he fished a cassette out of his lab coat and fed it into the open deck of the boombox.
“We believe you’ll like this,” the blonde-haired man spoke softly as he depressed the tape and pressed the play switch. After a moment of silence, the box began to belt out the opening chords of a lovely, early-2000s rap anthem. A rather standard introduction started, featuring a variety of dog noises, grunts, and standard rap parlance about this not being any sort of game (Karl found that slice of irony amusing).
The likely bald-headed and overly angry musician then began to mention that this, in fact, was what Karl was hearing and that the Syntech official should continue to listen.
As this repeated, Karl’s ears picked up the distinct thud of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside this repurposed conference room. The steps drew nearer as the song’s intro reached a crescendo. On the soundtrack, the rapper screamed out the phrase ‘X gon give it ya’ as the door of Karl’s conference room exploded into cinders. A beat later, the doorframe itself was shattered as one of the larger men that Karl had seen in the last two weeks literally walked through the wall. Garbed in a black trench coat that concealed almost his entire body, the gray-skinned behemoth had a mute, expressionless visage barely visible underneath the shadow of a fedora.
“Fedora, eh?” Karl shouted above the roar of the rap track still screaming out of the boombox.
It was Birkin who made his voice heard above the music and the still-settling piles of debris at the back of the room. “We wanted to make it look more human, y’know. Let it blend in.
The Chairman and CEO of Syntech smiled at the now still man who stood at the back of the room. “Does the boombox come with the...”
“Tyrant, Chairman Jak. We call it a Tyrant.”
Karl scowled. “That’s a stupid name.” With a snap of the man’s finger, the boombox shut off, and the executive hopped down from his oversized office chair. “Call it Mr. X, instead. That name has a lot more sinister, late-90s vibes.”
One of the scientists smiled at the request. “I like that, Sir! This creation will certainly be the, uh… nemesis of anyone it encounters on the island. I really believe that.”
Rolling his eyes, Karl waved to dismiss the crew. “Go back to tinkering with your viral weapons before I fire you all.”
“But, Sir… this model will be excellent in combat once all the brine is removed.”
Karl stared at the vaguely humanoid figure and its swatch of high-textured orange, red, and yellow plating and shook his head. “No, the whole theme was supposed to be retro.”
“But isn—”
“Try harder!” Karl shouted, although his expression seemed to carry all the rage of a soft kitten. “Send in the next crew.”
With a sigh, the third group left, and in their wake, the next quartet entered the display chamber. At first glance, they appeared to have nothing on their person but a…
“Is that a boombox?” Karl asked as he leaned forward and dropped the side of his face into one of his waiting palms. “When I said retro, I—”
“Begging your pardon, Chairman,” the man at the center of the group spoke softly as he gestured for his companion to set down to outdated piece of technology. “It’s just part of the… full package.”
“Well I do like me a full package every now and again,” Karl whispered as he sat at attention. One of the engineers—Birkin or something was his name—grinned widely as he fished a cassette out of his lab coat and fed it into the open deck of the boombox.
“We believe you’ll like this,” the blonde-haired man spoke softly as he depressed the tape and pressed the play switch. After a moment of silence, the box began to belt out the opening chords of a lovely, early-2000s rap anthem. A rather standard introduction started, featuring a variety of dog noises, grunts, and standard rap parlance about this not being any sort of game (Karl found that slice of irony amusing).
The likely bald-headed and overly angry musician then began to mention that this, in fact, was what Karl was hearing and that the Syntech official should continue to listen.
As this repeated, Karl’s ears picked up the distinct thud of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside this repurposed conference room. The steps drew nearer as the song’s intro reached a crescendo. On the soundtrack, the rapper screamed out the phrase ‘X gon give it ya’ as the door of Karl’s conference room exploded into cinders. A beat later, the doorframe itself was shattered as one of the larger men that Karl had seen in the last two weeks literally walked through the wall. Garbed in a black trench coat that concealed almost his entire body, the gray-skinned behemoth had a mute, expressionless visage barely visible underneath the shadow of a fedora.
“Fedora, eh?” Karl shouted above the roar of the rap track still screaming out of the boombox.
It was Birkin who made his voice heard above the music and the still-settling piles of debris at the back of the room. “We wanted to make it look more human, y’know. Let it blend in.
The Chairman and CEO of Syntech smiled at the now still man who stood at the back of the room. “Does the boombox come with the...”
“Tyrant, Chairman Jak. We call it a Tyrant.”
Karl scowled. “That’s a stupid name.” With a snap of the man’s finger, the boombox shut off, and the executive hopped down from his oversized office chair. “Call it Mr. X, instead. That name has a lot more sinister, late-90s vibes.”
One of the scientists smiled at the request. “I like that, Sir! This creation will certainly be the, uh… nemesis of anyone it encounters on the island. I really believe that.”
Rolling his eyes, Karl waved to dismiss the crew. “Go back to tinkering with your viral weapons before I fire you all.”