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“I’m sorry Mr. Grissom, we called you in today with less than happy news. We at Dextra Labs have decided to choose the other candidate for the job position. We just do not have any more job openings.”
Said the pudgy man as he leaned back in his Forrel recliner chair. It was quite and expensive chair with massage pads built into the back, based off the hands of the Greturian species, a race that had very maneuverable digits. Sleek in design, and equipped with anti-grav technology, it was the sign of a well off person. Quite honestly, the pudgy man, whose name was Dr. Kulm, did not look the least bit sorry. His face was plastered with an expression of extreme boredom. He wiggled his obese body in the chair so that his beady little eyes could see the screen over his massive girth. He didn’t even give a look to the fidgeting man sitting on the other side of the desk in the uncomfortable, rigid, and oversized chair, who he was addressing.
The man couldn’t sit still and was fidgeting with what looked like a shotgun shell. He had a bad case of ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) since he was a small child. This basically meant he was really smart, couldn’t sit still, and would go absolutely crazy if he was bored. So to alleviate this, he was playing with a PC 1.43 Shotgun shell.
(Background: The PC stands for plasma coated. The 1.43 is an indicator of how many pieces of plasma coated death would come out. The 1 in front of the decimal point indicates how many shots would come out of the barrel. The 43 after the decimal point indicates how many pieces it will split into after it has exited the barrel. The larger the first number meant the larger the spread of the blast. The smaller the first number, the more concentrated the blast. This system of identification was made by Bofffle Arms Inc, an arms company that once was responsible for building 75% of the galaxies shotguns and 54% of their corresponding ammunition. The company had decreased and faltered after the end of the Fiend Century as there was no more need for the brutal stopping power that they manufactured; however, their identification system for shotgun ammunition remained. To put it bluntly, the 1.43 PC shotgun shell would shred at point blank range).
This man was Zatch Grissom. Around 6 feet tall, possessing deep brown eyes, short dark brown hair, whiter skin with hints of Asian Heritage, and a terrible case of ADHD.
“So Ms. Verran obtained the position instead?”
“Yes. She was chosen for the… large assets that she put on the table. Literally…”
Zatch could see the lecherous light flicker across the so called Doctor’s eyes. Two voices battled in his mind after the “good” doctor’s statement.
‘*Snicker* He had the audacity to *giggle* say that *chuckle* to our face! Just rip his head straight off. The only thing attaching his head to his body is *giggle* an amazing amount of fat. I could do it. Let me do i-- Oooo. Look at that holograph picture! Let me touch it!’
‘… Two fingers straight to the neck. It would take minimal effort to push through the fat and crush the cartilage rings for his wind pipe. The obese lecher wouldn’t have time to react. He would suffocate slowly…”
Instead, Zatch stood up with a kind smile and gave an appreciative nod.
“I understand. Thank you very much Dr. Kulm for considering me for the position in the first place. I appreciate it. Should I see myself out?”
Dr. Kulm gave a dismissive wave with his arm, causing the fat lining his appendage to sway slowly in the air. Zatch gave a slight bow and turned and left the spacious office of the lecherous Dr. Kulm.
Zatch strolled out, and hunched his shoulders, the posture befitting of someone who was turned down for a job. He hung his head low as the door whooshed open and he walked out into the hallway. His hair hung over his face, obscuring his eyes. Two human security guards came to his side and escorted him down the hallway, to the elevator that would take him up to the ground floor. They were in the lowest level of the lab, which was an unusual place for a job applicant to be, and could only be attributed to the lecherous doctor’s lazy nature. He just didn’t want to move from his office. As he walked past, his eyes darted quickly from place to place, observing and making note of where the security cameras were.
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They were passing the door that read “Experimental Subject Containment: Bloc 2” when Zatch suddenly stumbled. He put his hand on the door’s lock panel to steady himself.
“You okay there?” Asked one of the guard’s derisively.
“Yes of course,” Zatch responded with a friendly smile as he righted himself and the guards escorted him all the way out of Dextra Labs.
Where the front door would be on an Earth corporation building was an airlock. The Stone Nexus did not have an atmosphere to retain the gasses necessary to support the various races that lived upon the Stone Nexus. Zatch simply activated the common environment suit he was wearing, bid the guards farewell with a sad smile, and exited the air lock into the cold outdoors of the Stone Nexus. As he walked to the nearest tube transportation center, the voices in his head just kept on.
‘*Snicker* Only 16 guards on the main routes. *Giggle* And only 3 inch thick steel doors? Oh, this will be a piece of cake. Are we going to the gym today? OOOO look at that rock! Let me touch it!’
‘…Only Jourden security locks on the door. Security cameras will be a problem though. We will be wearing a mask…’
Zatch listened quietly to the residents in his head as he scanned his TTS card and passed through the turnstile. He got on one of the tube cars. These tube-cars float inside the tubes that they travel along using magnetic repulsion to keep themselves in the air. This means there is no friction, and allows the tube cars to travel at speed which make the journey times between stations tolerable.
Zatch sat down in the tube car and absentmindedly watched an advertisement screen, one of many that were in all Tube cars. Scattered at random intervals was the same message.
“Citizens of the Stone Nexus, be on the lookout for the following persons. Do not approach them under any circumstances. Instead, notify the nearest SN Peace Keeping officer or mech. Thank you.”
This was followed by a robotic voice.
“No legal name known. Identification given by SNPK: Giggles.” This was accompanied by a photo displaying an image of a man dressed in a black skin suit with flexible armor plating on the chest, arms, and legs and holding a gun. The figure was wearing a black mask, through which one could only see the bright red eyes with the reptilian sclera. “Mental state: Extremely unstable and dangerous. Preferred weapon: Vertian M-13 shotgun and Tsuder . Preferred Ammunition type: PC 1.43 round. A note to the general public, if you are walking late at night, and you hear the sound of a man giggling happily, run and notify the nearest SN Peace Keeping officer.”
Next a picture came up of a figure, wearing a black skin suit with the same armor plating, almost the exact same except for startling electric blue eyes and the significantly longer and thinner gun in his hands.
“No legal name known. Identification given by SNPK: Silence. Mental state: Rationally homicidal. Preferred weapon: Unknown. Preferred ammunition type: EC-20 Shard. Note to the general public, this individual is extremely dangerous and our psyche evaluations have declared this individual a homicidal sociopath.”
An inexplicable smile stretched across Zatch’s face while he continued to play with the PC 1.43 shel.
"What interesting names *giggle*"
"...Idiots....What lame names....."
'I kinda like them. But they certainly got them wrong. We are-'
Splinter