Rob and N sit in for some cyberpunk-themed, Skrilex-powered action in Starbreeze’s Syndicate, the best game that no one played last year. When not ogling lens flares and dramatic bloom effects, Rob questions N’s love for Michael Wincott.
Part 5 (Read Part 4)
Keith was the first to notice the change in gravity as they marched up five flights of stairs. The farther you got away from the ground-level dampeners, the lighter you felt, the easier it became to move. Skyscrapers in Space Manhattan weren’t just built to height, they were built out sideways like trees toward their peaks. One had to be wary to not get used to this as muscular atrophy would make ground-level activity a chore. They all feared this as their march became easier.
The marble of the lower floors, installed in its original places while still in functional New York, faded to stark white walls and Starck-designed handrails with lines of blue light running through their undersides, providing an eerie glow to the upper stairwell. They reached the antechamber of the trillionaire’s office when the PR man stopped them with a palm to Johnny’s chest. “Wait here.”
He cracked open one of the double-set doors and slipped inside. Kelly quickly walked over to the door and tried the handle. It beeped. “Handprint recognition.”
The quintet milled about the lobby, pondering questions, but before punctuation could be formed and notes jotted, the PR man stepped out. “He’ll see you now.”
They stepped into the office, a single, massive bracket of glass provided them complete exposure and the gray roof shielded them from the torture of the sun’s light, being this far out in space. The reclusive benefactor of Space Manhattan sat with his chair back to the FleshEatingZipper crew.
“I guess I’ll ask the first question, what the fuck with the stairs, man?” Kelly said.
“Well, I appreciate you coming,” the man said with a familiar voice. He swiveled toward them. They gasped. “But people should be working out more.”
It was Steve Jobs.