Metal Future: P A R A S I T E

Chapter 0: Radioactive Prelude

"And... CUT! That's a wrap, people." I hear.

Thought I'd stop by the set of the 'Damn... It's Late!' show hosted by Norman Godfrey. Filming's already stopped for the 99th show. For the next one, they're planning something special. Mr. Godfrey's wanted to interview me for years, ever since I killed Dr. Proton.

He notices me and waves: "Hey, Duke! How's it going?" 

He's a tall man, 6'5", so an inch taller than me, bald, black, slightly scrawny (although his suit kinda hides that), wears Harry Truman-style glasses and a brown tweed suit, and is 54 years old. Most importantly though, he's a damn good talk show host.

"Goin' good." I reply, "The boys are almost done building my casino!"

"Great! I'll be sure to stop by for the grand opening."

"It'll be awesome." I tell him, "I've invited the President. Heard he loves his casinos."

"Ehh, you think that's a good idea?" He asks.

"Mostly doing it to see if we can be on good terms despite what he thinks about me."

"Oh yeah, he's said some nasty shit recently."

"I expected better out of him."

"I don't understand. How could somebody treat the most experienced EDF soldier with the least amount of respect after all he's done to save that somebody along with countless other somebodies?"

"That's why I've invited him. To better understand what's going on in his head."

Just then, a disturbance backstage: "You FUCKING AMATEUR! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"Oh boy." I mutter, "Give me a minute, Norm. I gotta check this out."

I go backstage and see two men: a talent and a stagehand.

The talent is dressed in leather. Head to fucking toe. He has a Pig Cop-style mohawk, several piercings on his face, and a black shirt with an anarchy symbol under his jacket.

The stagehand is wearing a standard blue dress shirt and black khakis. Nothing too exciting. He has looks reminiscent of... I don't know, Buddy Holly, except with less pointy glasses and a short crew cut instead of that curly hairstyle he had. Ignatius Baranar. I know him well - he's an old war buddy of mine... I'm not gonna explicitly say which war we both fought in, but I'll give one hint: the previous battle. Use your imagination.

"I'M TRYING TO DO A SCENE WITH NORM ON THE SHOW, AND THERE YOU ARE WANDERING THROUGH THE SET!" The pissed off talent yells.

"Look dude, it was an accident." Baranar says, "I promise it won't happen again-"

The talent interrupts him: "YOU NEVER STOPPED TO WONDER IF IT MIGHT BE DISTRACTING WITH YOU WALKING THROUGH?"

"Okay, dude. I get it-"

"DO YOU WANT ME TO TRASH YOUR MICS? WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO TRASH YOUR MICS?"

I chuckle, thinking: "Man, he's in self-destruct mode."

"Listen, Pig Cop-looking ass, I get the-"

"YOU DON'T FUCKING GET IT!" He interrupts once again,  "THE SCENE'S DONE! I WAITED SO FUCKING LONG FOR THAT MOMENT, YOU FUCKED IT UP, AND IT'S NOW OVER! I'LL NEVER GET THAT MOMENT BACK! NEVER! We're done. We're done professionally, man. You're a nice guy, you're a nice guy, but YOU DON'T GET IT! FUCK!"

Then, Baranar proceeds to finally knock him out by punching him on the side of the head.

"I can be a nice guy, you meant to say." He quips.

I walk up to him and look down at the douchebag he knocked out. He lost a few teeth from that punch. I can see a bit of blood pouring out.

"Damn, you got him good." I tell him.

"I can't believe they still keep this guy around." He says, "Yeah, he's fun to work with, but the moment you get on his bad side, he will turn into a living cluster bomb on you... and everyone else in the room if he's in a really bad mood."

"Anyway, what's Korando up to?" I ask.

"He's working on the technology for an improved shrinker." He replies.

"Cool. How's it supposed to work?"

"Apparently, the Octabrains have the ability to shrink things, but they don't use it often. That got us thinking: if we put an Octabrain's... brain into a gun, we might create a new shrink ray. So far, the results are looking really promising."

"If you need someone to test the finished product, you know who to call."

"Certainly. You're the right guy for the job."

"Sweet. I'll see you later." I say before leaving.

After exiting the building, some old, decrepit man runs toward me.

"Trouble shall come." He says before some... tentacle comes out of his mouth and whacks me. 

"AGH!"

"SEE YOU IN HELL!" He yells before running away laughing.

"What the...?" I think.

To be continued.