Dr. B. was long ago captured by Mi-Go alien tribesmen. They proceeded to brain drain him, replicate his genetic composition and total biorestruct him to a hideous form. He now works as a high ranking scientist in the Hive mother's ship, toiling away on odd ZPE-driven bio-mechanic weaponry. Samples of his genetic data were acquired by the Order of Black-Phi agents lurking around the Behemoth club, Parafaxitas lounge and other hotspots. Ikipr drags a 5-meo laced cigarettes and looks up to see the agents enter the Silver Twilight Lodge. Everything in perfect geometric form, temporally arranged by the Godhead. A trade-off is made - Colonel Purple's life in exchange for the samples.
Dr. C. frets, alone and with out his partner in crime, they should have never tried to hijack the initial .god broadcast along with that infernal radionic cluster. "It was too big of a haul" he thinks "and my clown programs backfired against the Reptilian Firewall Satan II has installed." Despite these regrets, the sun is dawning again on his landscape, driving back the shadows of the eve - the scene inspires hope as he watches his agency shifting location, packing boxes away and relocating. "Dr. B. is our relay for the .seed backup of the Malkuth-station.Beta" he explains "hence he's an agent OSK cannot afford to spare. You should leave, now..." he exclaims to the group of agents, a hint of distaste for them stains the audio leaving as it leaves his tongue.
105 and the Squirrel carrying the OSD cymatic data are staking out the scene from a building in the distance, caught inbetween N-zones. "They call 'im Jimmy the Fink 'cos he got all my boys in the clink." says Brantley, kicking back and binging on Eyedot in Thee Moloch Vortex Motel. He eyes Dr. C. on a non-linearly hacked Psionic Data Replay screen, "The Mask keeps being walked around, looking for a new face. "Imma sew a mask on them like I'm the Skinless Seamstress stealing their identity." greets 9cubed from the doorway.