>"welcome to 343 studios, mister pilestedt! We're very glad to receive you here today! We'll be handing you the files we ported over from Infinte for the crossover ev-"
>"scrap that shit."
>"I-I'm sorry...?"
>takes a deep, fat drag of a cigar and blows smoke onto the secretary's face
>"I said scrap that shit. I want the original files from ODST."
>Surströmming leaks from his pockets, the scent alone killing 50 diversity hires
>"B-But mister Pilestedt, those files have been locked away for so long...! We can't access them, no one here knows how to open a zip file!"
>"I don't care, find someone who can. Do you want me to save your dying console or not??"
>he guffaws, raising his arms. A frigid, northen gust of wind enters the building, causing the death of several hundred african americans
"Right a-away, mister pilestest."