INT: Valve HQ, midnight. GABE NEWELL, DOUG LOMBARDI, MARC LAIDLAW, CHET FALISZEK, ERIK WOLPAW, ROBIN WALKER, SAXTON HALE and MR G. MANN sit astride their genetically-engineered red and black-striped lynx, supping liquid gold from goblets carved out of velicoraptor skulls.
NEWELL: Gentlemen! I have gathered you here today to discuss my gravest concern. The day we have long awaited is here.
ALL: [Anxious muttering, some shouting.]
NEWELL: [Holds up a hand. The room falls quiet immediately.] No, please, silence. It’s true. The time has come. We have made… [bows head. In pride? In shame? In reverence?] We have made enough money. We need no more. There is nothing we could do with more. Nothing is beyond our reach. Our work is done. Complete our last remaining project, and then we shall shut the doors on our mighty empire.
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