Whatever happened to Christopher Steele? Where the hell is he when we need a handsome, strong-jawed British super-spy to drive an armored Aston Martin through the lobby of a San Francisco office tower, emerge from the smoke to shoot about a half dozen suit-wearing security mercs in the head with a silenced Walther PPK, confront this son of a bitch in the middle of his newest cyber superweapon’s quantum mega-server center. Then, after a three-to-five minute struggle where Karp proves to be much more adept at close-quarters unarmed combat than anyone had expected, Steele shoves Karp off of a catwalk to be impaled by a piece of jagged metal piping while the electricity arcs and flames erupt from the wreckage, with Steele escaping just as the $20 billion skyscraper lists and then collapses into the chilly, swirling waters of the Bay.
Then cut to Steele relaxing on a beach in Tahiti with Karp’s attractive executive assistant Divina Brestlove, who turned against her psychotic boss and provided Steele with the secret algorithm needed to overload the Palantir tower’s power core just before the final assault on the building.
CHRISTOPHER STEELE WILL RETURN.
And fuck this maniac. He’s panicking because he’s realized he’s overdone the fascism shit.