The next room was chaos. Splashes and hissing erupted sporadically from all sides. Underneath that sibilant punctuation was a multifarious machine-gun patter
“This is the heart,” said Jolbert, shouting to be heard. “We can output documentation, fiction, code; anything you need at half the cost.”
The investors glanced around.
“The Million Monkeys technique. That’s a trademark, gentlemen.” Jolbert gestured at a squat, hairless man pounding furiously on a keyboard. A pile of broken discards lay nearby. An androgynous youth threw a dipperful of water over the man’s bald head. Steam rose in clouds.
“Overclocked,” said Jolbert, “every one of ‘em.”