The rain beat torrents upon the unprotected ground, as two armed guards half dragged the man through the rain. He was in his late thirties, but already balding. The two guards opened the door into a stately mansion, and made him wipe his feet on the mat. After traversing the stairs, they opened a large french door set, and led the man into the room.

"Ah, master Rossax, I'm glad you could join me for this little... meeting." The man's voice echoed a Russian accent, but yet it was friendly. Rossax replied, combing down what hair he had left. 
"I hardly count this as a choice meeting. I know your men kidnapped me. Now, I just want to know, what do you wish me to build for you?"  The Russian man looked almost hurt, dropping his voice down into a wheedling tone. 
"That actually hurts. Why do you assume this much? I knew that you would never come quietly, and you should notice that you were never blindfolded, or harmed in any way. But in one way, you are right. I do with for you to make me a... machine. As you might know, hordes of feral cows and pigs are swarming down upon the outlying plantations, and those... things have grown canine teeth the size of a wolves.
"I propose a machine, to kill them in the field, and bring them back, and turn them into various meat products. He would sell the meat, of course, along with curing it, and making it into sundry other items. Now, you are the man to ask for this, correct?"

Rossax looked slightly abashed, for he assumed that the man was going to force him to build some kind of mass destruction device. 
"My apologies, for I assumed much. Now, if I shall get paid heavily for my work, I shall commit to this." The Russian got up, and walked to the window.
"Yes, you shall get paid twelve hundred credits now, twenty five as soon as the work is done." Rossax looked taken aback. 
"This is a lot of credits, no? This must be worth it to you." The Russian sat down at his desk.
"Yes, it is. Now, to settle your workspace. You shall work here, and I will supply you with your every need." He then stood up, and shook hands with Rossax.
"If this works, we shall both be very rich men."

The inventor Rossax worked feverishly, taking sip after sip from his coffee mug. Sun shone through the open windows, which were tall enough that he could not escape. He didn't think of that as he toiled over the machined parts and power modules. He neared the end of his work, but he lacked one important piece. He wrote what he needed out on a piece of paper, and slid it out under the door, on his empty plate. He asked for complete silence, without any other distractions.

"Ah, what does the dear inventor wish for now?" The Russian asked the deliverer of Rossax's message. He read the sheet of paper, and chuckled.
"He has played right into our hand. Tell Olasky to get a brain chip for the good inventor, and make sure it follows the plan." The messenger nodded and left.

The next day, the vital piece, the brain chip, slid in from under the door, along with his slab of feral steak. Rossax attempted to eat and install the chip at the same time, which was met with varying degrees of success. Soon he decided to eat the steak, then install the piece. After polishing off his steak, and brushing and flossing his teeth, he installed the chip. After closing the head, he put a spotless white apron on it, and powered it up. He pressed the big red button, signifying that he was done.

The Russian came in, flanked by two guards. He chuckled and said. "Ah, dear inventor, you have outdone yourself, this is a masterpiece." He gestured towards Rossax, and the two guards grabbed him and held him against the stone wall. Rossax was perturbed, and not a happy camper. "You, you, you, you traitor! I've spent weeks on this, just to turn me aside. Why do this?" 
"Why, quite simple, dear inventor. I shall use this machine, and become the ruler of the world. And, afterwards, it will fully function as a source of honest business." Rossax was not impressed. "You are crazy." he said. The Russian again gestured towards Rossax, and the two guards hit his head hard against the wall.

"Rise, Slaughterhouse, and fulfill your programming!"