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The evil, monumentally-masked Robert Z'Dar had sent his scurrilous cyborgs into the past after the escaped Runaway Daniel Bernhardt to recapture him, to prevent him from spreading his gospel of anti-evolutionism, Creation Science and Intelligent Design. Z'Dar, seen in the photograph to your left, was the mastermind of a diabolical plot to abduct Evangelicals from the past, bringing them to the future to perform dirty work in Cyberdyne Systems's foul factories. Automation had become the order of the day, and even robots had put their stock in the pleasure principle: cyborgs and AI-infected trackers were usually to be found shirking their duties, painting their faces or bulking up at Radio Shack. Human slaves were the best anyone could do, but there were laws, weren't there? Fortunately for Z'Dar's slippery schemes, there was no grandfather clause, and open season was declared on people from the past. 

Though Z'Dar's icy veins had long ceased to be dilated by the actions of a heart, artificial or otherwise, his hatred was all too human. His resentment was the result of provocation and insult flung at him when he had felt particularly vulnerable. At the time of his most important discoveries, just when he was making his name, those very same Evangelicals, particularly those associated with Bernhardt and MacPherson, mercilessly mocked Z'Dar outside of his research station near the tar pits, saying, "Robert Z'Dar, how do you know so much about the past? You've never been there. You couldn't possibly say how old mastodons or smilodons are because you never saw them. Maybe they didn't even really exist--maybe God planted those bones in the ground a few thousand years ago. Maybe he did it as a joke on all you know-it-alls. Or maybe it was just some big hoax anyway--how would you know? Ten thousand years? Eleven thousand years? Pshaw--the Earth hasn't been around that long and you know it!"

The fume-frazzled mob on Wilshire Boulevard that had come to see the famous tar pits and breathe in their age-defying vapors began to take up the Evangelicals' chants and turned on Robert Z'Dar--what gave him the right to just proclaim these things as though he were the king of the past? They were just supposed to take it as truth, no support, no proof? He wasn't any better than these snake oil salesmen trying to sell them smelly old tar! Monkeys into men? Preposterous! Worse: blasphemous. And this made Robert Z'Dar's great chin quiver with anger. He plucked at his hat and he snorted his nose and he huffed and he puffed, and he said, "You may have won this time, Evangelicals, but I'll be back!" He slunk back to the research station in shame, hiding the embarrassing bulge of his chin in the fortunately-voluminous folds of his lab coat.