Actually, Kilroy took the name from from the WWII graffito "Kilroy was here" with silly little image. I expect that Styx got the name of the album from the same source. Doug, with the album in mind, then saddled Kilroy with three additional names such that the initials spelled the word "rock."
Quote:He stopped pointing and clicking and froze for a moment, tilting
his head to one side in thought. Then it was if a light had come
on. He grinned broadly. (And believe me, with that particle
cannon behind it, a boomer mouth is mighty broad.) "Call me
Kilroy," he said decisively.
"Kilroy? Why?"
He turned from the screen and looked directly at me, the faintest
hint of a smirk on his face. "Because I'm finally here."
I shook my head. "I don't understand."
"The way I was... before... it was like running my own body at a
distance through a remote control unit with only a few
functions." He laid a hand on his chest. "But I'm not at a
distance any more. I'm here. And I'm in full control."
"Oooo-kay," I replied. "Kilroy it is. You'll need a bit more
than that for the paperwork, though."
"Fair enough," Kilroy responded, and turned back to the computer.
"Got any suggestions?" he asked as he went back to checking out
his options.
"Lemme see." I frowned. What was it about "Kilroy" that teased
at... Oh, right! "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto," I murmured.
"Huh?" Kilroy shot a glance at me without stopping his work.
"What was that?"
I grinned at him. "I'm just remembering the album that killed
Styx. How about 'Robert Orin Charles Kilroy'?"
"A little long, isn't it?" he grunted.
I shrugged. "Yeah, but the initials make it worth it."
Metal-polymer brows furrowed as he looked my way again. "You're
weird, you know that? I'm an ex-killer robot with a conscience
designing a flesh bag to live in so I can pass for human, but
it's you that's weird."
Chuckling, I simply said, "Occupational hazard."