Sly

*Click.* "Ooof." "Did you have to just drop me from the harness? The nice thing to do would have been to bend down and let me climb out." Heff says with a spiteful voice, dusting off his clothes after landing face first in the backstage area of Ground Zero. "There's no time for that now, Heff!" The Crimson Skull's voice booms out. "We're on a mission to find Cyclone Comet, so that we may destroy him!" Heff continues to dust himself off as he raises himself to his feet. The Crimson Skull, in one fluid motion, flings free his parka that he'd been wearing (to fight off the cold as he crossed the icy plains of the former U.S.S.R.) to now reveal a broad, rippling chest and a perfectly fit uniform. What? He walked mile upon mile with a 150 pound man strapped to his back. You try it. "Do we have to destroy him?" "Of course we do! First, we must find him, stalk him, and learn all there is to know about him! Then, we shall discover his one weakness whether it be someone he holds dearly to his heart, or maybe even a substance that will remove all of his power! Last, we will set up a complicated yet easily escapable trap that will likely only ensnare you, my assistant, and possibly kill you!" "Kill me?" Heff says with a gulp. "Indeed. But if that's the chance I must take to destroy this foe of mine, then that's the sacrifice I must make!" "But" "Now let us set forth in finding the one they call... Cyclone Comet..." The Crimson Skull thrusts his back against the wall and stealthily moves his way down the hallway. ... in broad daylight... ... with the hall fully lit by ceiling lights... ... and Heff walking casually beside him. "Damnit Heff! Hug the wall!" "This is ridiculous. Everyone can see us!" Heff bites back. "You're going to blow our cover! When you were hired, I was led to believe that you were trained in the art of espionage as well!" The Crimson Skull becomes angry, "Now when I say hug the wall, you hug it!" "What's going on here?" "You've blown our cover, Heff! Remain calm while I neutralize the threat!" "Oh brother..." Heff sighs. The Crimson Skull thrusts his hand forward and into the mouth of an unforeseen bystander. He strains back, gritting his teeth as to apply pressure. Beads of sweat roll down from his hair and over his mask, eventually dropping down off of his chin to the floor below. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" A muffled voice calls out from the side. The camera pans out to see that our super villain's hand has found his way into the mouth of none other than the Suicide King. "I'm neutralizing the enemy?" King reels his hand back and smacks Skull upside his... well... skull. "No... NO!" King corrects his assailant, causing The Crimson Skull to let out a little whimper. "Now... who are you and what are you doing here?" "I'm The Crimson Skull! The terror of Europe, perhaps you've heard of my work?" "No." "I..." "No." King cuts him off again. "Now why should I care?" "I've come to this place to find 'Cyclone Comet'. I must engage him in a battle that will likely effect the world as you all know it, for after I have robbed the last breath from his lungs I will be virtually unopposed in my plans for world conquest! Mwahahaha... mwahahahahaha!!!!" "Comet isn't here. He's in Las Vegas." "But the television said he'd be here!" Skull snaps. "Scheduled to appear? He..." "Damnit!" Screams The Crimson Skull before quickly grabbing a chair and launching it towards the wall. It barely misses Heff's head! "Whew... looks like I should've packed a change of pants..." Heff mutters. "He did this as a trick to draw me in! This Cyclone Comet is an even more worthy adversary than I had previously imagined... I will have to reformulate my plans! Victory shall be mine!" "Look," King levels with The Crimson Skull, "if you want to get close to Comet then you're either going to have to start buying tickets to the shows or sign a contract to wrestle for us, and even at that I can't guarantee you that you will get a chance to even face Comet." "I have no time for contracts! We must get back to our secret lair and begin plotting our plans for world domination!" "We don't have a secret lair." Heff chimes in. "To our... mysteriously disguised laboratory hidden deep within Kiev!" "We don't have one of those either." "To our fashionable apartment on the upper east side!" "Nope." "... to the van?" "That's more like it." Heff says with a grin. "To the van!" Skull booms. "Wait... are these crab cakes?" "Yes." King drudgingly answers. "And they're FREE?!" He turns to the table and begins to woof down the seafood treats, allowing Heff to step in, and with a smile says... "Now... what about this contract?"

Where is everyone?

New stats?

Good card.

"I remember back in the 80s... life was grand..." Everything gets soft and a little blurry, as if it's a flash back... or a waterbed has burst... "I was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively. I was a high roller. People knew me by name, and it struck both admiration and fear in their hearts. Why, to be a super villain was to be a star." A super villain? Yeah... "There were book deals, guest appearances on stage and screen, talk show hosts clamored to get me on their shows. Letterman even let me do a Top Ten List." ... "Top Ten Reasons why being a Super Villain isn't all it's cracked up to be..." a young David Letterman says with a grin. "Number Three!" "Your tights ride up even in mid-air!" *Canned laughter.* We catch a glimpse of who is presumably our narrator. A hulk of a man dressed in a business suit, he looks like he could play linebacker for the Chicago Bears.. and the Dallas Cowboys... and the New York Giants, and still not be tired. (he's ripped, I tell you!) His dark hair comes flowing down from the sides and the back of his head. Covering his face is a crimson mask that covers from slightly above his eyes to down to the tip of his nose and around his face. The only thing showing is his mouth, which is turned up in a smile... all-be-it a little sinister. ... "Everyone wanted a piece of me. I was the next big thing, moving up in the world! Champagne wishes, caviar dreams! A deluxe apartment on the upper east side! A healthy coke addiction... but hey, it was the 80s! Everyone did it. Besides, I'm not on trial here! Damnable flashbacks..." ... "And your name is?" Our narrator appears again, this time sitting at a table with a stack of papers in front of him. He's in full uniform now. A red skull is centered on the chest of his spandex black shirt, a red cape hanging behind him, and his full mask on again. All though we can't see it, lets also assume that he's wearing a silver belt and black spandex pants. Good? Good. "My name is Heff. I'm here to apply for the position of 'Evil Assistant' that I found in the help wanted section." A scrawny man with a lisp replies. "I'm not quite sure what that implies, but standing here in front of you... I can honestly say that I'd do whatever it takes to serve under you. I mean... I assume that's what this position is?" "The position is open to mercenaries who have experience with chemicals, espionage, mechanics, killing, and delicious baking. Do you meet these requirements?" "Yes." "References?" "Um..." Heff thinks. "I was one of the lab assistants to Colossus when overthrew the government of Portugal for three days and six nights." "You're hired!" ... "Heff was the first of many assistants I would hire that summer. Things were no doubt on the rise... then, the depression hit. Not an overall depression... but just a depression for super-people, heroes and villains alike. There was no spark anymore. Everyone was retiring, and there was no fresh blood to take their place. The few of us that held on... well... we had to find work elsewhere." ... A quick shot of our narrator dressed in full attire plus a bright orange vest and a stop sign. He walks out into traffic and holds out his hand before signaling for a trail of kids to cross in front of him. The last one in line stops besides him and looks up and smiles before puking on his shoe. Our narrator frowns, the sulks off to the side of the screen. ... "I was too embarrassed to even call myself a super villain anymore. I considered suicide, but given my insurmountable amount of power, I decided that I would probably be to strong to allow myself to kill myself and would probably end up simply kicking my own ass and then drawing a dick on my own forehead. Woe is the unemployed... ... "... now here I sit. A child of the 80s locked in a new millennium. Brokenhearted and stranded." "I told you that it creeps me out when you talked to yourself Crims. I wish you would stop." Heff, aged and sitting in front of a TV beckons. "And I told you not to call me Crims, damnit!" Our narrator, aged and fattened, yet still in the same spandex suit as ever responds from the other room. "And turn that TV down! I'm trying to plan our conquest of Croatia!" "This Sunday live from both London and Las Vegas, SWF Ground Zero! Featuring appearances by all of today's top stars plus stars of the past including Bobby Riley, Cyclone Comet, Sui...." "Wait, what? Turn that back up, damnit!" The fat super villain hoists himself out of his chair and lumbers into the room beside Heff. "Did you hear that? Cyclone Comet! A superhero! I've found my calling! Heff, pack our things! We leave at sunrise for London!" "Have you forgot where we are? We're in Kiev! The Ukraine! We don't have any money, or even a car to drive to London in! We'll never make it by Sunday!" "You're right..." "You know what that means?" "Ready the harness system! I shall carry you on my back, and we'll leave tonight! I shall find this Cyclone Comet if it means the death of me... for I am... THE CRIMSON SKULL!!!!!" .... oh brother...

I beat Dustin a few times... *Self esteem grows.*

Manson, Apoc and I are in chat. Needless to say, it's zooming along at a break neck speed@!$!

2578. Wait... what?

Am bored in chat !

If I were Engrish, I would get up just to post a card a 6:00 in the a.m.

That's how it usually turned out for me.

"I'm here tonight to make sure everyone takes me as a serious threat in the SWF! I'm here to show you all just what I'm made of!" The furious Austin Sly screams out over the fans packed inside the arena. "I'm here because I have the confidence to say that I'm at the top of my game!" "Ha! He's dyslexic!" A fan screams from ringside, causing the crowd around him to begin to chuckle. "He don't read too good!" "I am not dyslexic!" Austin begins to stutter with frustration. "I - I - How do you know that? H - H - Who told you? And... oh no, I'm naked!" The entire crowd begins to laugh at Austin, who blushes in embarrassment. ... "And that's my dream... " our scene transitions to Austin laying on his back on a bed, arms crossed behind his head. He turns onto his side and looks out over the room towards an attractive blonde Swedish woman. "What do you think it all means?" "How long have you been having these dreams?" the woman asks, pushing up her glasses to look at Austin. "Off and on since Sean Davis dropped me on my head inside of Penn. Station, but they've been more intense and frequent since I joined up with the SWF on this world tour." "Does it have something to do with being so far away from home?" "No." Austin states, calmly. "I've been away from home my whole career. It's part of being a wrestler." "I would guess that you have some sort of deep seeded fear then... are you really dyslexic?" "No, of course not! I was a great student." "Are you self-conscious about your body or how you look?" The woman probes. "No... I mean, just look at me!" Austin chuckles, "the very idea... ha!" "... right." She coughs awkwardly. "Well, what do you think is wrong with you?" "I don't know, you're the doctor! You're supposed to tell me!" Austin begins to get angry, causing a vein to pop out on his forehead. He quickly calms himself, though. "For the last time, I'm not a psychiatrist, I'm just a prostitute that you picked up earlier tonight." "I know I know... but it makes it easier to talk to you if I pretend that you're not just a whore." "Can I put my clothes back on then?" "No." Austin replies, firmly. "Well, in my opinion," she leans forward to rest her chin in her hands before continuing, "you have some sort of feeling of inadequacy either brought on by your job or by life in general. Strictly based on the dream, though, I would probably say that your job is bringing you this stress." Austin nods in approval of the dirty slut's verdict. "So... you do anal?" ... Our scene transitions again to that of Austin walking casually down a corridor, hair pulled back behind his head and jacket thrown over his shoulder. He looks delightfully... normal. As if a weight has been lifted from him. He walks up to a door and knocks. *Bam bam bam!* No one answers, so Austin simply turns the handle and walks in. As the door closes behind him, we see a plaque that reads Tom Flesher. Austin casually strolls into the darkened room and clicks on a lamp that sits atop a desk towards the middle of the office, fighting back some of the darkness that creeps in during the night. The stars and moon twinkle in the dark sky outside, but the tightly drawn shades block out most of their light. Austin pulls open a desk drawer and pulls out a pen, a pad of paper, and an envelope. He begins to write. To whomever it may concern; I, Austin Sly, have decided to end my contract with the Smarks Wrestling Federation effective immediately. This decision is entirely of my own and has nothing to do with any persons within the company, or any way that I have been treated. I have simply decided to take my career in a different direction. I have had a great time working with everyone this past year plus and wish that I could stay, but for my own health and mentality, I must part ways. I wish everyone the best. Much love, Austin Sly. P.S. - Enclosed is my final bill for the company. He folds the paper twice and then slides it into the envelope. He closes the flap and places it carefully onto Tom's desk. With a sigh of relief, Austin reaches up slowly and turns off the lamp. Click... ----------------------------------------------------------- So... that's all she wrote for Austin Sly. I guess this has been a long time coming, but I think I struggled to try and keep myself interested for long enough. I actually had intended to show lots of time, but I don't think I ever really had it in me to compete with you guys. I guess some might say that I never really had it in me to begin with, but to each their own. I really had fun trying to embrace this place and provide some sort of comedy or at least a witty remark here or there, but it's best that I just hang up my character now. I'll still be around. Best of luck to all.

A dead Drea does not a good chat make.

If that's not intentional, it should be. <{POST_SNAPBACK}>

*Austin no shows.* Now you can just forward Elm's match and still make your party~!

<3

Book me, please.

Are you in the wrong chat, Judge?

Idle Drea and Kibs do not amuse me. Come amuse me! I'm here all night... or for two hours... maybe.

Honestly, I'd guess this is partially aimed at me... but seeing as I've been a rather man about town for my stay here, I don't know how my reputation could be that tarnished. Outside of Mike hating me.

Wow. Mike can't sense sarcasm anymore.

Now Drea, Pretz, and I all inhabit the chat room. Come and join us if you're online! We're waving our dicks around!

I'm in chat. Not that anyone cares.

My house is in the middle of the street.