Evil Genius NES

[Milarqui]

Update Zero, January 1961

Advert in Chicago Today, 11th January 1961

Mobius Mall and subsidiaries Mercy-Ciary Shops are searching for personnel to work at various tasks. Good salary. Previous experience required. People with high school or university education welcome.

Article about the Convent-Hôpital Verité Fondamental de Coeur et Foi in La Croix, 13th January 1961

With her efforts to work for the Christian faith, Sister Mary Catherine deserves our praise and much more. Being born at the Convent-Hôpital Verité Fondamental de Cœur et Foi, she knows better than many how important Our Lord is to the people, and her wonderful job at the hospital is now being expanded to the development of the Galerie Sacre Cœur, Le Marché de Sœurs and La Révérende Mére, which we hope will help bring the word of Our Lord to the God-less masses of Monaco.

Report from Casablanca Police Department for AFRO, 14th January 1961

We have received word that a certain German gentleman, Herr Hans von Barron (note: check this name with EURO Archives), has taken residence in the formerly abandoned Jean Barrón Maison. When questioned, Herr von Barron stated that this was an ancestor's house and, after losing his family in an accident, he wanted to make a fresh start somewhere else. He has also used some money he had left from his past to buy an old souk's terrains and open a store in the spirit of those at his homeland, but with a local air.

Article Les Napoleons D'Aujourd'hui: Louis, Prince Napoleón, Napoleon VI in France Soir, 16th January 1961

Q: We know of your exploits during the Second World War. You attempted to join the French Army, but weren't allowed by Premier Daladier, so you joined the French Foreign Legion under an assumed name. You also joined la Résistance, only to be imprisoned by the Germans. All your brave efforts weren't compensated by a repeal of the laws that forbid you from living in France until five years after the war ended. Would you mind telling us why you chose to fight for a nation that had rejected you?

A: Even if I was born in Belgium, due to that same law you have just mentioned, I have always been a Frenchman by heart. When the war started, I knew that it was going to be so much worse than the Great War, so I followed the only route that would allow me to help France, even if it was as a soldier, and not as a general like my ancestors did. Everything I did, it was only because France is where I think I belong to. The main reason behind all of this, and what I continue doing, is because I love this country, and want to help France become once more a great power, even if it is step by step.

Paper in the Archives of the FBI Office in New York City, January 18th 1961

Name: John D. Cluck
Crimes: Robbery, Assault, Murder in First Degree, Money Laundering
Current Location: Unknown (formerly Sing Sing Prison Maximum Security Prison)
Last Known Location: San Antonio, Texas (Assassination of Scott G. Cluck)
Sentence: Death by Electrocution (pending)
Position in Ten Most Wanted List: #8 (#1 in 1957)
Reliable Clues: seen taking a plane to Canberra, Australia, two months after his escape.
Unreliable Clues: several stores called Cluck have opened recently in Sydney, Australia.

Transcript in the Al-Mukhabarat al-Harbeya's director's office, January 19th 1961

Sir?
What's the problem?
We think we have found General Babaham, Sir.
That bastard! After forty years, he finally appears! Where is he, now? I want him back here to Egypt so that he may be imprisoned and finally condemned for his actions!
There will be a problem with that, Sir...
Why, Agent Muamir?
He has not only left the country, but he has also left Africa. There is a man living in Cuba that not only does look a lot like him, but who is also accompanied by several men whose descriptions coincide with that of those officers that left with him so many years ago.
Damnation! Now that we have found him, it turns out that we can't catch him.
We could always ask for the collaboration of the AFRO, Sir.
The AFRO? They are a bunch of pansies that wouldn't know how to distinguish Babaham from any other Egyptian, let alone a Cuban.
But they have contacts with the NACIO, so I am sure that they could catch him.
Yes, we will do that. I'll send a message to the AFRO Section in Egypt, they will be interested in this.

Employee's Guide to Moreau's Mall One, January 20th 1961

You never talk about the Employee's Guide.
Remember that the Boss is always right.
Everyone else is gunning for higher positions. Do anything to ensure you are the one that wins.
Policemen in service may eat to their heart's content at any restaurant.
Never question any weird things you see. If you see something weird, erase it from your mind, unless the Boss asks you about it.
Always prepare for anything that may happen.
If you are attacked, sound the alarm and ready yourself for combat.

Willington's Casino's Leaflet, January 21st 1961

This casino, built between 1955 and 1960, is property of Lady Marla Willington, daughter of infamous World War II double agent Lord Brandon Willington, found dead by Lady Marla in 1954. The casino entrance figures a large red metallic statue of Lord Willington, signaling the love Lady Marla felt and still feels for her father, whose fortune allowed her to fund Willington's Casino and establish it as a feature of Cape Town's skyline. The statue's colour is due to the use of one of Lord Willington's most prized tools in its smelting, a red stapler, whose colour was reproduced and painted over the statue as a tribute to Lord Willington's great influence in Lady Marla's life...

Letter received by General Secretary of the United Nations (and found in a rubbish bin), January 22nd 1961

You are making a mistake.
You seem intent on breaking down nations just because a few people cannot handle the fact that they should join together. Nationalism has only brought death and destruction to every nation in this planet, yet you keep allowing this illness of humanity to continue permeating through the borders, poisoning every soul with the fundamentally wrong idea of “my country is better than yours”.
You have the chance of doing good to this world! Introduce the idea of eliminating all borders! Show them how much good it would do if the whole world was one joint, solid nation! Push them to adopt one language for everyone! To accept one religion over all!
For I am your God! The only God you must obey! Not that upstart idiot that called himself “the son of God”, and who has caused far more deaths than anything else ever!
Heed my words, or you shall feel my wrath!

Report sent from the Vladivostok KGB office to the KGB central office, January 23rd 1961

Sir,
We believe we have found a credible lead for the deserter named Semmovich, Yuri. The last report stated his being spotted near Omsk, Siberia, so I sent an agent to investigate those claims. Said agent has just reported back, and demonstrated that said man, after opening a small business called “Omsk Home and Supply” in there, left for an unknown place, presumably in China, to continue with his strange plans.
Interrogation of his neighbours while in Omsk has not given much information, but from what was obtained, it is obvious that Semmovich believes that the current Premier isn't forceful enough in the Motherland's deals with the capitalists, and that only China is still communist enough to deal with the capitalists correctly.
If you wish me to do so, I will be sending our findings to ASIA, in order to have them find and imprison Semmovich so that he may be judged and condemned by the people.
Yours faithfully,
Ivan Nurastof

From the archives of EURO Headquarters in Copenhagen, January 24th 1961

TOP SECRET
Do not read if you are not authorized
Agent Jyu Jyun Chan
Considered Extremely Dangerous
Current Name: Mister Tan
Current Location: Hong Kong, Casino Hing Yam Kung (owner)
Has survived three different assassination attempts by EURO agents.
Suspected of support of rebellions in the Indonesian Archipelago and Malaysia. No actual connection proved.
Suspected ties to terrorists in Southern Asia.
To be watched with extreme care.

Article They are among us in Saucer News, January 26th 1961

The Roswell incident was not an isolated one. They are among us. They crashed in Roswell, and then the officers were brainwashed to say it was a weather balloon. But I know the truth. I know it was an alien ship. I know it was an accident, and I know that they didn't want the people to know that they exist, so they took over the case through their patsies. By now, it is too late. They have taken over every damn government in this planet. Every damn important politician is one of them. I have yet to discover why they want to control all of us, but I am sure they intend to enslave us for some purpose. Join me, we will be able to kill them all, and recover our Planet for Humanity!

Article in The Economist, January 27th 1961

Tiberius Incorporated has made its name in the American mind thanks to their products of many kinds. Just a few weeks ago, Tiberius Anderson, then owner of Tiberius Incorporated, sold the enterprise he had built up from the ground, saying he wanted to start again, to face a new challenge in the form of some other way of life. He also stated that he was willing to do all of this for America, so that its people could find more jobs as he opened new factories all around America. It is now known that Mr Anderson's new business is a casino, the Atlantis Casino, recently opened in the Strip, for the enjoyment of those that wish to find new places to play.

From the Sisterhood's Allegiance Oath, January 28th 1961

I swear, from this moment onward, to follow the tenets of the Sisterhood.

I swear, from this moment onward, to not let man hold any power over woman.

I swear, from this moment onward, to work to expand the power of the Sisterhood.

I swear, from this moment onward, to always carry the world towards its intended natural order.

I swear, from this moment onward, to follow the Sisterhood towards its natural position of leader of all women in the world.

OOC: This is Update Zero. Update One (February 1961) will be, hopefull, next Sunday, so that's four days to make a couple of easy orders. Use the classical format of Stats, Spending and Orders to facilitate things for me. Those that have to special things, remember what your disadvantages are!

OOC2: Also, if you check the map, you will see a few symbols on the places where the cities are. I am sure you will be able to recognize which is which.

 

[badunoff]

Great update

Can we create henchmen and write their stories, and if so, what are the restrictions and requirements?

 

[Milarqui]

- Any missions that are going to be about attacking some other Evil Genius, unless it is about attacking a Front, are not possible, given your very low number of Minions right now. The moment you can spare around 20-30 Minions, maybe you could start to entertain the possibility of attacking them to steal. Also, remember that right now your resources are somewhat limited, and it ain't exactly easy to go to other country (not to mention other continent) with a large enough number of Minions and attack an enemy's base.
- You can start to write your first henchman recruitment stories. Let's say that, should you write him too powerful, he could end up attempting to take over your organization and cause a mini-civil war. If you can make them good yet less powerful than your Evil Genius, then they will be loyal forever.

 

[badunoff]

General Babaham (he still insisted on being called general even when Egypt officially declared his dishonorable discharge) was sitting in the presidential office of the Pharaoh Casino when the small pop came from behind the luxurious double doors. One of the doors opened just a crack allowing a rather ugly man with bulging eyes slip in and close the door behind him, locking it behind his back not taking his eyes off the general.

“Who the -” started the general.

“No!” interupted the man, “No! I am the one who will be talking here!”

Only now did the general see the gun in the mans hand. ‘How in the world did he get it pass the metal detectors’ thought the general. Meanwhile, his hand slid casually to his lap and inched towards his holster.

“I don‘t think so!” shouted the man, coming to stand in front of the general‘s desk, raising his gun, “Keep your hands were I can see them, mister!”

Mister! The title infuriated him, but what surprised him was that the gun was clearly plastic.

“You think you can frighten me with that toy!”

The mans hand darted up, there was a sound a pop and the crackly of breaking glass as one of the lights above them went out. The man pointed the gun at the general once more.

"Plastic air gun, shoots darts, custom made. Let me get to the point why I’m here…”

“You killed my men?!” the general blurted out.

“No, no! What do you take me for? Tranquilizer darts. I know what your thinking, but I wouldn‘t do that. If you reach for that gun, I will shoot you, you will fall asleep, I will get your gun and pop you once in the head. It will have more steps, but you will be just as dead. Now, lets get back to what I originally came here for. Your dealer cheated me out of my ten thousand dollars. I want you to reimbursed me and give something in the figure of one million dollars for my trouble, or I shoot you in the head. Okay?”

“You know that though you shot some of my men, the others are already on their way here to kill you because I activated the silent alarm. You won‘t leave this building alive unless I let you. Can‘t tell them to stand down if I‘m dead. This would have been obvious to anybody, so why don‘t you tell me why you decided to stupidly risk your life for the sake of ten thousand dollars. More importantly though, tell me how you got through the maze of corridors that leads to my office.”

The lock clicked and four workers ran in with guns. Without hesitation the man spun around and with four pops all workers lost consciousness, but the general was on his feet with his gun in his hand.

“Put the gun down” he growled.

The man considered this.

“If you shoot me, I will shoot you before that dart reaches me. I will be unconscious but you will be dead.”

“Though this technically a no lethal weapon,” said the man slowly, “I have enough skill to shoot a dart into your brain through your eyeball.”

“If you put down that gun there is a chance that both of us will come out of this alive. How many workers have you disabled?”

“Including these, nine.”

“That means that there are eleven of them coming here as fast as they can, and I know you don‘t have that many darts left in your magazine.”

The man sighed and sat down in a chair across from the general and gave him his gun.

“Now tell me, who, why, and how.”

“I can read peoples faces and know what emotion they are feeling, including whether or not their lying. That’s how I found my way here. I would ask if I am going in the right direction, and from their face, I will know the answer. That is why I gave you my weapon, because I saw that you were telling the truth and that you did not mean to kill me at present. That is also how I knew your guy was cheating”

“I did not authorize that. He must be doing it for pocket money. Why would you, a man with impeccable skill at using a weapon and with this ability of reading people go ballistic and threaten me with a gun over such a relatively little sum?”

“I was in the MI5. I saw that my boss was an enemy agent, but had no evidence apart from my skill at reading facial expressions, which nobody recognized as reliable evidence and it was a crime to accuse a superior, so I was sent to the front. Believe it or not, the same thing happened with my commanding general, except instead of transferring me, he got my convicted of treason and I had to escape or be shot as a traitor. I had a terrible reputation by then and no other intelligence agency would take me. I moved to America under the alias of Carl Lightman and tried to open a consultant firm of interpreting facial expressions. I was immediately sued for some trumped up copyright infringement and lost the little money I had. Apperantly, some guys had published a story like that and copywriter the name “Lightman Group” I had to go underground, so with my amazing marksmanship, I joined the mafia. But then, fate decided to play that old joke on me again. I saw that the don’s first lieutenant was betraying him, but the don didn‘t believe me. So I had to run with a price on my head, for the insult. I arrived here yesterday and thought I could go from poker table to poker table using my face reading ability to make some money to live. Imagine my anger that despite my skill, I lost. I began to watch the dealer, rather than the players and saw that he was cheating. And here I am. No job, no money, no food. The only things I have are these cloths and that gun which I no longer have. Also, I am pretty sure a couple of bounty hunters are in Havana looking for me. I have entirely despaired in my situation. That is why I ran in here with a gun. I seriously need the money because I am going to starve.”

“Well, you could have sold the gun. It looks like its worth quite a bit of money.”

“First if all, there are men after me. Second, the gun is very easily traceable and I am wanted in England for treason.”

“Well, as first impressions go, you ruined it. But this impresses me. Tell you what: I will give you shelter, food, and money if you joined my little organization. Having an MI5 agent, especially with your ability will be of enormous value. You will have a great life with little to complain about. However, if I find that you are giving away any secrets or are planning to somehow overthrow me, I will kill you, as Allah knows I should have done as soon as you gave me your gun.”

“Hey, do I look like a likable guy? Do I look charismatic to you? Also, every government agency is looking to kill me, either for treason or because my operations damaged or embarrassed them. Your offer is something that I gave up even dreaming of. Thank you, sir. Thank you. You are saving my life. I will be loyal to you until this life you are saving is extinguished”

“No problem. Your first assignment is to use your skill to find out who the hell leaked my location to the Egyptians!”

 

[Prospo]

Mr. Tolkovyy contacting Vladmir via shoephone

Vladmir Virskosky was not a happy man. The General Secretary hadn't replied or acted on his letter, and had probably dismissed it as a fool's ranting. To him the very idea of a single nation, was...laughable! The Saukerl! Virskosky would show him...oh yes he would. Without another word he pressed a red button on his chair arm and ordered the minions to mobilize. The ones that were not manning the store appeared in front of him, presenting their AUG's. Just as Vladmir was about to give the word to begin the mission, his phone rang. The minions were astonished...that was supposed to be a secure line!

Vladmir turned around awkwardly and picked up the phone "Hello, Swiss Supplies, how may we help you?"

On the other line a man answered in code "Ah yes, I'd like to be part of you evil organization."

Vladmir replied equally inconspicously "Are you applying for evil minion...or the perhaps the hencman position?"

"Henchman."

"Well you'll have to schedule an appointment, normally I'd give you an interview on sunday but we're booked. You'll have to apply next week. We'll send the form if you'll just give us your fax."

*****Two weeks later*****

Mr. Tolkovyy was a Russian MENSA member who had grown tired of the constant bickering amonst fellow members at the conventions. Being a genius did not make one above petty arguments, it only made you slightly more of an arse than everybody else. The MENSA did not do what it should do, serve as an international research body, but instead became a look at me contest filled with egotistical biggots who managed to do better on tests than others. Tolkovyy was disgusted with MENSA, much in the same way Virskosky was with the UN. He had found out about Virskosky after talking with black market contacts who mentioned him. Seeing the simmilarities between their views and their disgust with the old gods, he jumped at the chance to join him.

Virskosky, though slightly threatened by his intellect, was willing to conspire with him due to his lack of charisma and general clumsiness. He appointed him the offical Overseer of the minion legions and was made manager of the store front. Though many of his technological "inventions" were shot down, including his prepostrous ideas for the "laptops" and "touch screens", his brilliant shoephone was adapted and issued to all minions.

 

[badunoff]

Can the infirmary do plastic surgeries and other feature changing procedures or do we need to buy a hospital for that?

I know that my questions are probably getting annoying. Please forgive me.

 

[Milarqui]

So, we have 2 Henchmen:
General Babaham -> Carl Lightman (MI5 Rogue Agent, Living Lie Detector)
Vladmir Virskosky -> Mr. Tolkovyy (MENSA member, genius researcher)

@badunoff: well, right now, it'll take some time. Your infirmary isn't a full blown hospital, but with time, and some research, it could have such facilities.

 

[Nuka-sama]

Andrew Hunt was a player in almost every sense of the word. A former baseball star, he had used his good looks and nationwide celebrity status to marry Edna Worsley, a stunning woman who modeled, and as an added bonus, was the daughter and heiress to her father’s massive corporate empire. Hunt for the most part managed the empire, and, being sold on a grand idea, was one of the founders of Vegas’s super casinos. Though not the biggest fish, he was one of the major faces, and many knew him as one of the “Lords of the Strip”. If he said something would be good for the Strip, then the other owners fell in line. His casino business did give him one extra avenue to be called a player…that was, until Edna found out about it and threatened to divorce him. No, that wouldn’t be good. All of his assets were in his wife’s business, which was strictly hers. He drew money out of it of course, but the empire was still hers. What could she expect though? She was 50, and there were far more appeasing entrees available to him and his cash.

When some buddies came to town and wanted a poker game, Andrew had a perfect plan. Edna had her casinos on lockdown watching for his misadventures, but that newer one, the Atlantis, that would be safe. He presumed Tiberius was like himself; a rich man looking for the pleasures a rich man was entitled to. And he was right! In a brief phone call, a private room with waitresses and never ending drinks were secured, all free of charge. A fruit basket would be in order…

The poker game was intense and high stakes. These guys weren’t average college buddies; they were multi millionaires, all of them. Hunt wasn’t even the richest man there! The hands were high stakes, hundreds of thousands were won and lost, until it came down to one final hand. Everyone was all in. Robert Harris flashed his two Queens, which matched up with the Queen already on the table. But Andrew had a gamble; His Ace and King would win it if a Jack came up; a 10 was already on the table. The flop turned up; a 3 of hearts, nothing. Everyone looked nervously on, and then, his moment of triumph; a Jack! He scooped up his winnings and he drank and drank and drank. A pretty young girl invited him up to a room, on the house.

He went in and found the woman in a suggestive leather dress. As they laid on the bed, she offered a glass of wine before they started, and he accepted the drink, gulping it down heartily. She smiled and climbed on top of him, and began typing a blindfold over his eyes, and handcuffing his wrists to the bed. He started to protest, but the girl whispered into his ear seductively “You’ve been a very bad, bad boy” and with that his protests fell silent.

Hunt woke up with an awful headache. Still handcuffed, still without clothes. A man in a brown suite and fedora was smoking. Was that…was that onion smell? It was putrid.

“Glad to see you’re awake princess”

“What?”

“Oh you don’t remember? It was one of the many identities you held last night.” He unlocked the handcuffs and handed him a brown envelope. Very interesting rally. Some showed Hunt simply having his affair, while others showed more…inappropriate behavior, including one where he was indeed in women’s clothing.

A nervous laugh escaped Hunt’s lip “How much then? 20 grand? 25?”

“For your entire corporate empire? No no no. Besides, I have no need for money. What I want is your cooperation.”

“With what?”

“You’ll see. Just consider yourself under new management.” The man gave him a business card. Hunt stared at it until he exclaimed “You were the dealer!”

“Naturally”

“Your name?”

“Delaware. Though of course, I wouldn’t expect you to try blacklisting me. No, that would be bad. You’re going to be a good boy now, or the world will see how much you like being a bad girl. Ms. Dover gives her regards.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving Andrew to wonder how the player just got played.

 

[Haseri]

"What was my father's plan, exactly, Wilheim?"

"To take over the world, Herr von Barron."

"Yes, but why?"

"He was little unclear on that front. I fear he was only following in your grandfather's footsteps."

"So what was his plan?"

"I fear he did not have a plan either. Herr Baron was the product of several generations of inbreeding. I dare say your great-grandmother was the first new blood injected in the line in a while. Although he was fine physically, he was, alas, not the most mentally stable of individuals."

"But he made all that money!"

"Ye-es. I did not say he was not functional. Beyond 'take over the world' he didn't have much of a reason beyond that."

"Hmm. What of father's old henchmen? Any word from them?"

"I'm afraid not. Those that didn't die in the unfortunate accident have gone underground. I am putting out feelers for them, but most of them were very good."

"Damn it all."

"If I may change the subject, there is a little matter of income. Your minions will demand pay."

"Just demand some protection money from the businesses around here. Oh don't look so horrified, I'm sure I'll come up with something to rival father soon enough."

 

[Milarqui]

And, 24 hours before the limit I put a few days ago is met, the grand number of orders is...

ONE. OUT OF FOURTEEN.

Gentlemen (and ladies, if there is any out there), do not make me cancel this NES. It is the most original one I've made, and if you don't send those orders and/or write stories, I will have to consider the cancellation, given the actual (lack of) interest you seem to have, when compared to the supposed interest you showed when I presented this idea.

Please, send orders.

 

[Omega124]

Mil, people may have not sent orders because you only posted it after the update in normal letters. It was easily lost.

 

[Milarqui]

Ugh... Well, I hope that you can get those orders in soon. I'm willing to give you guys an extra 48 hours if you really need them.

 

[merciary]

Oh crude I some how misread the date, I'll have something out soon.
Edit: Okay story first orders will be coming soon.
*Ring*
The bell chimed as a customer walk through the doors at Mobius Mall, he was a smallish man wearing a trench coat with a fedora on. The employees looked at him and sighed, it was almost closing time and they all had better things to do than wait for the last customer of the day to make up his mind about what fruit he wanted.

Oddly the man walked straight up to the register, the employees kept a close eye on him. Suddenly the man pulled a gun out off his coat and shouted at the clerk, "This is a robbery give me all your money!"

He heard a quick flurry of movement and felt something metal on the back of his neck.

"Put the gun down and turn around slowly."

He did what he was told and saw nine angry men with pistols all drawn on him. After he had completely turned around he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun behind him.

"I know it has been a while since I've robbed a store but I don't think security has gotten this tight, what's going on here?"

"Shut up! We're asking the questions here, who are you?"

He saw no point in arguing with armed men, "I am Lance Guill, expert thief. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

There was a lot of snickering and a few quizzical looks until a voice in the back spoke out, "Wait I've heard of you. Weren't you the thief whose hideout was discovered recently?"

"It was not discovered, the idiot in the apartment below me caught the whole building on fire trying to cook some popcorn! Everything I owned was destroyed, all of my gadgets and loot it was horrible!"

"Yeah sure real sad now what are we going to do with you?"

"What is all this racket up here I'm trying to work on SCIENCE downstairs?", Dr. Mobius walked out of the backroom and surveyed the situation.

"Sorry boss, we've apparently caught a down-on-his-luck master thief. What do you want to do with him?"

"A master thief really? We could use a man like you with us. I can in time provide you with all the gadgets you could ever hope for and scores that you could never of dreamed of. What do you say?"

"I'm tempted, what are you trying to do?"

"Why take over the world, FOR SCIENCE!"

"Hmm...., Well its better than any thing I've ever planned to do. Why not?"

"Wonderful, this is a great day FOR SCIENCE!", with that Dr. Mobius cackled his way into the backroom.

"Does he always do that?"

"Yeah you get use to it"

 

[bestshot9]

Mikhail Vlaskov was not a happy man. He had been, up until about a month ago, he had been about as happy as any man in Omsk could be. He was in his early sixties, had a large bushy mustache, round nose, and an almost permanent smile on his face. That is, he used to. Now he looked spooked and stressed wherever he went.

Mikhail was the plant manager for the TransMarsh factory in Omsk. That meant he was in charge of large-scale tank production for the Soviet Union. He had always met his monthly quota for production, and as such was a fairly respectable Party man within the city of Omsk, and was about as successful as anyone under the Bolshevik regime could be.

But last month, he started getting strange letters. At first, he thought they might be jokes. He didn't pay much attention to them. They were asking for his assistance in a plan to help improve the motherland and protect it from outside capitalist fiends. With no return address, he believed these to just be pranks. But the letters kept coming, and growing more sinister each time. They also warned him: report this to anyone, and his family would be in danger.

They became more and more blunt as they kept coming, as well. By now, the letter he held shakily in his hand, licking his lips nervously and sweating like a stuck pig, couldn't be more plain. Give us the plans for the latest model prototype tank his factory was working on, or they'd come after him and his family. Warn the authorities about these letters, and they'd go after his family as well. They were willing to offer rubles, too, in fact they insisted on giving him something for his effort. Again he licked his lips, contemplating the outcome. These people, he didn't know who they were, were persistent. He didn't know if he could get away with going to the police... could he take the chance? Mikhail had always been a bit of a coward, he was easily bullied. Would he give in to this strange group's demands? Could he be strong enough to turn them in? He wasn't sure. For now, he just sat in his small office, worrying about what would happen if he did nothing.

 

[Prospo]

On vacation. NPC me until I get back.

 

[Seon]

"Hey, Carl," a voice said through the walkie-talkie said. "Could you come up to room 403? There's something that needs to be checked out."

Carl chuckled and grasped at his walkie talkie. "What? Another ghost? A rat? A 5 year old girl with a water pistol?"

"Ha ha, very funny..."

"Alright, coming," said Carl. Carl Frederich was a manager, one of the few people remaining in the Boss's Game of Intrigue. He came far through his wits, his perfect intellect, his looks, his physical ability, and finally a small silenced pistol that he carried with him at all times and a small burglar's toolkit.

Thusly, he was instantly suspiscious of the intercom. One did not survive long in the game of intrigue while investigating any random bits of sound or searching through haystacks for supposed intruders. He pulled out his pistol and made his way to room 403.

Before he entered the fourth floor of the building, he silently checked for any tripwires. There was none. Satisfied, he checked for lasers. There was none of that either. He then looked for signs that could show him if anything was out of place... the angle of the slightly open door leading into room 405.... the discarded orange juice carton on the hallway.... and most importantly, nobody in sight. No sign of the disembodied voice of Joe, the store grunt, that called him up here.

Of course, he could be in room 403, playing games on his iPhone like he always do. He took out a small sliver of a mirror from his pockets and used its reflective properties to peer into room 403. Indeed, there was Joe, sitting on the couch, holding an iPhone in his hands.

Carl entered the room. "What's up, Joe?"

"Yes, Carl, I was digging through storage in this room when I found this." Joe held a small brown unmarked box. "I was wondering where this thing went."

Carl frowned. "Here, let me open it u-"

Suddenly a man rushed into the room. "GUYS! A BOMB THREAT CAME INTO THE STORE! THEY SAY THAT THEY HID THE BOMB SOMEWHERE IN THE FOURTH FLOOR AND IS GOING TO DETONATE IT!"

Carl and Joe looked at each other. Then at the brown package he held in their hands. Carl dropped the box.

"COME ON!" said the man. "WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" He grabbed Carl and Joe and rushed towards the stairs.

"TO THE FIRE ESCAPE!!!" the man yelled.

"IT'S LOCKED!" Joe screamed.

"Remind me to sue the company when I get out of here," the man said.

"Stay back," Carl said calmly. He pulled out a small paper clip and wedged it into the lock. One or two twists and it was open.

"Carl, you are like, my new hero man," Joe said. He kicked open the door, walked through it and immediately fell 4 stories to his death.

"Wha..." Carl muttered before he got pushed by the man too.

...................................................................................................................................

"Ah, Mr...." Moreau trailed off.

"Strange." the man finished. He flashed one of those grins. "David Strange."

"Well, you seem to have done it, man," Moreau said. "You are the last survivor of the game of intrigue. And you seem to have used rather...unorthodox methods..."

"Oh, it was nothing sir," Strange said.

"You also seem to have used rather...unorthodox methods to accomplish this goal..."

"I am very creative, sir."

"You blew up the fire escape with a bomb."

"The rules of the Game of Intrigue said that there is no rules for the game of intrigue, sir."

"You whacked a man off the rooftop with a fish."

"I used a big frozen salmon sir. It counted as a weapon." The expression on David Strange was a strange mixture of businessman's smile and a true sociopath.

"You suggested several of the contestants to perform surgery on themselves to..."

"Oh, I would rather not talk about that, sir." David Strange said.

"...And then used an obscure clause in the employee employer contract that said that female workers were not fit to work in certain stations to kick them off of the competition." Moreau continued anyways.

"Is there..." David Strange asked. "A reason why there are 4 heavily armed guards in the room with us, sir?"

"I do hope there isn't," Moreau answered flatly.

David Strange blinked. Then shrugged. "Fair enough, boss."

"So," Moreau said, glinting. "As my second in command from this point... there are some things that I would be expecting from you starting now. I am sure that you will see that working with me will work for both our gain..."

 

[Milarqui]

I have orders from:
Haseri - Hans von Barron
merciary - Dr Mobius
badunoff - General Babahamm
ChiefDesigner - Mr Tan
bestshot9 - Yuri Semmovich
Seon - David Moreau
Prospo (NPCed) - Vladmir Virskosky

Honestly, guys. 6 (+1 NPCed) out of 14 ain't good at all. Don't make me . I thought you guys actually wanted to play!

EDIT: If two people send orders before midnight (that's midnight Spain time, or six hours from the moment this message was posted) I'll keep up with the good mood and not cause the ones that don't send orders horrible problems.

 

[merciary]

I'm sure I sent you orders.

 

[Milarqui]

I'm sure I sent you orders.

EDIT: Sorry, I hadn't seen them before, you have them.

 

[merciary]

yeah I checked they're in my sent file, I'll send them again though.