Post by Vulgar on Mar 11, 2016 21:12:02 GMT -5
The air in the top floor of Dan Severn's waste management complex hangs heavy with tobacco smoke and sex miasma. Amidst a gathering of Ukrainian arms dealers, the mustachioed ogre paces up and down his shadowy domain with an embossed King of Denmark cigar jutting from his mouth like a gigantic, golden dick. The pale-faced Eastern Europeans eye their potential customer both with greed and apprehension, as anyone in this room is liable to walk out a millionaire... Or a sodomy victim.
Dan Severn: It's been obvious to me for a long time now that mankind is on the cusp of of transcending its frail physical shell. If one wanted to create a Frankenstein monster... He really could do it. Six years ago, I planted a seed in Chinatown for just that purpose. That embryo is blossoming, now; he's almost fully developed internally. The next step I need to take is to improve him from WITHOUT, to convert the crude and feeble matter that encases his brain and Chi-organs into an exoskeleton that will actually protect those assets from harm.
So what do you gentlemen have for me today?
Like a swarm of bickering rodents, the Ukrainians pull out their suitcases and begin besieging Severn with a myriad of sales pitches and half-baked theoretical ideas. The beefy Greco-Roman champion stoically endures this noise for several moments, not even attempting to differentiate who is saying what while he sucks down his velvety, smooth cigar smoke like an unending stream of semen. Only when the door to his office suddenly springs open does his expression change and everyone fall silent. Entering the room like someone stepping through the gates of Hell is a tall man in a laboratory trench coat, his features hidden by the pervasive darkness that hangs like a mist in Severn's den. The mustachioed muscleman himself signals for all the other parties to step aside as this mysterious figure placidly approaches his desk with a minuscule satchel in hand.
Dan Severn: My, my... I wasn't expecting to see YOU here. What have you got to show me?
Before the strange figure can speak, one of the younger arms dealers angrily pipes up and tries to butt his way in front of Severn's desk.
Young Arms Dealer: Wait a minute! This guy came LATE, why should he be the first one to audition his merchandise? Who is this punk any- GAH!
Like a viper, the slender mystery-man lashes out and seizes the young agitator by the wrist. Almost instantaneously, fissures in the ignorant youth's flesh begin splitting up across his arm and over his face. The crowd gasps as their young compatriot begins convulsing like a monkey that had just gotten tangled in an electric fence.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: You should do well to bite your tongue, flippant youth! Lest you want to be felled like the one Douglas Dedge all those years ago... For my name is Yevgeni Zolotarev, and MY TOUCH IS DEATH!!!
Like a pyramid of rotting meat, the youth's body collapses in on itself and spills to the floor in a hail of offal. The other arms dealers disgustedly step back in an effort to avoid the rancid goo pouring down the carpet like a bucket of fat free peanut butter. Many look so traumatized by what they've just witnessed that they my never speak for years. Zolotarev, meanwhile, simply just wipes himself off and opens up his satchel for Severn to see.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: Now that I have your undivided attention, Mr. Severn: I, of the Miamoto Clan, present to you a means by which you can actualize your "Frankenstein monster."
Severn's eyes open wide as the gaunt scientist pulls out a slim vial of viscous, grey liquid.
Dan Severn: Wait a minute, Zolotarev. I know what THAT is.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: Yes, I'm sure you're familiar with Underground PitFighting's number one chemical export.
The Beast nods.
Dan Severn: Streetroids, a type of PED designed specifically to develop the muscles used for punching. I can't say I understand the purpose of you showing me the chief export of my rival-
Yevgeni Zolotarev: - Mr. Severn! This is no ordinary vial of Streetroids! I have made a modification... A simple, yet devastating alteration that will make your Frankenstein more dangerous than even you envisioned.
All it took was a bonding agent to allow the steroid to metabolize in conjunction with Chi already present in an organism's system. With that, your subject will be able to throw-
The diamond-engraved cigar drops from Severn's lips.
Dan Severn: ... A Chi Punch.
The room sits silently for several moments. A self-assured smile has uncurled on Zolotarev's lips, as he knows he has his man.
Dan Severn: Sold!
The Beast pulls a comedically large game-show check out from underneath his desk and writes it in Zolotarev's name for twenty million dollars. The mysterious drug peddler doesn't even bother shaking his customer's hand before snagging his cash and rushing off out of the office, leaving his satchel of chi-roids behind for Severn to use as he pleases. The other dealers, still reeling from having witnessed one of their fellow countrymen being disintegrated, wearily begin to walk off as well. Severn, however, prevents them from leaving by activating a wall of battleship steel to come up between them and the exit. When the group of Eastern Europeans turns around, all they see is a blur of flesh before being collectively shoved face-first into the carpet.
Fin.
Dan Severn: It's been obvious to me for a long time now that mankind is on the cusp of of transcending its frail physical shell. If one wanted to create a Frankenstein monster... He really could do it. Six years ago, I planted a seed in Chinatown for just that purpose. That embryo is blossoming, now; he's almost fully developed internally. The next step I need to take is to improve him from WITHOUT, to convert the crude and feeble matter that encases his brain and Chi-organs into an exoskeleton that will actually protect those assets from harm.
So what do you gentlemen have for me today?
Like a swarm of bickering rodents, the Ukrainians pull out their suitcases and begin besieging Severn with a myriad of sales pitches and half-baked theoretical ideas. The beefy Greco-Roman champion stoically endures this noise for several moments, not even attempting to differentiate who is saying what while he sucks down his velvety, smooth cigar smoke like an unending stream of semen. Only when the door to his office suddenly springs open does his expression change and everyone fall silent. Entering the room like someone stepping through the gates of Hell is a tall man in a laboratory trench coat, his features hidden by the pervasive darkness that hangs like a mist in Severn's den. The mustachioed muscleman himself signals for all the other parties to step aside as this mysterious figure placidly approaches his desk with a minuscule satchel in hand.
Dan Severn: My, my... I wasn't expecting to see YOU here. What have you got to show me?
Before the strange figure can speak, one of the younger arms dealers angrily pipes up and tries to butt his way in front of Severn's desk.
Young Arms Dealer: Wait a minute! This guy came LATE, why should he be the first one to audition his merchandise? Who is this punk any- GAH!
Like a viper, the slender mystery-man lashes out and seizes the young agitator by the wrist. Almost instantaneously, fissures in the ignorant youth's flesh begin splitting up across his arm and over his face. The crowd gasps as their young compatriot begins convulsing like a monkey that had just gotten tangled in an electric fence.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: You should do well to bite your tongue, flippant youth! Lest you want to be felled like the one Douglas Dedge all those years ago... For my name is Yevgeni Zolotarev, and MY TOUCH IS DEATH!!!
Like a pyramid of rotting meat, the youth's body collapses in on itself and spills to the floor in a hail of offal. The other arms dealers disgustedly step back in an effort to avoid the rancid goo pouring down the carpet like a bucket of fat free peanut butter. Many look so traumatized by what they've just witnessed that they my never speak for years. Zolotarev, meanwhile, simply just wipes himself off and opens up his satchel for Severn to see.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: Now that I have your undivided attention, Mr. Severn: I, of the Miamoto Clan, present to you a means by which you can actualize your "Frankenstein monster."
Severn's eyes open wide as the gaunt scientist pulls out a slim vial of viscous, grey liquid.
Dan Severn: Wait a minute, Zolotarev. I know what THAT is.
Yevgeni Zolotarev: Yes, I'm sure you're familiar with Underground PitFighting's number one chemical export.
The Beast nods.
Dan Severn: Streetroids, a type of PED designed specifically to develop the muscles used for punching. I can't say I understand the purpose of you showing me the chief export of my rival-
Yevgeni Zolotarev: - Mr. Severn! This is no ordinary vial of Streetroids! I have made a modification... A simple, yet devastating alteration that will make your Frankenstein more dangerous than even you envisioned.
All it took was a bonding agent to allow the steroid to metabolize in conjunction with Chi already present in an organism's system. With that, your subject will be able to throw-
The diamond-engraved cigar drops from Severn's lips.
Dan Severn: ... A Chi Punch.
The room sits silently for several moments. A self-assured smile has uncurled on Zolotarev's lips, as he knows he has his man.
Dan Severn: Sold!
The Beast pulls a comedically large game-show check out from underneath his desk and writes it in Zolotarev's name for twenty million dollars. The mysterious drug peddler doesn't even bother shaking his customer's hand before snagging his cash and rushing off out of the office, leaving his satchel of chi-roids behind for Severn to use as he pleases. The other dealers, still reeling from having witnessed one of their fellow countrymen being disintegrated, wearily begin to walk off as well. Severn, however, prevents them from leaving by activating a wall of battleship steel to come up between them and the exit. When the group of Eastern Europeans turns around, all they see is a blur of flesh before being collectively shoved face-first into the carpet.
Fin.
