Sometimes, one had to simply plunk down the big bucks for the big names.

Yeah, sure, you could hire the Ikari Warriors, but they were old news. Pushing
40. Ancient relics of the Star Wars era and really crappy Vietnam bloodbath
wet-dream flicks.

And you could perhaps buy the services of that Regina lady, the one that seemed
to have a raptor or six hot on her ass every ten paces. She was good, sure, but
not the best. That, and those raptors really made talking to her a lesson in
limb re-attachment.

Or, just if you had the cash, you might be able to pay the Shock Troopers off
and have them kick ass and take names. If you could get past the hilarious
names, bad engrish and their constant need to shout out the name of whatever
they picked up (thus, ruining the element of surprise), they were alright for
the price tag they carried.

But, as mentioned before, sometimes the big guns were needed.

[---]

"Hi, my name's Fuuma, and I'm a ninja."

The twenty-or-so beings in the room, garbed in various forms of ninja-like
attire, waved back at their newest member, the one in the funky red headdress.
"Hi, Fuuma!" The group hello done, Geki stood and approached Fuuma slowly,
purposefully.

"You are... a ninja."

"Yes. Last of the Fuuma clan."

"There *is* no Fuuma clan... poser."

Fuuma immediately stood his ground, striking what could equate as a heroic
pose, seeing that he'd managed to step on a caltrop someone dropped on the
floor. "This is not true! The history of our clan... may have been erased..."

[---]

"... SIR! I've found it! I've found it!" The aide held the aged sheet of
parchment up, admiring its handiwork. "The last document of the Forgotten Fuuma
Clan! Sir, you must take a loo--" From behind a bush, the aide's professor
grabbed the parchment and withdrew his hand back into the brush. "... so? What
do you think, sir? We'll be famous!"

After a few slight grunts, the professor handed the crumpled up sheet back to
the aide. "... next time, son, buy a better grade of toilet paper. Now throw
that away for me, hmm?"

The aide just blinked a few times, then screamed to the heavens.

[---]

"... but I live ON!" Another pose, this one thankfully not needing his aching
foot. Geki was, as one could expect, not amused.

"Let me guess... the last document of you clan was discovered, only to be used
as toilet paper and then burned into so much dust, forever erasing your claim
to be a true ninja."

"Yes... yes... YES! You finally understand! Now..." Fuuma put on his best grin.
"Can I join?"

[---]

... when Fumma awoke, he was staring into the eyes of his boss. No wait, no one
ever SAW his eyes, so he was really staring at his hair and the brim of his
hat. But he was really staring at his eyes. But he wasn't. But he was. Christ,
this is confusing. Back to Fuuma, then.

"Had fun, Fumie?" Cracker Jack slapped a meaty paw on Fuuma's head and lifted
him up without much effort. "Lesse... a few bruises... some cuts... they took
your pants... and there seems to be lots of thumbtacks embedded in your ass."

"I was wondering what that odd, prickly, yet oh-so-nice sensation was." Fuuma
went about yanking the tacks out as only a true ninja could: weeping like a
total sackless weenie.

"Look, it's your fault for trying. This is, what, the eighth time they've
kicked you out? And be thankful it was just thumbtacks." CJ hopped into his
convertible and revved her up. "Remember when we had to rip off the flypaper
from last time?"

Fuuma gingerly sat down in t he backseat. "Rather intimately. I hadn't been
shaved clean like that since my initiation into Kappa House..." He sighed,
staring into space. "Those were the days..."

"... Fuuma. I like you, so stop talking like that before I beat you like a
dog."

"... yessir."

[---]

"... raise you ten." Sharon took a drag from her cigar and tossed a ten into
the pot.

"I see that... and raise you ten, babes." Poison, perched atop the lap of the
mass of human muscle and not-much-else that was Hugo, tossed out hir cash as
well.

"Pfft. You're all quite... transparent." One Daniel J. D'Arby met the bet, and
raised it even further. "This round is mine. You might as well give up before I
steal your lunch money." He glanced over to the last poker player. "Your call."

"... I call." Onslaught slammed his money and his cards to the table. Or
rather, through it. "BEHOLD MY MIGHTY HAND!"

D'Arby's jaw dropped. "... no way."

Sharon sighed and flicked her cards away. "He always wins. Fuck. Like he's
psychic or something."

"You're tellin' me. Mr. J's gonna kill us for blowing the booze money." Poison
grimaced and dropped hir hand, while Hugo grunted unintelligibly and picked his
nose with the severed arm of a random passer-by he'd maimed for no good reason.

Onslaught mentally scooped up his winnings, all grins. "The dream is dead."

[---]

Forgot About Jae
CHAPTER 0: This Is *Not* An RECBT Clone. Really. I Mean It! Stop Staring!

Written, destroyed, re-written, re-destroyed, and finally channeled by Shelby
Scott, aka Darkheart One
Spawned by rabid tree lobsters

[---]

There was only one thing on his mind.

Conquering EVIL.

There was also another thing on his mind. Which horribly contradicted two
sentences ago, because he was only supposed to have one thing on his mind. But
don't think about it too hard, because if you do, I'll haunt you in your dreams
and do things to your pets.

*ahem*

There was also another thing on his mind.

Getting a job. Preferably a GOOD one. GOOD was GOOD, after all. Especially if
it paid well.

So he did what any young adult would do when faced with having to find a job.

Which is, to sum things up, abso-fucking-lutely nothing about it.

Instead, he busied himself with roaming the streets of South Town, his ever-
present girlfriend in tow, greeting friends, helping old ladies across the
street, beating thugs, playing the occasional bout of DDR, beating more thugs,
pausing to eat and chat about chaste, GOOD, wholesome things with Nameless
Everpresent Girlfriend, talk smack to his brother (the slack-ass bitch
motherfucker) and smile.

The smiling was the important part. For it was his calling card. His trademark.
His greatest gift from his dear, departed father, may his name forever ring in
the heavens. Of course, the car was nice, as was the autographed photo of the
old Team Korea from the bygone days of the King of Fighters tournament. But the
smile... it was something much more meaningful. Something he had to keep
intact. In fact...

He was *just* about to ask Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend if his smile was on
right when a newspaper hit him in the face. The holder, a strange, small man
with "PLOT DEVICE" written on his shirt walked on into the sunset.

His is another story.

Anyway, the newspaper. First of all, it really, *really* stung. "Ow! Damn,
what's up with him?" Jae peeled the paper off of his face and was ready toss
it, for it was opened to the classifieds, and all they had on them was openings
for EVIL job positions. EVIL baker, EVIL beautician, EVIL day care, EVIL male
dancer...

"... you should try that one." Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend pointed at the
male dancer one timidly. Naturally, Jae blushed fifty shades of red, and a few
non-traditional colors as well, for he was slightly allergic to EVIL things
that hit him in the face, like the South Town EVIL Herald.

"Dear... I couldn't. Although it would make me happy to have you and a few of
your friends watch me thrust my loins while you place bills into my G-string...
it is EVIL. Such a thing I cannot stand, or dance, for." Jae smiled at Nameless
Girlfriend, blinding her slightly. "Do forgive me."

"Of... of course, honey. Just... close your mouth, please." She smiled
sheepishly, and Jae did just that, a bit too late to prevent a driver,
thoroughly blinded from the glare of his perfect teeth, from plowing into the
sidewalk and mercilessly running down Benimaru Nikaido.

The people on the sidewalk cheered, and the driver was declared a national
hero.

His, too, is another story.

Anyway, Jae's teeth were bright. So he closed his mouth. This pleased his
Nameless Girlfriend, and he was about to toss the paper... when he saw
something that made him smile.

"WANTED: One GOOD worker with GOOD people skills and GOOD disposition; must be
willing to travel. GOOD experience a must. All applicants inquire at Violence
Ltd. in person."

Jae smiled. A happy, broad, victorious smile. "Finally... this is it!" He
snagged his girlfriend's wrist and dragged her along. "Come with me... we don't
have a moment to waste!" Without much protest, she followed. As they vanished
around a corner, the guy who ran over Benimaru accidentally backed over his
corpse.

A documentary was commissioned in his honor.

Again... his is another story.

Anyway, [---].

"Thank you for calling Violence Limited. You point, we mangle beyond
recognition." Poison was filing hir nails. The customer was raving on about
zombies eating his guests and needing assistance. "I see... well... have you
called S.T.A.R.S. yet? We normally don't do the undead." The guy on the line
answered with a loud scream, then a wet gurgle. The line then hung up.

"... what a rude little bitch. Hmph." Shi hung the phone up... then looked up.

There was a young Korean man wearing a white and green outfit, with an
apparently Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend right behind him, staring a hole
into Poison like shi was going to try and make a move on him.

Fuck, she's a smart one, Poison thought. I'll kill her first.

"I'm here for the GOOD job." The man smiled. Poison suddenly felt the urge to
look away and hiss. Which shi did. Quite loudly.

"Bright... light... close your... mouth!" Jae did so, and Poison peeked through
hir fingers before resuming hir normal look of don't-give-a-shitness. "...
okay. Lemme call Mr. J." Shi dialed a few numbers, taking a moment to glare at
the man so he wouldn't smile.

"... Sharon, put. The gun. Down. Yeah, Poison?"

"We got an applicant for the gofer job." Shi glanced up at Jae, then snorted.

"Is he moderately handsome?"

"Yep."

"Bright smile?"

"Too bright. Shit, you should see it."

"Ah. Nameless Girlfriend?"

"I hate her already."

"Ask him The Question."

Poison removed the phone from hir ear and glanced at Jae. "Are you on the quest
to avenge the untimely death of your father, who was mercilessly slain in the
pursuit of justice, fair play and the furtherment of Tae Kwon Do?"

Jae stiffened slightly, and not because Nameless Girlfriend had her hand down
the back of his pants. Wait, she did, but that wasn't what caused him to
stiffen. No siree. Not at all. No way.

Okay, maybe a little, but the question helped.

"Why yes. Yes I am."

Poison put the phone back to hir ear. "He's got an underlying goal."

CJ frowned over the phone. How that was possible could not be properly
explained by mere text, so you'll just have to believe it and shut your damn
mouth. "If we hire him, we'll probably be stuck on some ongoing adventure full
of wacky hijinks, blatant rip-offs of other series, and the repeated, brutal
and morbidly hilarious slayings of various fighting game characters."

"So?"

CJ paused. "Bleah. Hire him anyw--Sharon! That gun doesn't go there! Christ..."
Jack hung up, and Poison casually dropped the phone onto the receiver.

"You're hired, bigshot." Shi groaned and reached for hir bottle of brandy. How
shi hated guys with Nameless Girlfriends. Ruined all hir fun.

Jae smiled.

Nameless Girlfriend groped.

Jae smiled even more.

Poison winced. "Fuck! Shut your mouth!"