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Description
Do Ya Feel Lucky, Punk?

Intro

One fine day, a potential "client" called me on my office phone, which was slightly unusual. I picked up on the third ring. The voice on the other side was masked by a vocal distortion device. It spoke in the calm, inflectionless, and excruciatingly precise voice of a computer program.

"Hello, Mr. Lucky. I come seeking the gold at the end of the rainbow."

My possible client wanted to keep his/her identity secret. Not so unusual. I wondered what Roboclient would want. He/she/it gave one of the correct passwords, so I was a bit intrigued. I twirled my pen around my fingers, waiting for the second password.

"I have heard many great things about your skills. I have heard that your "executive decisions" are well worth the cost, and that your skill is unrivaled. I trust in my sources, but I need proof."

There it was. The passwords matched, and my interest was peaked. I sat up and focused on the conversation.

"How do I know this is not a set up?"

Roboclient paused for a second, clearly irritated. That, and he/she/it needed the time to type into the program. This whole lack-of-gender thing was pissing me off. Thinking of Roboclient as he/she/it was getting annoying, fast. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it.

Mr./Mrs./Ms. Roboclient said "I have provided the correct password, is that not enough?", making me think that he/she/it was a relative amateur.

I thought for a moment before aswering.

"I guess, although passwords and countersigns aren't that hard to find out."

Roboclient's reply was swift, as if he/she/it was expecting my reply.

"You will just have to take that chance. Although you talk like a professional, I still require proof."

Well now. A client with guts. That's refreshing. I stifled my irritation as I launched into my "Get the client" speech, with a few modifications. a little intimidation would go a long way towards preventing further conflicts. Besides, I was feeling particularly vindictive at that moment.

"I don't like talking about the things I do, or the things I have done. I am a professional assassin, the world's best. I am the best for two reasons. One, I never get caught, and two, I never fail. I achieve those two things very easily. I run a consulting business. All of my payments are made in installments of "consulting fees" that accumulate over time. End of the Rainbow Consulting has made me a fortune in legal income, and it provides a valid business to cover me and the paper trail. My slogan is: "Mr. Lucky of End of the Rainbow Consulting. I'll make sure your problem is executed." I do legitimate business there as well. Not everyone who comes to me needs their "problem" executed. Some people just need a person, or object found. I do that kind of work too. I also offer psychiatric counseling to troubled teens. It keeps me occupied during regular business hours. I know, I know. Being the world's best assassin and teaching troubled teens to take control of their lives seems like an unlikely mix, but hey. That's life. There's very little about me that stick out, besides the many marksmanship awards that cover the wall behind my desk, and the showcase of martial arts trophies occupying a full quarter of my office. That and the secret war room in my basement, but hey, where else am I going to plot the assassination of a rogue general from 2000 miles away? I can tell that you don't believe I could pull something like that off. Well, watch the news tonight. You'll know it when you see it. I want to start this working relationship off on the right foot. Call me then."

I hung up the phone on my potential client, and smiled. Boy was he/she/it in for a shock. So was the rest of the world. It was time that I announced myself to the world. I went down to my war room, a cavernous underground room of solid steel, and set the curse in motion. I had been preparing this curse for a month, and it was VERY hard to do. I might not be fast, but I always preferred quality over quantity. Besides, this was going to be fun. I poured in the final bit of energy and set the entropy curse in motion. Dark power built to a massive peak before lashing out in a bolt of black, sentient lightning. It raced across 2000 miles in a few seconds, and took effect moments later. A rogue, malfunctioning, but fully armed ICBM launched from a secret facility 50 miles away from me. The missile, arced on a flawed trajectory, and hurtled toward the unsuspecting general. It landed right on his lap. The resulting explosion blasted a new, and very impressive, crater into the Mexican desert. Good thing I wanted to start this off with a bang, right?

Description
Do Ya Feel Lucky, Punk?

Intro

One fine day, a potential "client" called me on my office phone, which was slightly unusual. I picked up on the third ring. The voice on the other side was masked by a vocal distortion device. It spoke in the calm, inflectionless, and excruciatingly precise voice of a computer program.

"Hello, Mr. Lucky. I come seeking the gold at the end of the rainbow."

My possible client wanted to keep his/her identity secret. Not so unusual. I wondered what Roboclient would want. He/she/it gave one of the correct passwords, so I was a bit intrigued. I twirled my pen around my fingers, waiting for the second password.

"I have heard many great things about your skills. I have heard that your "executive decisions" are well worth the cost, and that your skill is unrivaled. I trust in my sources, but I need proof."

There it was. The passwords matched, and my interest was peaked. I sat up and focused on the conversation.

"How do I know this is not a set up?"

Roboclient paused for a second, clearly irritated. That, and he/she/it needed the time to type into the program. This whole lack-of-gender thing was pissing me off. Thinking of Roboclient as he/she/it was getting annoying, fast. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it.

Mr./Mrs./Ms. Roboclient said "I have provided the correct password, is that not enough?", making me think that he/she/it was a relative amateur.

I thought for a moment before aswering.

"I guess, although passwords and countersigns aren't that hard to find out."

Roboclient's reply was swift, as if he/she/it was expecting my reply.

"You will just have to take that chance. Although you talk like a professional, I still require proof."

Well now. A client with guts. That's refreshing. I stifled my irritation as I launched into my "Get the client" speech, with a few modifications. a little intimidation would go a long way towards preventing further conflicts. Besides, I was feeling particularly vindictive at that moment.

"I don't like talking about the things I do, or the things I have done. I am a professional assassin, the world's best. I am the best for two reasons. One, I never get caught, and two, I never fail. I achieve those two things very easily. I run a consulting business. All of my payments are made in installments of "consulting fees" that accumulate over time. End of the Rainbow Consulting has made me a fortune in legal income, and it provides a valid business to cover me and the paper trail. My slogan is: "Mr. Lucky of End of the Rainbow Consulting. I'll make sure your problem is executed." I do legitimate business there as well. Not everyone who comes to me needs their "problem" executed. Some people just need a person, or object found. I do that kind of work too. I also offer psychiatric counseling to troubled teens. It keeps me occupied during regular business hours. I know, I know. Being the world's best assassin and teaching troubled teens to take control of their lives seems like an unlikely mix, but hey. That's life. There's very little about me that stick out, besides the many marksmanship awards that cover the wall behind my desk, and the showcase of martial arts trophies occupying a full quarter of my office. That and the secret war room in my basement, but hey, where else am I going to plot the assassination of a rogue general from 2000 miles away? I can tell that you don't believe I could pull something like that off. Well, watch the news tonight. You'll know it when you see it. I want to start this working relationship off on the right foot. Call me then."

I hung up the phone on my potential client, and smiled. Boy was he/she/it in for a shock. So was the rest of the world. It was time that I announced myself to the world. I went down to my war room, a cavernous underground room of solid steel, and set the curse in motion. I had been preparing this curse for a month, and it was VERY hard to do. I might not be fast, but I always preferred quality over quantity. Besides, this was going to be fun. I poured in the final bit of energy and set the entropy curse in motion. Dark power built to a massive peak before lashing out in a bolt of black, sentient lightning. It raced across 2000 miles in a few seconds, and took effect moments later. A rogue, malfunctioning, but fully armed ICBM launched from a secret facility 50 miles away from me. The missile, arced on a flawed trajectory, and hurtled toward the unsuspecting general. It landed right on his lap. The resulting explosion blasted a new, and very impressive, crater into the Mexican desert. Good thing I wanted to start this off with a bang, right?