From: "The Evil Professor Chronos" Subject: [FSC] The Dark Side of Sales Date: Tuesday, 25 April, 2000 17:17 By popular demand - although I'm not quite sure exactly WHY - this is my return to FSC writing with my first assault on the Neo-FSC. Enjoy. :) [FSC - The Dark Side of Sales] While the Neo-FSC were explaining their spectacular origin stories to one another, more sinister events were afoot in the city. Deep in the heart of Net.Tokyo - or rather, several hundred feet BENEATH the heart of Net.Tokyo - a lonely creature sat amidst a mess of tangled electrical wires and broken bits of ancient machinery. The sewer had been made into a makeshift office, albeit a rather messy one. A simple wooden desk stood in the centre of the room, dozens of old broken-looking telephones sitting upon it. An Apple Macintosh sat on a smaller table in the corner, busy with some unknown task. A careful observer might have noticed that neither the phones nor the computer were actually plugged into anything. Nor was the large clock, which floated in the air, apparently unsupported, directly above the table with all the telephones. It was this clock that the creature was regarding thoughtfully. It had been salvaged from an unexploded bomb (the remainder of which he had stored away for safe keeping, in case a future enterprise should require the use of plutonium.) Despite the fact that it had neither batteries nor an electrical cord, the clock was keeping perfect time. It was five forty-five in the afternoon. Just about the time that people might be getting home from work, feeling exhausted, and trying their best to unwind after a hard day's labour. The perfect time to practice the unholy art that he had been forced to learn in order to survive. The creature sat down at the desk, picked up one of the telephones, and consulted a list that he had printed up from the computer earlier. He ran his gloved finger down it, picking a name at random, and nodded. He dialed the number, looking carefully at the list as he did so. "Good afternoon," the creature said in a polite manner, with just the right amount of restrained giddy game-show-host-esque enthusiasm to make himself instantly irritating. "Could I please speak to a Mister, er ..." He consulted his carefully drawn up list of names. For maximum effect, he had been certain not only to find out the names of every person whose number he was dialing, but also exactly how they were pronounced. "Could I please speak to a Mister ... Smeeth?" he finished at last. It wasn't much of a mispronounciation, he reflected glumly, but it was the best he could do with such a simple name. One of the most important skills of the black art he was practicing was to always mispronounce people's names - it allowed you to begin irritating them right from the start of the conversation. "It's SMITH, actually," said the voice on the other end of the phone. It sounded wary, and more than a little upset. The voice's owner had probably realized the horrible truth of who he was talking to. "Ah, I see, I see," the creature continued with forced cheerfulness. "I'm Telus from the Negaverse Star, and I'm calling to see if you'd be interested in a subscription." "I really don't -" Mr Smith began, but Telus interrupted him before he had a chance to say anything more. "It's our new bargain subscription rate! We'll send you a paper every single day of the week, and yet you'll only have to pay for Tuesdays and Thursdays! Have you ever read our paper?" "No, I -" "That's great!" continued Telus, without even stopping for breath. "Well, shall I put you down for a twelve month subscription? How will you be paying? We accept check, credit card, souls and firstborn children." "I -" "Visa or Mastercard only, of course. American Express is RIGHT OUT." "SHUT UP!" roared Mr Smith, his patience finally broken. "I have NO interest in subscribing to your paper, and I take a very dim view of you bothering me at home and trying to sell me things!" Telus nodded in satisfaction as a little red light bulb on the phone started to flash rapidly. It looked as though the man's anger and frustration had reached its peak, along with his energy. It seldom happened this quickly. "Oh, your life energy? That'll do nicely, sir," he said politely, and pushed the Star button on the phone. There was a scream and a gasp from the other end of the line, a brief painful crackling sound, and then silence. Telus laughed evilly, although a bit half- heartedly. He didn't feel like laughing, but there were certain conventions that had to be adhered to. Telus brought out a small jar and held it up to the telephone reciever. With a small buzzing, crackling sound, a strange glowing light flowed from the reciever into the jar. Telus waited patiently until all the man's energy had been extracted, then screwed the lid back on the jar and hung up the reciever. He deposited the jar on a bookshelf in the corner of his makeshift office, alongside many others. He crossed Mr Smith's name and number off his list. He sighed, ashamed of himself. He knew it was hard times for the Negaverse. Particularily for the once mighty empire known as the Negaphone, for whom he had once worked as an energy collector before their spectacular defeat at the hands of the original FSC (the specific details of which he couldn't recall for some odd reason.) But he was aghast at the depths that he'd been forced to sink to in order to survive. Tricking humans, taking their souls, robbing them of their energy, their dreams and their lives, that was all well and good. But TELEMARKETING ... he shuddered. Nonetheless, it was necessary. His new employer had insisted that he master the dark arts of telemarketing, and would be dropping by later that evening to make sure he was doing a good job. It wasn't enough to merely steal people's life force, the boss had told him; you had to make them suffer as much as possible in the process. Now that the Future Sailor Cabinet had apparently retired to live peaceful, normal lives, the corruption of the city could begin ... Telus said a silent prayer to whatever god watches over Negaverse goons, hoping that his sins would be forgiven, and returned to his grim task. "Hello, Mr Jonn-nezz? I'm calling on behalf of the Negopha's Witnesses. Would you like to be besieged with pamphlets? Sure you would!" * * * Meanwhile, at the Smith residence, a strange metamorphosis was taking place. Unbeknownst to Telus, his energy-stealing had another, more sinister side-effect. The prone body of Mr Smith, which had been lying lifeless by the phone, suddenly rose to its feet, unnaturally quickly, as though pulled by invisible puppet strings. The man's eyes glowed with an eerie light, as his clothes were transformed by some sinister magic into a rather tacky suit and tie. Out of nowhere, a vaccuum cleaner suddenly popped into existence beside him. The zombie-like Mr Smith picked up the vaccuum cleaner, and walked, or rather lurched, out through the front door (leaving a rather large hole). He had no idea who he was or how he got here, but he had an uncontrollable urge to sell people vaccuum cleaners. As he staggered out into the street, several other undead-looking salespersons could be seen going about the neighbourhood and making people's lives miserable ... +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Mark S Sprague, aka The Evil Professor Chronos | | Still the official head of R&D for the Negaverse | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ If you have a pure soul, kindly leave it in the drop box.