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[FENG SHUI] The Legacy of Atlantis - updated 2/24
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<blockquote data-quote="Rybaer" data-source="post: 681558" data-attributes="member: 118"><p>PROLOGUE</p><p></p><p>MAX’S BACHELOR APARTMENT</p><p></p><p>Sunlight struggles through broken gaps in the closed blinds, hesitantly illuminating an assortment of empty pizza boxes, beer cans, and quick-mart name tags. A phone rings. Max groans as he wakes up, his hand reaching over the arm of the circa-1970’s couch he’s been sleeping on and gropes for the receiver.</p><p></p><p>MAX</p><p>Yeah? Hullo?</p><p></p><p>VOICE (perky, female)</p><p>Hello! Is this Mr. Coffee? Mr. Maxwell Coffee?</p><p></p><p>MAX</p><p>Uh, yeah.</p><p></p><p>Max looks at his watch. 10:35am. Way too early for him to be fully conscious.</p><p></p><p>VOICE</p><p>I want to be the first to congratulate you sir. You’re the winner of the Bisquick Superbowl contest! We’ll be sending you and a guest to the Superbowl in Central City. We’re putting you up in the Four Seasons hotel and we’ll be shuttling you around in a private limo to all sorts of exciting events. You’ll even get to be the judge at the national Bisquick Bake-off the day before the big game!</p><p></p><p>MAX</p><p>Erm, great. Yeah. Good.</p><p></p><p>VOICE</p><p>Let me just verify the correct spelling of your name and address and we’ll send you all the details.</p><p></p><p></p><p>ONE WEEK LATER, MAX’S APARTMENT</p><p></p><p>A letter arrives for Max by certified mail. Much to his surprise, it appears to be plane tickets and an itinerary for his trip to the Superbowl, courtesy of Bisquick. He shrugs, somewhat surprised that it wasn’t a joke or a dream after all. He calls his boss to ask for the weekend off from his latest night job at the quick-mart. When his boss declines, Max quits. He’s quit a job in order to make a dentist appointment before; doing so for a free trip to the Superbowl doesn’t even register as noteworthy.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>CSIS HEADQUARTERS, OTTAWA, CANADA</p><p></p><p>Chief Ronald Gee looks up from the tidy pile of paperwork on his desk as agent Stu Nodd enters. A large Canadian flag adorns the wall behind the chief and a stuffed moose head dominates the opposite wall. Heavy snow can be seen falling outside.</p><p></p><p>CHIEF</p><p>Agent Nodd, come in.</p><p></p><p>STU</p><p>You wanted something, sir?</p><p></p><p>CHIEF</p><p>Yeah, yeah. I wanted to congratulate you on busting up that ring of Russian hockey stick smugglers. Good bit of work, eh?</p><p></p><p>STU</p><p>Thank you, sir. It’s always a pleasure to serve Queen and country.</p><p></p><p>CHIEF</p><p>As a reward, your next assignment will be a pretty cushy one. We’re sending you to a party in Central City, put on by one Bernard Strong.</p><p></p><p>STU</p><p>Ah, the multi-millionaire American businessman. He’s got interests in areas of finance, security services, fast food, and wicker home furnishings. Also has a passion for archaeology. I believe he is financing his own digs in the recently discovered Atlantis.</p><p></p><p>CHIEF</p><p>Very good. He’s throwing a party the night before the Superbowl, supposedly unveiling some big Atlantean artifact he found during a recent dig. No media allowed and he hasn’t released any pictures of the item in question. Some folks at the Canadian Archaeology Institute are keen on getting to see the item, so we’re sending you in to take some discreet photos. They think it’s the Atlantean equivalent of the Holy Grail or some such nonsense.</p><p></p><p>STU</p><p>That’s all? Sounds pretty easy.</p><p></p><p>CHIEF</p><p>Yup. Like I said, it’s a cushy assignment. We’ll even get you tickets to the big game, if you want.</p><p></p><p>Stu rolls his eyes, but then recalls that Celine Dion is supposedly singing before the game. At least he won’t be the only Canadian in attendance.</p><p></p><p></p><p>CENTRAL CITY EXPRESSWAY, MID-AFTERNOON</p><p></p><p>A gleaming black H2 is slaloming through traffic with reckless abandon, as if the driver is perfectly confident in how much larger his ride is than anything else on the road. 1000 watts are pumping through the bass, sharing the experience with the neighborhood. Long Duc Dong, replete with form-fitting clothes and gold-capped teeth, sees the red blinking light on the dash indicating he has an incoming call. He punches a button and the stereo cuts over from music to phone.</p><p></p><p>DONG</p><p>Fung King here! Go!</p><p></p><p>MISS GATZ (1000 watts of smooth, authoritative female voice)</p><p>Dong, I’ve set up an engagement for you this Saturday night.</p><p></p><p>DONG</p><p>Hey Miss G! Right-o. Talk to me.</p><p></p><p>MISS GATZ</p><p>A guy by the name of Strong is throwing an exclusive party downtown. He’s wealthy, but an unknown and we could care less about him. However, I have it on good authority that John Ritter will be in attendance.</p><p></p><p>DONG</p><p>Three’s da Company! Dude sure had a sweet gig there, Miss G. We gonna show him the Fung Ku way?</p><p></p><p>MISS GATZ</p><p>Hopefully. His stock is rising with that new show. I think he could resonate well in the 17-40 demographic. He’s showing a noticeable paunch, so I’m seeing potential for a good before and after angle with him. I’m sending Jill with you.</p><p></p><p>DONG</p><p>‘cha think I should show up with two trainers instead? You know, the girl, girl, guy angle?</p><p></p><p>MISS GATZ</p><p>No, I think just Jill will be fine.</p><p></p><p>DONG</p><p>You’re the boss, boss. Fung King out!</p><p></p><p></p><p>UPSCALE CONDO, CENTRAL CITY</p><p></p><p>John is sitting at a glass table covered with a large, lint-free cloth. Spread before him are half a dozen guns, each stripped down. He is engaged in his daily ritual of stripping, cleaning, and oiling the tools of his trade. The phone rings and he gently sets down the red anodized IMI Desert Eagle .50 he was reassembling, his most trusted partner. Wiping oil off his fingers, he crossed the room and answers the phone.</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>Hello?</p><p></p><p>VOICE (pleasant female)</p><p>Hey, is this John?</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>Yes.</p><p></p><p>VOICE</p><p>Hiya. This is Vixen. We met at the Rusty Spoon last week.</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>Absolutely, I remember. Glad you called.</p><p></p><p>VIXEN</p><p>Say, I know we didn’t talk much or anything, but I was kinda looking for someone to go to this party with me Saturday night. It’s a high society affair and I’m not sure that any of my other friends from the University would be able to blend in at something like that.</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>And you’d like someone along who’ll blend and who you can use as an excuse to leave early.</p><p></p><p>VIXEN</p><p>Well, yeah. Something like that. How’d you guess?</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>You don’t seem like the upscale crowd type. It’s cool. I’d be happy to go with you and be there to bail you out. Don’t have anything else going on that night.</p><p></p><p>VIXEN</p><p>Great. I really appreciate this. Oh, and could you pick me up? My car is in the shop.</p><p></p><p>JOHN</p><p>(Scrutinizing the interior of a shotgun barrel) Not a problem, I’ll just need your address.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rybaer, post: 681558, member: 118"] PROLOGUE MAX’S BACHELOR APARTMENT Sunlight struggles through broken gaps in the closed blinds, hesitantly illuminating an assortment of empty pizza boxes, beer cans, and quick-mart name tags. A phone rings. Max groans as he wakes up, his hand reaching over the arm of the circa-1970’s couch he’s been sleeping on and gropes for the receiver. MAX Yeah? Hullo? VOICE (perky, female) Hello! Is this Mr. Coffee? Mr. Maxwell Coffee? MAX Uh, yeah. Max looks at his watch. 10:35am. Way too early for him to be fully conscious. VOICE I want to be the first to congratulate you sir. You’re the winner of the Bisquick Superbowl contest! We’ll be sending you and a guest to the Superbowl in Central City. We’re putting you up in the Four Seasons hotel and we’ll be shuttling you around in a private limo to all sorts of exciting events. You’ll even get to be the judge at the national Bisquick Bake-off the day before the big game! MAX Erm, great. Yeah. Good. VOICE Let me just verify the correct spelling of your name and address and we’ll send you all the details. ONE WEEK LATER, MAX’S APARTMENT A letter arrives for Max by certified mail. Much to his surprise, it appears to be plane tickets and an itinerary for his trip to the Superbowl, courtesy of Bisquick. He shrugs, somewhat surprised that it wasn’t a joke or a dream after all. He calls his boss to ask for the weekend off from his latest night job at the quick-mart. When his boss declines, Max quits. He’s quit a job in order to make a dentist appointment before; doing so for a free trip to the Superbowl doesn’t even register as noteworthy. CSIS HEADQUARTERS, OTTAWA, CANADA Chief Ronald Gee looks up from the tidy pile of paperwork on his desk as agent Stu Nodd enters. A large Canadian flag adorns the wall behind the chief and a stuffed moose head dominates the opposite wall. Heavy snow can be seen falling outside. CHIEF Agent Nodd, come in. STU You wanted something, sir? CHIEF Yeah, yeah. I wanted to congratulate you on busting up that ring of Russian hockey stick smugglers. Good bit of work, eh? STU Thank you, sir. It’s always a pleasure to serve Queen and country. CHIEF As a reward, your next assignment will be a pretty cushy one. We’re sending you to a party in Central City, put on by one Bernard Strong. STU Ah, the multi-millionaire American businessman. He’s got interests in areas of finance, security services, fast food, and wicker home furnishings. Also has a passion for archaeology. I believe he is financing his own digs in the recently discovered Atlantis. CHIEF Very good. He’s throwing a party the night before the Superbowl, supposedly unveiling some big Atlantean artifact he found during a recent dig. No media allowed and he hasn’t released any pictures of the item in question. Some folks at the Canadian Archaeology Institute are keen on getting to see the item, so we’re sending you in to take some discreet photos. They think it’s the Atlantean equivalent of the Holy Grail or some such nonsense. STU That’s all? Sounds pretty easy. CHIEF Yup. Like I said, it’s a cushy assignment. We’ll even get you tickets to the big game, if you want. Stu rolls his eyes, but then recalls that Celine Dion is supposedly singing before the game. At least he won’t be the only Canadian in attendance. CENTRAL CITY EXPRESSWAY, MID-AFTERNOON A gleaming black H2 is slaloming through traffic with reckless abandon, as if the driver is perfectly confident in how much larger his ride is than anything else on the road. 1000 watts are pumping through the bass, sharing the experience with the neighborhood. Long Duc Dong, replete with form-fitting clothes and gold-capped teeth, sees the red blinking light on the dash indicating he has an incoming call. He punches a button and the stereo cuts over from music to phone. DONG Fung King here! Go! MISS GATZ (1000 watts of smooth, authoritative female voice) Dong, I’ve set up an engagement for you this Saturday night. DONG Hey Miss G! Right-o. Talk to me. MISS GATZ A guy by the name of Strong is throwing an exclusive party downtown. He’s wealthy, but an unknown and we could care less about him. However, I have it on good authority that John Ritter will be in attendance. DONG Three’s da Company! Dude sure had a sweet gig there, Miss G. We gonna show him the Fung Ku way? MISS GATZ Hopefully. His stock is rising with that new show. I think he could resonate well in the 17-40 demographic. He’s showing a noticeable paunch, so I’m seeing potential for a good before and after angle with him. I’m sending Jill with you. DONG ‘cha think I should show up with two trainers instead? You know, the girl, girl, guy angle? MISS GATZ No, I think just Jill will be fine. DONG You’re the boss, boss. Fung King out! UPSCALE CONDO, CENTRAL CITY John is sitting at a glass table covered with a large, lint-free cloth. Spread before him are half a dozen guns, each stripped down. He is engaged in his daily ritual of stripping, cleaning, and oiling the tools of his trade. The phone rings and he gently sets down the red anodized IMI Desert Eagle .50 he was reassembling, his most trusted partner. Wiping oil off his fingers, he crossed the room and answers the phone. JOHN Hello? VOICE (pleasant female) Hey, is this John? JOHN Yes. VOICE Hiya. This is Vixen. We met at the Rusty Spoon last week. JOHN Absolutely, I remember. Glad you called. VIXEN Say, I know we didn’t talk much or anything, but I was kinda looking for someone to go to this party with me Saturday night. It’s a high society affair and I’m not sure that any of my other friends from the University would be able to blend in at something like that. JOHN And you’d like someone along who’ll blend and who you can use as an excuse to leave early. VIXEN Well, yeah. Something like that. How’d you guess? JOHN You don’t seem like the upscale crowd type. It’s cool. I’d be happy to go with you and be there to bail you out. Don’t have anything else going on that night. VIXEN Great. I really appreciate this. Oh, and could you pick me up? My car is in the shop. JOHN (Scrutinizing the interior of a shotgun barrel) Not a problem, I’ll just need your address. [/QUOTE]
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