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Fun with the FBI


League Member
Apr 7, 2012
We find ourselves in a small room with a table, four chairs, and a mirror (that is very likely a two way mirror). "The Brain" Allen Anderson sits in a room, his cane is nowhere in sight, and his hands are resting on the table in cuffs. Two FBI agents walk into the room and take up sits opposite of Anderson.

1st agent: "I'm Special Agent Smith and this is Special Agent Johnson. It seems you are no stranger to being in this room. Something in your file about a midwestern arena being burned to the ground when you were in charge of an organization called the Northern Wrestling Council. You thought you could change the brand name and headquarters to escape justice. It failed then and it has failed now."

Anderson merely shrugs, his cruel grin attached in place. "It wasn't my fault then as it is now. Then as now, I merely put the pieces into place and then let them fall. I didn't direct a fan to throw a lit match then, I merely poured the gasoline over the ring and my enemies."

Johnson: "You were lucky that no one was hurt then. Now? Two people have died and we have uncovered a secret fighting organization that is owned by the Warhammer Corporation. Think that law enforcement agencies around the globe won't be looking into this? And Tarrasque...he isn't fit to stand trial. His crimes are your crimes. We released him to his brother."

This shakes Anderson. He begins to lose color in his face. "His...brother?"

Smith: "Yes. Chad Allen came and picked him up. Tarrasque seemed real happy to be able to go cheer his brother in the ring on in this Ultratitle tournament."

Anderson's color returns with full force and shifts to red. "Of all the...he's not my beast's brother! You released Warhammer property to a lousy clown?! You'll all lose your jobs! The theft of company property-"

Johnson: "Careful there, buddy. Property? Are you saying that you own this man? We can add that charge too. So let's see. Couple charges of murder, charge of slavery, and so on. We'll have some things to add when this Krimson Kharnival is busted wide open. Would you like to say anything else?"

Anderson buries his head in his hands and shudders a bit. "No! No...I think I'll wait for my lawyer before speaking further."

Smith: "Good idea. For calling yourself, the Brain, you don't seem to be all that smart. He is here."

A man dressed in an expensive Warhammer suit (think five digits) walks into the room. The agents stands up and get to the door when the man stops him.

Man: "And this will be a private conversation?"

Johnson: "Oh of course, sir."

Man: "Good."

As the agents leave, the man places a small device on the mirror and sits down.

Man: "That will opaque the mirror on their side and block any listening devices. My name is Yitzhak Meir and I will be your representation in this case. You have yourself a pickle, you know. Kharnavor and a Batman impersonator dead. The freak in the costume...we can deal with. The family can be paid chump change as far as the scale of things go. The charges won't hold up as we got to every witness. That being said..."

Meir pops Anderson in the forehead with the back of his hand.

Meir: "The situation with Kharnavor is dire. The Seven Shadows sank a lot of time and money into this project for it to simply have it killed out of hand. They can't even analyze the body since it was taken by the Feds. The Seven Shadows are asking the Board of Directors for compensation. Millions of dollars if they get their way. This is nothing compared to the global investigation begun by the Feds and other agencies into the Krimson Kharnival itself. The ground that which this battle was fought. If they can bring it crashing down? Billions to trillions will be lost by the Warhammer Corporation annually in income. Not to mention everyone with any connection to this that will be cut loose to spare the Board of Directors any involvement. A lot of people will be going to prison and a lot more will be vanishing in the middle of the night. If they find the Akira Dome in China? Let's just say you won't be staying in jail for very long. They will have to sift the leavings of your fellow prisoners to find enough remains to bury."

Anderson swallows hard and begins shaking visibly. "Is it too late for sorry?"

Meir smiles, but the mirth does not reach his cold, cruel eyes. "Just a little. Care for a smoke? I hear they allowed such before a prisoner's final moment."

Anderson nods weakly. "Yeah...yeah..."

Meir hands Anderson a smoke and lights it up. "Good. I'll be seeing you in court. Let's pray that damage control can get a lid on this. We do have pull in all the right places."

Meir takes his device, shakes Anderson's free hand, and leaves the room. Agents Smith and Johnson re-enter the room and take their seats.

Smith: "He didn't want to stay."

Johnson: "So how many centuries of prison time would you like?"

Anderson goes to palm his face and stops, staring at the palm of his hand. He faints dead away, falling out of his chair, and to the floor. Agent Smith checks his pulse and we see in his open hand...

A black dot in the palm of his hand...

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