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Narcotized, demonized and defecated upon Freakshow stands in the vast stretch of empty corridor that inhabited the barren WWFG arena. Clutched in his hand was the five dollar special, a roll of quarters. Standing by his side was a petit brunette dressed in daisy dukes and a cutoff Rolling Stones shirt that barely contained her overflowing scientifically enhanced jugs paid for by the constituents of what used to be Midnight Marauders international. Clad in a bright orange Adidas tracksuit he addresses the two men in front of him as the woman holds on to her employers arm.


Swallowing the blonde looks back over his shoulder for whoever the trio was waiting for. The businessmans perpetual paranoia had served him well but not well enough. Again he was in the same position he'd always been in. Up shits creek without a cup to drink from. But this man would not go quietly into the night. He never dead. If this was his last night in WWFG, which he did not intend on it being, he was going to make sure those responsible felt it and felt it real good. The brunette shifts nervously tightening her grip on her bosses arm.

"You two get in your hiding spots. I set up the distraction. Once the mark comes by and falls for the honeypot we all come out, gangbang this son of a b***h. Got it? It's a simple plan. That's whats beautiful about it. Anyone got questions?"

The brunette raises her hand slightly. She spoke in a high pitched southern squeak.

"Um. Mr. Freakshow. I was-Um-You said there would be a distraction? What's the distract-"

THWACK

Blood jettisons from the whores nose. Onto the ground she falls in a heap as coins fly everywhere, Freak ringing out his bruised left hand and crinkling his nose in disgust as he makes eye contact with his two hired guns as if communicating some sort of hidden message seems regretful. It was he would have to pay for the nose job. Reaching into his coat pocket he picks out an envelope, dropping it down next to the moaning moll. Stepping back from the writhing body he pats the two men on their shoulders. "There's the distraction. Now let's get into our places." He says disappearing into the shadows leaving only the mercenaries.

(PLANNED)

Out of the shadows, steps Good Question. Slowly walking towards Nuke and the woman who is down. Meanwhile the door to the mop closet opens, and Bad Boy steps out as well, the cane still resting on his shoulder. They stop only a few feet away, keeping themselves ready if Nuke were to attack them. It would only be smart for Nuke to stand there, because three on one wouldn't be the type of odds you'd expect to come out on top with.