This thread is for the highly-anticipated upcoming Wolfy series, 'The Adventures of Wolfy', which will feature all the hilarious antics, all the thrilling capers and all of the romantic intrigues of the titular character, Wolfy.

If you want to contribute, stories can be as long or as short as you like. You can contribute to my stuff or start your own Wolfy-related episode. The only catch is that the stories are to be written in 'proper' novel form (i.e. not a script). And they have to be about the adventures of Wolfy. Also hurting Wolfy's feelings is not allowed because Wolfy is an upstanding fellow and should be loved.

THE ADVENTURES OF WOLFY

1. Computer Guy by Day, Secret Detective by Night
Although Wolfy writes computer code for a living his real passion will always be fedoras and crime fighting.

2. Communist by Day, KGB Agent by Night
Russian Wolfy helps to build the workers' paradise and ousts disloyal party members.

3. Mechanic by Day, Monster Hunter by Night
Armed with his new haircut, a charming, stylish Wolfy investigates fake real paranormal activity on the fake Discovery channel for real.
Potentially more to come!

"Where have you been?"

The dim clicking on the line barely registered over the sound of rain through an open window. The caller's breathing overtook it after a brief pause.

"Searching."

"Searching? Searching for what? Is this like day, engine searching, or like, uh.. special, night searching."

"Does it matter? Meet me at the bridge and we'll talk. Have whoever is tapping my phones stay where they are, I will turn on some music."

"Listen, man, why don't you come over to my place and we'll catch up. We've missed you."

"We'll catch up at the bridge. Bring your umbrella -- and your PC systems with interwireless link. I'll show you what I've found."

The sound of a door shutting blared through the earpiece. Enrique told the men watching the phone line to pack up and meet him at the station, then hung up his phone. He left the window open in case the cat needed out and walked into the night.

p.s. you said titular

Enrique leaned back in the driver's seat and stared out into the darkness that enveloped the bridge. Rain hammered on the metal roof.

Gradually, a figure formed in the darkness. It strode across the pavement to Enrique's car and quickley tapped out a pattern on the windshield.

Enrique rolled down the window. The figure was leaning close enough that Enrique could make out his face from the dashboard lights. It was Wolfy.

"You look older," said Enrique, watching the rainwater sluice off the pinched front of Wolfy's fedora.

"Open up. It's computer time," replied Wolfy. Enrique unlocked the passenger door and placed a towel on top of the upholstry. Wolfy sat down heavily and withdrew a floppy disk from his breast pocket.

"What I've discovered will shock you," said Wolfy as he jammed the diskette into the computer. Both men waited as the computer made horrible grinding noises for several minutes.

Finally, the computer gave a soft ping.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Enrique, his cool Latin-American demeanor shattered, "This could put Big Fish away for good!"

Enrique scrolled further and further through the document which contained the details of Big Fish's mafia empire. Known only by his silly moniker, Big Fish had a finger in every illict pie in the city.

"Quiet!" shouted Wolfy, slamming the laptop shut and cocking his head. Suddenly, a pair of headlights switched on at the other end of the bridge.

"I've been followed! Get out of here, now!" said Wolfy as he leapt out of the car.

Wolfy sat in his office cubicle and stared blankly at his computer screen. The screensaver had activated and the little beachball that folds into a cube was bouncing around the screen. Wolfy was in the process of writing a new internet database system for a large software company, but as much as he loved to program he couldn't focus on Microsoft Windows. His mind was preoccupied with the case.

How had Fish tracked him? Was Enrique alright? Wolfy had placed several calls to the Enrique's division only to be told that he was "unavailable". Wolfy decided to change his screensaver to that one where it looks like you're cruising through space.

Suddenly, his boss burst into the cube.

"Wolfy. Emergency meeting in fifteen. The VP's making a surprise visit, he wants an update on the project. Write up a quick status report."

Wolfy's telephone rang moments after his boss exited the cubicle.

"Hello?"

"Ah. Detective Wolfy. Good morning," came the reply in a soothing tenor that Wolfy recognized immediately.

"Big Fish. You've got some big guts calling me at my job. I could easily trace this call."

"And I could easily put out a contract on your stupid fedora-head."

Wolfy debated the relative merits of not having to write his status report and then asked, "what is it you want from me, Fish?"

"I purpose a trade. My somewhat incriminating files for your somewhat injured policeman friend."

In the background there was the shuffling and scraping of moving furniture.

"And just in case you doubt my capacity for violence, a brief testimonial!" chortled Fish.

"Wolfy!" gasped Enrique, "he tied me to a chair and smacked me in the head!"

"Enough!" Big Fish was back on the line. "We will broker the exchange in Captain Hobart's Fish and Chip Parlor in one hour. And I'm sure I don't need to warn you about the potential consequences for your friend if any hypothetical copies of my files appear on the internet. But I will warn you. With those words I just said."

The line clicked off.

((Just wanted to say awesome stuff so far, Tracer! I'll try to make at least one post on here at some point, but for now, espionage-y mystery stories elude me...))

Well, I'm glad someone's reading it. Hopefully I can crank out a yarn that even the real Wolfy will enjoy.

Captain Hobart's Fish and Chip Parlor was situated on the wharf and provided one with a clear view of the city's run-down dockyard and the filthy harbour beyond. In addition to being a front for greasy fried things it was also a front for Big Fish's money laundering operation.

Wolfy threw open the door and swaggered up to the counter. Once there he dinged a little bell labelled "ring for service".

"Yarr, what'll it be, matey?" asked the greasy fry cook who emerged from the kitchen.

"Give me a fish," replied Wolfy.

The man paused to size Wolfy up with his single unpatched eye.

"Any particular size that fish, cap'n?"

"Make it a big fish."

"Arr, follow me, then," said the cook who lead Wolfy around the counter and back through the kitchens. They passed the bubbling deep fryers and the chilling fish freezers until they came to a door. Wolfy kicked it open.

"Ah, I see our guest has arrived," said Big Fish who was seated at one end of a long steel table. He waved Wolfy to an empty chair. "I believe we'll take our dinner now, captain."

"Yarr, hardy har har," muttered the fry cook as he stalked out of the meeting room and shut the hatch. Fish gave another hand signal and one of his bodyguards quickly patted Wolfy down for weapons.

"You'll have to excuse Pablo, but I can't afford to take any chances," said Fish. "I've taken the liberty of ordering you dinner, but perhaps we could get straight to business."

"Fine," said Wolfy.

I like the fact that I have yet to actually open a door normally - I either kick it or throw it open.

It's just how I imagine you roll.

Big Fish's bodyguards braced for action as Wolfy reached inside his trenchcoat but relaxed when he produced a black floppy diskette.

"I'm sure you won't mind waiting while I verify the data," said Fish.

Wolfy slouched back in his chair, not taking the rhetorical question bait. Fish gestured to one of the bodyguards who muttered something into his radio.

"I'm hungry," complained Wolfy. On cue the door opened and in strode Pablo the pirate cook balancing three silver platters. Placing one in front of Wolfy he set the other two down by Big Fish. Wolfy removed the cover and saw that he had been served breaded halibut with a side of french fries.

"And here we go," exclaimed Fish as Pablo lifted both covers and revealed their contents.

"One serving of breaded cod and one portable laptop computer."

Fish fumbled about as he switched the machine on. Wolfy knew his window of opportunity for saving the day was almost up.

"Excuse me, but could I please have some vinegar?" he asked innocently.

"Thar she blows, matey," said Pablo, thumping down a heavy flagon of the liquid on the table. Wolfy grabbed it and gingerly sprinkled it on his dinner.

"And there we go!" exclaimed Fish as the computer booted up. He carefully inserted the disk into the drive and was treated to a familiar chorus of awful grinding.

"Oh, and naturally this has been a giant setup so I won't be allowing you to leave, my arch-nemesis finally defeated, etcetera etcetera."

Fish gave Wolfy a depreciating wave as the files finally loaded. His eyes widened as he stared at the text on the screen.

THE FILES ARE IN THE HANDS OF THE PROPER AUTHORITIES. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. YOU HAVE VARIOUS MIRANDA RIGHTS I THINK (I'M NOT ACTUALLY A COP).

"Do you find this funny?" demanded Big Fish.

"No," replied Wolfy around a mouthful of halibut.

"I was going to be a gentleman and allow you to finish your last meal, but then you return my hospitality with insults and practical jokes. I think I'll have the nice men shoot you now."

Fish gave a hand signal to his two goons who began advancing on Wolfy.

"And also you typed this whole message in capital letters. How could you be so computer-illiterate?"

One of the bodyguards pulled out a pistol. Wolfy looked him straight in the eye.

"I type loud."

As the two bodyguards and certain death bore down upon him Wolfy flew into action. With a deft flick of the wrist he launched the vinegar container towards Pablo the bodyguard, spraying his eyes with the stinging liquid.

"Shoot him!" screeched Big Fish as Pablo collapsed to the ground. The second bodyguard complied and unloaded his pistol at Wolfy, forcing the intrepid detective to kick over the dinner table for some improvised cover.

"The jig is up, Fish!" shouted Wolfy as he snagged his fallen dinner plate.

"Shoot him harder!" yelled the Fish. Wolfy dove from his shelter and flung the plate discus-style, scoring a direct on the bodyguard's forehead. Big Fish yelped as the last of his hired help was incapacitated. In a state of near-panic he grabbed the fallen gun and attempted to open fire.

"How do you even work these things?" he yelled as he ineffectually waved the gun in Wolfy's general direction.

"I hope you like prison, because that's where you're going," quipped Wolfy as he unleashed his devastating right hook on Fish's jaw, knocking the crime boss out cold. Wolfy stood up straight and surveyed the wreckage from the fight: three criminals lay sprawled out on the ground, the furniture was upturned and bits of fish and chips were splattered on the walls and ceiling. Wolfy tightened up his tie and retrieved his dropped fedora. He noticed the fry cook was still in the room.

"Where's Enrique?" he asked.

"Yarr, he be tied up in the janitor's closet."

Wolfy approached the closet and thew his full body weight against the door, knocking it off its hinges. Enrique was bound and gagged in a chair.

"Are you alright?" he inquired as he undid the knots.

"That door was actually unlocked," said Enrique.

"I don't take chances."

"Funny how both those men were named 'Pablo'," said Enrique.

"I don't believe in coincidences," was Wolfy's reply.

"Yarr, could ye pass me the mop and bucket? I'd best be cleaning up the mess," said Pablo.

It was another ordinary day at the office and Wolfy was seated in his cubicle. Ostensibly working on the company's latest networking software he was actually dividing his time between that and a massivly-multiplayer-online-roleplaying-game, alt-tabbing between the two applications. Life was good.

Suddenly his boss burst into the workspace.

"Oh man Wolfy, you really hung me out to dry at that meeting yesterday. The vice-president wanted specific technical information and all I could do was give vague estimates -" the boss' sentence trailed off as he noticed the non-database-related spaceships coasting around Wolfy's computer screen.

"Well isn't this dandy," ranted the boss. "This company pays top dollar for you skills, but you spend your time pew pewing for your EVE corp instead of doing work!"

Wolfy thought for a moment and then replied, "well, you know what they say about me."

"What's that?" asked the boss.

"I am lazy."

"Yes, you certainly are," said Wolfy's boss as both men simultaneously broke into great peals of laughter.

"You're fired."

The End.

THE ADVENTURES OF WOLFY 2: Communist by Day, KGB Agent by Night

It was a cold winter day in Moscow. Although the howling wind blew snowflakes across the streets and boulevards, inside the Kremlin General Sergei Ivanovich was sweating in his Red Army uniform. Supreme commander of Soviet tank and infantry forces, the trademark methodical pace he prosecuted war at had earned him the nickname "landfish" among his peers.

This slow, methodical pace was the reason for his meeting, which he suspected would result in the loss of his command. He sighed and glanced at the grandfather clock ticking away in a corner of the room.

Five more minutes. General Ivanovich was meeting with two other Red Army bigwigs, Dimitry Romanov, commander of the strategic nuclear forces who referred to his ICBMs as 'fishsticks' (and by doing so had subsequently earned himself the moniker), and KGB Chief Yevchenko, known as the 'baconfish' for reasons unknown.

((The end of that last story had me literally laughing out loud!))

Thanks! Do you mean the fight part or the epilogue?

I meant the epilogue. It was all good, but those last few lines... I dunno. Maybe it was just my mood when I read it.

I guess I have to find a new job now.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and Ivanovich looked up from his paperwork. Three men strode in - he recognized the two great military leaders, but not the third man. Wearing a green communist party dress uniform, his head was shaven closely and he projected an image of professionalism despite the oddly out of place comp-sci goatee on his chin.

"Comrades," started Ivanovich, "I was informed that this discussion would be between the three of us. Who is this stranger?"

"Allow me to introduce Comrade Wolfy," replied Chief Yevchenko, "the people's commissar for zoological studies."

This threw Ivanovich completely off-balance.

"You mean to have a highly sensitive meeting in the presence of a zookeeper?" he demanded.

"Not to worry, Comrade General," said the Chief. "He can be trusted."

"This is highly irregular," mumbled Ivanovich in a final protest. He could see that the meeting was going to be just as bad as he had feared.

"Very well comrades, let us begin -" Ivanovich was abruptly cut off by Wolfy.

"Comrade Genreal Ivanovich! You are out of order!"

"What the devil do you mean?" he asked.

"As per Communist Party Memorandum number six-two-four-four all classified meetings must begin with the singing of the Hymn of the Soviet Union by all parties!"

Wolfy walked over to the desk and pressed a button. An enormous Soviet flag lowered from the ceiling behind Ivanovich's chair and the Red Army band's music was piped into the room. The four soviets lined up facing the flag and began to sing.

"Unbreakable union of freeborn republics
Great Russia has welded forever to stand!
Created in struggle by will of the people
United and mighty, our Soviet land!"

Ivanovich risked a glance at Wolfy. Standing ramrod-straight, he looked as though he was attempting to burn a hole in the flag with his intense stare.

"Sing to the Motherland, home of the free,
Bulwark of people, in brotherhood strong!
Oh! Party of Lenin! The strength of the people.
To Communism's triumph lead us on!"

Ivanovich gave an inward sigh as he belted out the lyrics. This was in all likelihood going to be worse than he feared.

Your new job is communist.

The Adventures of Wolfy 3: Mechanic By Day, Monster Hunter by Night.

"Wait," Wolfy interrupted. "I'm fighting monsters now?"

Yes. Wolfy would inherit the mantle of Hunter of Horrors -- the old man who previously bore the mantle would tell him as much from a shadowy corner.

"You are to inherit the mantle of Hunter of Horrors that I have upheld for 66 years now," the old man said to Wolfy. Wolfy spaced out as he was handed numerous exotic weapons, holy artifacts, and a ham sandwich.

"I think I'd rather be something that would snag me more ladies," Wolfy said mostly to himself. "Like a secret detective or a KGB agent."

"Funny you should say that," the old man replied, then muttered something about nailing women as he waved a wooden stake and chuckled to himself.

"Hey Grand-dad," Wolfy said to the old man, who conveniently stepped out of the camera to reveal the family resemblance, "Could we talk about this later? I'm going to be late for work as it is."

"Watch out for the Sirens tonight--"

"I'll be sure to drive the speed limit, don't worry."

Wolfy steps into his blue 1989 Camero, tossing some of his newly-bestowed equipment on the passenger seat before peeling out of the driveway.

"Hell," Wolfy said to himself, "First he tells me I'm destined to be a master mechanic and now this? How am I going to come up with enough witty one-liners?"

Oh boy, concurrent stories!

Wolfy barreled down the highway. It was a new lease on life for the once nerdly boy: now all grown up he had a swank new haircut, a hip wardrobe and a sweet ride. Wolfy had also managed to overcome his shyness and had played his strengths into a new TV gig, hosting The Discovery Channel's Monster Hunter: Wolfy the 3D Monsterbuster. His job was to investigate and debunk paranormal claims in high-def.

Wolfy turned off the highway onto a dirt road, heading for an abandoned farm. Wolfy thought back to the meeting with his producers.

"It's a good move, Wolfy," said his Producer. "People love these crop circle cattle mutilation shows."

Wolfy glanced down at the folder labelled "Schwanake UFO sightings" and frowned.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem like I'll have a chance to snag many ladies out in the middle of nowhere."

The producer leaned foreword in his chair.

"Wolfy, you need the ratings. People just aren't tuning into your three-dimensional antics like they used to."

"How about I hunt sewer gators underneath Las Vegas? Maybe people love that too."

"Look Wolfy, if you want women then frankly you should get a job in porn, but as long as you work for The Discovery Channel you'll be reporting on cold scientific fact! Now get out of here!"

Wolfy sighed as his car rolled to a stop beside the camera van. There weren't likely to be many babes out here.

"Hey Wolfy," said Scott, the camera operator. "All set?"

"I guess," replied Wolfy, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. All we've got for snacks are these granola bars; there's not likely to be any fast food out here."

"Look, if you wanted food then you should have gotten a job in pizza," grumped Wolfy sizing up the barn. It was run-down, full of empty animal stalls. A rusted tractor was parked - permanently - in a corner.

"Alright, let's go get some shots of me by the crop circles while I explain about alien abductions or something."

"That doesn't seem very scientific," protested Scott as he slung the camera on his shoulder.

"Look just do your job, okay?" said Wolfy as he stomped out towards the middle of the cornfield.

"Is man alone?" Wolfy asked his audience with a flourish. "Well, besides women," Scott smacked his forehead, but then remembered he was holding the camera and steadied it. "conventional wisdom has taught us 'yes.' But tonight's investigation of extraterrestrial corn stalk signs may prove otherwise!"

"Cut, cut..." Scott interrupted. "We're going to have to reshoot that; you stepped out of frame for a moment."

"What? I didn't move."

"Oh, well... hey -- look at that!"

"Hey, they're not paying me enough to spend all night catering to your shoddy camerawork... don't try to change the subject!"

"No, seriously. Behind you!"

Wolfy turned around and the corn stalks really were rustling. Suddenly, a beast on four spindly legs with chaotic horns burst out. It was a deer.

"Okay, that's it, I've had it with this backwards, redneck, inbred, hick rat hole. I'm going back to St. Louis!"

A gunshot rang out. Scott and Wolfy hit the ground, as did the deer, which now had a sizable hole in it.

"Yeehaw!" Cried Bobby Bill, who emerged from some shrubbery with a hunting rifle.

The cornstalks started rustling again and Bobby Bill looked up, hungry for more veal, but when he saw what emerged, he screamed and ran, dropping his rifle.

Wolfy & Scott: "Uh-oh..."

(Non-Story Note: And now back to the second tale of Wolfy's Adventures!)

"Well," Ivanovich chimed, "with the, ah, formalities out of the way, we can now proceed with our meeting before night falls too heavy--hey! Where did our zoologist run off to?"

"Wolfy said something about needing to use the toilets," the Chief said.

"How suspicious," Ivanovich hummed. "Gentlemen, be wary: we may have a traitor in our midst."

Little did he know, though, that Wolfy dashed out to fulfill his patriotic duty as a secret KGB agent alongside the spy scrub codenamed The Last True Evil. Tonight's mission: investigate rumors of capitalist American infiltration within the Kremlin Chief Comrades' Cafeteria...

Zip-pan to the KCC Cafeteria, where The Last True Evil sits staring at secret KGB agent Wolfy shoveling into his mouth slices of a colossal chocolate cake.

"Comrade," says TLTE, "forgive my ignorance, but this does not seem to be helping our investigation of enemy infiltration."

"Of course it isn't!" Wolfy says with pieces of cake flying out of his mouth. "This is far more important: today is my birthday."

"Your birthday is irrelevant to the security of our motherland."

"Your FACE is irrelevant to the security of our motherland."

"That was uncalled for."

"So was your MOM!"

"Too true, comrade. Too true."

General Ivanovich threw open the KCC cafeteria doors with a crash.

"Comrade zookeeper, I find your behaviour highly irregular!"

"Ah, comrades. Cake?" asked Wolfy as he proffered the chocolate cake to the three men.

"Yes, thank you," said Chief Yevchenko, helping himself to a generous slice.

"Is this your idea of a humorous situation?" sputtered Ivanovich. "We have serious matters to discuss." Ivanovich then noticed TLTE. "And just who is this man? Another of your surprise guests intended to throw me off balance?" He stared daggers at the Chief.

"Comrades. Allow me to introduce a comrade so secret that he is known only by his codename: the initials TLTE," said Wolfy, gesturing at TLTE.

"Greetings comrade." TLTE tipped his hat to the general without rising from his chair.

"Comrades, I find this birthday party to be quite excellent," said Chief Yevchenko. "Will there be presents later?"

"I am afraid there has been a deception," said Wolfy, pressing a red button on the cafeteria table. The doors locked with a sharp click and several hammer-and-sickle flags descended from the ceiling.

"You see, comrade TLTE has discovered that one among our number is a traitor to the party," he continued. "The doors have been sealed. No man shall be permitted to exit the room until such time that the traitor has been revealed."

"Comrade Wolfy, I must protest," began the chief. "This smacks of an attempt to force us to attend your party."

Ignoring the KGB chief, Wolfy rose from his seat. "Rest assured gentlmen, I will uncover the spy. But first, we sing."

Wolfy pressed another button on the table and the Hymn to the Soviet Union began blaring through the Kremlin's loudspeaker system.

As the immortal strains of the Soviet Union Hymn echoed through the cafeteria, a strange tension began to descend on its occupants. Yevchenko, Ivanovich, TLTE and Wolfy regarded each other with furtive sideways glances, in direct counterpoint to the straining of their vocal chords, or - in Yevchenko's case - the bobbing exercise of his jowls as he ingested preposterous volumes of cake.

Finally, the anthem wound to its glorious close. The notion of a spy amongst Soviet ranks, a notion which would heretofore have elicited scornful laughter, seemed (in the wake of the patriotic song) a very real and dangerous possibility.

"Comrade TLTE is foremost among the Poltiburo and the Kremlin at digging out moles," boasted Wolfy. "I have invited him to exercise his formidable talents on us today."

"This is ridiculous!" General Ivanovich shook his head and uncreased his uniform. "I am a General of this majestic Union. Chief Yevchenko has received two letters of commendation in the last year alone!"

Yevchenko, his gorge still occupied with carbohydrates and sucrose, could only afford to affirm this statement with an exasperated nod.

"Indeed, Comrade Wolfy; if there is a traitor amongst our ranks," declared Ivanovich, stabbing the air with an accusatory finger, "it lies on your side of the table."

"Comrade General! What an awful thing to say!" Wolfy shook his head with real anguish, dislodging the paper party hat he was halfway through putting on. "And on this most special day for me!"

"Comrades. If I may."

The three men turned to TLTE, who was still seated, eyes masked by the wide brim of his hat. He pushed the hat up with a plastic fork and smiled broadly. "I share your indignant sentiments. Indeed, I am only conducting this...exercise...as a very special birthday present to Comrade Wolfy."

Yevchenko snorted derisively, instantly clogging his nasal passageways with food and sending him into spasms of coughing.

TLTE extended his hands, palms outward, in a pantomime of sincerity. "Perhaps we can conduct this mole hunt as planned, and in doing so, reassure Comrade Wolfy that none of you are indeed traitorous to our motherland."

Ivanovich crossed his arms. "I remain unconvinced, Comrade TLTE."

"I'm afraid I must insist," hissed Wolfy, "that you stay at least until the clown arrives."

Wolfy nodded at TLTE, who nodded back and spoke into his Deluxe Spymaster watch. "Units 56 through Y2K intercept Target: Gonzo. Detain only, repeat, detain only, bodily harm is to befall the target."

A tinny voice answers, "Copy, Comrade."

Ivanovich sputters. "You are deliberately trying to keep us here indefinitely!"

"No, Comrade General," Wolfy says, "only you. Comrade Yevchenko is quite obviously enjoying his cake and thus needs no persuasion." He jerked his head over to the glutton, who was licking his fingers clean before grabbing another slice.

Dmitry Romanov suddenly protests, "Why has everyone forgotten about me till now?! It's been a half dozen posts since I was mentioned!"

TLTE blinks. "Oh, dear. This may degenerate to the levels of my previous assignment."

Ivanovich narrows his eyes. "Your 'previous' assignment?"

TLTE sighs. "Technically, it's still ongoing, being a neverending mission, but I have been rotated out of that other agency's roster for the time being, and thus was on hand to answer Comrade Wolfy's call."

Suddenly, tinny shouts and screams of horror erupt from TLTE's Deluxe Spymaster watch.

My God!

It's horrible!

Are those scales?

Foot long claws, aiieeeee!

Not the nose, not the nose!

Silence falls upon the table for a long moment, then a tinny voice comes over the speaker once more. "Comrade TLTE, we have... lost Target Gonzo. He is en route."

Wolfy settles back in his chair comfortably. "Well, Comrade Ivanovich, perhaps you won't have to stay much longer after all."

haha, yeah. At one point I did have a reason for there being 3 generals but that was several years ago and I don't remember what it was anymore.

"I will have my say!" bellowed General Romanov. "I too am a general!"

Ivanovich sighed. General Romanov often got quite upset when he was ignored for too long at staff meetings.

"I command the strategic nuclear forces of the Soviet Union! I am a very important man!"

"Yes, yes, Dimitry, we all know about the nuclear weapons," said Ivanovich.

"Comrades, this meeting is getting out of hand," said Wolfy. "Shall we return to business?"

"Indeed," replied Ivanovich. "I grow weary of this whole affair."

"I wish to table a motion that happy birthday be sung at all birthday parties," suggested Chief Yevchenko. Ivanovich rolled his eyes.

"Comrade chief, you are aware that it is not actually comrade Wolfy's birthday, no?"

A confused look came over the chief's face.

"But we had cake."

"My troops can strike any target in the world by land, sea, air or space! Who among you make such a bold claim?" yelled Romanov.

"Yes Dimitry, clearly you are a very powerful man and just as important as the rest of us," said Ivanovich.

"You're being sarcastic! I hate this!" screamed General Romanov, losing his temper.

"You forget yourself, comrade," said Ivanovich, his face turning red with anger. "I will not be shouted at."

"Really, comrades, this is quite poor form for a birthday party," said Yevchenko.

"Do not comrade me, comrade," bellowed Romanov. "I'll nuke your house!"

"Gentlemen."

Everyone stopped shouting at the svelte voice of TLTE.

"May I have you're attention for a moment."

Ivanovich was about to shout various threats involving the Siberian gulag back at Romanov but TLTE's voice stopped him. He had the distinct impression that comrade TLTE was not asking.

OOC: lol hilarious, Tracer! I was hoping someone would describe what happened to the clown aka "Target Gonzo". Oh well.

The three generals and Wolfy gaze steadily at TLTE, who gazes steadily back. Confident that he has their attention at last, he speaks.

"Target: Gonzo is coming straight for us, and is considered armed and extremely dangerous. In such situations, we must lock down and take your eminences to a secure area."

Yevchenko looks hopeful. "Is there more cake in this secure area?"

TLTE considers. "That depends. Is the kitchen a secure area?"

Wolfy speaks up. "The freezer is built like a bunker vault. As zoological commissar, I had those protections installed when Comrade Chef complained about rats getting into the freezer. Furthermore, said giant rats are camped in the kitchen still hoping to get in, and thus will provide excellent guards."

Ivanovich frowns. "What about the rest of the KGB? Shouldn't they be here?"

TLTE coughs delicately. "In my other mission, I went rogue and had to neutralize them. Commissar Wolfy and I are all that remain."

Yevchenko purses his lips. "Ah. That explains why Comrade Delta-4-Red never came back from the bathroom six months ago."

"No, actually," Wolfy denies, "he was flushed down the toilet by the imaginary alligators living in the sewers beneath. But all the rest, yes, Comrade TLTE is responsible for their disappearances."

Romanov cuts in. "I haven't had any lines! Why do you keep forgetting me?"

Wolfy says, "Because you have nothing useful to contribute."

"What?! I could nuke Target: Gonzo for you! But now I won't."

"Wouldn't help anyway," TLTE said, "Target: Gonzo is practically invulnerable, according to intel. Hence, you have nothing to contribute."

"To the freezer!" Yevchenko proclaims, and they march to the kitchen, where they face a horde of giant hungry rats...

Everything you write gives me more ideas, Al. Just keep putting it out there.

Thanks, Tracer, good to know. I look forward to your next post.

TLTE, Wolfy, and the three Red Generals marched swiftly into the large industrial kitchen. True to Wolfy's words, a veritable platoon of overgrown rats stood at attention, their beady crimson eyes fixed on the freezer door."Nobody make any sudden movements," whispered Wolfy. "These rats are currently unable to distinguish high-ranking military officials from cheese."

"Then how do you propose," hissed Romanov, embracing his newfound voice, "we get them to defend us from Target: Gonzo?"

TLTE held up his hand in an imperious gesture, silencing Romanov. Into the black-gloved hand shot a small remote. As the spymaster's finger depressed a large red button on the remote, the freezer door swung open automatically. The response was instantaneous - all of the rat-things leaped forward with unholy shrieks of rapture, barreling into the dark confines of the industrial freezer and disappearing behind the cold mist within.

"Gentlemen," declared TLTE with undisguised pride, "behold my patented Mole Remover!"

Yevchenko scratched at his bald pate uncomfortably. "Forgive me, Comrade TLTE, but isn't your Mole Remover -"

"Patented Mole Remover."

"-indeed, isn't your patented Mole Remover actually a large industrial freezer filled with bloodthirsty mutant rats?"

"Precisely!" TLTE clapped Yevchenko on the back. "Its genius lies in its simplicity. Gentlemen, I propose a contest of martial skill not dissimilar to the manifold uprisings and revolutions that cleansed our proud Russia and placed it in the hands of the glorious Soviet Empire. In effect, the Mole Remover's operation is simple - I lock you in the freezer."

The Red Generals leaned forward, nodding, as if expecting further elaboration. None came. Ivanovich threw his arms up in frustration.

"AND?"

"And," TLTE picked up with some irritation, "Stalin's ghost will ensure that those faithful to our Soviet Empire survive. Have faith, Comrade General. Do you really think that the vicissitudes of fate will permit a decorated General to be eaten alive by mutant rats?"

"Er-"

"A traitor, of course, will be eaten swiftly. But destiny will seize those bound for greater things and shelter them in its ample bosom."

"But Comrade TLTE," said Wolfy, "what about you and I?"

TLTE pulled the brim of his hat down ominously. "I am afraid ours is a darker path, tovarish."

As if to prove him correct, the doors to the complex shuddered with the force of a massive blow. There erupted from behind the weakened blast doors a terrifying roar, followed by a slightly-out-of-place air horn honking.

"We must ensure that the victorious generals have a Soviet Union to return to after they emerge from the Mole Remover. You and I must defeat this clown, this symbol of Western decadence. Draw your weapon, Comrade!"

TLTE unsheathed his military sabre with a righteous fury, spinning his Smith and Wesson across and behind his knuckles in his other hand.

Wolfy scratched his head in embarrassment. "Comrade, forgive me. I...left my service revolver at home. I thought, being my birthday and all..."

"You are in luck, my good friend: I have a memento for this precise occasion." TLTE opened his limitless coat and withdrew a silver flintlock pistol from within, handing it to Wolfy. Wolfy examined the barrel, upon which was engraved the letter "A" in ornate calligraphy.

"This...is beautiful. But it only has one shot!"

"Hit the clown with that shot, Comrade," hissed TLTE, "and one is all you'll need."

Yevchenko, Ivanovich and Romanov all opened their mouths simultaneously to issue forth expletive-laden protests, but at that moment the blast doors exploded inwards, and with one look at Target: Gonzo, they bolted for the rat-infested innards of the freezer...