Part 5: Something of the Head

My mission, should I choose to accept it...




Is to destroy the multinational corrupt empire that holds the island of Scabb hostage. Operated by one Largo LaGrande.




Practices include extortion, embezzlement, muscling of local businesses, thievery of pensions from helpless old people, kicking of cuddly kittens, and creasing of my new coat.




What a dick.




I am to, over the coming months, infiltrate his environment and uncover the one piece of evidence required to bring him to justice.




There may be setbacks...






I may need special, super secret stealth training.








This training will push my physical ability and co-ordination to its limits.









I may suffer severe head trauma and potential brain damage...




But I will overcome these trials...








And master the skills I require for this mission.




And proceed to look smug about it.








And maybe, if there's time, a little victory dance action.






There will be encounters with deadly, dangerous, and possibly adorable animals.




And I am under no circumstances to be a wussy little bitch about it.




It will take every ounce of guile, cunning and animal rights activism I can muster to infiltrate the heavily guarded fortress of Largo.






It may take months...




Even years...






Once inside, I am to commence searching for the evidence needed to bring him down...




They've suspected for years that Largo wears a toupee... The media will have a field day, his image will be forever tarnished and his empire will follow suit shortly after.




Once I retrieve the toupee, I am to make my escape immediately!




No exceptions. If not, this may lead to a disastrous direct confrontation with Largo himself.




In the unlikely event that this happens, I have been provided with a twelve page bulletproof backstory complete with official documentation that I am to memorise.






Once out, I am to report back with the toupee immediately for debriefing.




Under no circumstances should I spend thirty minutes dicking around and eating cheese squigglies.




I am to have good luck, and if I am to fuck it all up again like last time I am not to show up on Monday...




Christ, it wasn't my fault those monkeys got loose...




Those bites and scratches healed just fine...




And he threw his shoe at them! What did he expect them to do? Not throw feces at him?




Here's your damn toupee. I'm going home.