Mission 007 Characters: Justin Hammer, Magneto, Medusa and (this will work better with an even number of people I'd think so...an odd number, please join) Setting: Mojoworld! Content: Violence? Summary:Mission 007 is entirely freeform! Try not to die, and get yourselves out of here, heroes!
"Fresh meat!" This room would have looked like an empty television studio if the crane that should have been Camera A wasn't a flamethrower. Otherwise, the room itself was bland and boring and entirely unnoteworthy. There were cables run along the floor and heavy pipes bolted to the ceiling, all of them grey and blending in with each other to take no notice of. Light came from somewhere, but it was brightest at the back of the room where a door stood away from the wall, glowing yellow with usage instructions stamped along the right side of the frame, and a cheerful TELEPORT sign propped on top. In front of it, blocking away, was their massive welcome party. Massive not because there were many of them, there was just two, but one of them was just plain huge. "Did you notice my agent following you? I bet you're kicking yourselves for not doing anything sooner," he went on, and while talking his mouth seemed to flap around and dribble, mushing the words out and only intelligible with the help of some kind of metal retainer that kept one lip raised goulishly, the hook straining around his fat head and based in the construct that he seemed to be leaning on. He was a big, fleshy mass. Anywhere his fat strained too much, he seemed to be stapled shut again so he could continue to stretch. That metal construct he seemed to be leaning on followed his spine to the round base he sat on with a multitude of scuttling metal legs. His eyes bulged hungrily and he seemed absolutely delighted to see his fresh meat.
"Welcome to Mojomedia," the man beside him, decidedly normal looking in contrast, announced calmly. With his hands folded behind his back, he continued, "All rights, reservations and control belong to Mojo."
"That means you, meat," Mojo added.
"As you may know," his normal-looking acquaintance said, "all citizens of Mojoworld are addicted to the television programs we broadcast twenty four hours a day, all year round. It is a fantasy of better living, brought to you by Mojomedia, all rights reserved, right in your own home. Quality programming for a quality life."
"Get to the point," Mojo interjected.
"Our reality programming in particular is an overwhelming favourite, as is produced with the lowest overhead costs, providing a flawless synergy of interest. Or, well, it was..." For the first time he stuttered, losing his cool, infomercial resolve.
"They want something better," Mojo said.
"Something new."
"Something fantastic."
"That's where you come in." The infomercial resumed. "Citizens of Earth A, reality configuration OM, you are something better, new and fantastic. Welcome to Mojoworld. Welcome to the Arena."
The door marked TELEPORT cast its welcoming glow on the party, ready to begin broadcast.