Alex sat at his computer. In front of him was a big note saying "Write bit of story now!!!!" with triple underlines. It had to be important.
He sighed. Right, let's do this. I'm late enough as it is. It needs to be done or else about three or four people will start sending me evil e-mails asking WHY ISN'T IT DONE YET! He opened up a blank document, and stared at the screen.
For twenty minutes.
Ah what the hell, he thought. I'll have one quick skirmish match then write this. I'm sure some inspiration will come to me. He was about to slot the CD-ROM into the drive, when he felt the press of cold metal against the back of his head.
"Put the disk down or else I'll rip you a new date." Came the voice from behind him. He slowly put the disk down. "Now turn around." He swiveled the chair slowly. Before him was a tall, athletically built woman, with short, shaggy black hair and a messy scar over her right eye.
She also was pointing a very big looking pistol at him. "Tool."
"Yes, you are," the woman replied.
"Uh..." Alex began, not sure what to do when presented with a fictional alter ego. Think! What would Rick R, his favorite player character of all time do? Get a fluke cockpit hit in the first round of combat. Not applicable. What would Ben Hutchins do in this situation? He'd woo her in some incredibly lame way, then boink her and half the universe. Okay, not applicable. So he settled for the next best option.
"Er, hi Sandra." He grinned. "How are you?"
"How am I?" She replied, angrily. "I'm in a ferking tooly mood, that's how I am." She snarled. "And do you know why I'm in a ferking tooly mood?"
"Um... no," He replied, nervously. Gawds those are big guns she's got, he mentally added.
"Because a certain tool fairy author of mine spends all his spare time boofing little pixellated men rather than writing my stuff which means that I get stuck in limbo for months on end."
"Sorry, I-" Alex began, but she cut him off.
"And when he does get round to writing me, do you know what he does?" She asked, not giving Alex a chance before she went on. "He writes me as some kind of hopelessly inept looser who can't do one thing right without ending up being blown up, loosing her job, loosing her money or hip-deep in carpet!" She continued. "The end result is that I'm seen as the 'funny' character of the PBEM while everyone else gets to wiz around saving the universe, blowing up GENOM, playing the flute with their designer dolls, retiring to their luxury penthouses and generally having a better time than me!" She was turning purple. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Sorry?" Alex replied in a tiny voice.
"WELL DON'T DO IT AGAIN!"
Sandra holstered her guns and dusted herself off. "Much better. Now get on with that story before I have to get angry with you."
She walked out of the room and opened the window. Before leaving, she turned back to Alex, who was typing frantically. "Oh, one more thing. About that Gratuitous Sex Scene..."
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