Write-Off! (NEW VARIATION? Taking signups!)

Because this is always fun.

For those not familiar with the idea, here's how it works.

We have two writers going head-to-head to write up a short story with three major characters. Both writers will be working with the same setting, characters, and overall plot. The winner is whoever writes the best story!

Here's the gimmick, though. The setting, characters, and plot will be provided by three different people, and they won't know what the others are submitting!

After both players write their stories, they post them and then everyone decides who had the best story.

So, let's kick this off! I'll be one of our two writers. I'll need one opponent and three volunteers!

Some points of clarification:
-Characters: Whoever volunteers for this gets to come up with three characters. A simple one sentence summary of each should be fine (such as "a headless insurance salesman with a heart of gold"); names are optional.
-Plot: When referring to characters, use the terms Character A, Character B, and Character C. It doesn't have to be very long or detailed, but it should have a beginning, middle, and end at the very least.
-Setting: Actually, I guess there's nothing in particular to note here? Again, doesn't have to be particularly long.

Now, who wants to take me on?

I'll volunteer the characters!

I could use some extra practice. I'll challenge you, Fogel.

I'll volunteer the setting! How detailed does it need to be?

I'd say at a minimum, give it a physical description and some kind of information about the culture and/or history.

I suppose I'll wrangle together a plot.

Actually, I asked Selward for a plot, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to have an extra. We can always save one of them for the next round, after all.

Oh right, I have everything in. Forgot to do this because when I got the plot, it was late and I was in the middle of Lithuanian Roulette and then I went to sleep afterwards.

Give me a second to get it all together.

Characters, from PYP:

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<PickYerPoison> 1. A giant spider on a quest to take revenge on the spider who killed her mother.
<PickYerPoison> 2. A sentient dumpster that prides itself on smelling terrible.
<PickYerPoison> 3. A martian accountant who dreams of being on the big screen.

Setting, from Agent:

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Metropolis City. This city is your standard metropolis - a central business district with skyscrapers and things - but with a twist.

It used to be that superheroes and supervillians travelled to Metropolis City from all over the world seeking challenge, alliance and to live among their own.

They still do, but often find quite too much of what they seek.

Today, Metropolis City is better known for its intensely superpowered conflicts and extremely solid construction. Mostly the umbrella of 'superhero' and 'supervillian' has been shredded except in the public eye, with as much infighting as out. Colloquially the usage of the words have been replaced with just 'supers', highlighting the the blurring of the boundaries in between the two groups.

It is here that three characters, two writers and a plot are dropped, like pebbles in a badly unfitting simile like a suit on a rock dropped into a cauldron of arrrrrrgh

Plot, from Selward:

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Character A wants to get into character B's pants like nobody's business. Knowing that character C is a longtime friend of B, A seeks C's assistance in winning the favor of B.

However, C has a deep psychological complex over B, harboring both unrequited love and viciously jealous over-protectiveness. C instead makes it look like A is a horrible person and criminal in order to get B to avoid A.

But what C doesn't realize is that B is secretly a vigilante (anti-)superheroine in her off time, one who has no qualms with using extreme violence to get her way in the name of vanquishing any threats.

C tries to back out and tell B that he was just jealous and making up a story about A, but B stubbornly refuses to believe him, presses a button on her wristband that teleports her power-armor onto her body, and leaps through the ceiling after her prey.

C quickly calls A in order to avert this ridiculous crisis, and arranges to meet at the airship station to make up for his mistake and help A escape.

As A and C arrive at the top of the airship tower, B lands nearby with a thunderous shockwave. B lunges at A, but C jumps in the way and is impaled through the chest by B's swordfish.

As B laments the death of her friend, A laughs to the heavens as the sky turns dark. He reveals that C was actually the last key to the Wombatgate, a rift between the human and Wombat worlds; B has fulfilled the prophecy of the key's death at the hands of a love. Wombats rain from the sky, and B fights a seemingly endless tide of the foul creatures.

A transforms into a giant demonic wombat, and after an arduous battle B thrusts her swordfish through A's heart, spilling dark ichor upon her face.

Then B becomes a wombat. The end.

This is going to be very ridiculous.

hi5 on the questionable superheroes, Agent. Great minds think alike.

A spider that wants to get into a dumpster's pants...good luck with that!

A spider that wants to get into a dumpster's pants...good luck with that!

You have no idea the magnitude of the vengeance I will enact upon you someday, Puck.

Mine's written up. I'll post it once Guy's done with his.

Guy's done with his.

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Arachnus gently pressed a tarsus against the button for floor six, and the elevator began its slow descent. Xzkzpykian, she knew, was a close friend of Intermo; seeing as he worked outside the office, the two got to speak almost every day.

Floor five, customer service.

Metropolis City's tremendous skyscrapers slowly sank past the glass elevator's exterior. Arachnus fidgeted, her eight eyes darting from side to side. This is a terrible idea. I should stop right now.

Floor six, accounting...

The steel doors slid open, and the spider hesitated for just a moment before skittering out and heading to Xzkz's cubicle. The green-skinned accountant was right at work, one eye and pair of hands editing a spread sheet while the others were engrossed in Death of a Salesman. "Ah, hello there, Ara. What's new?"

Arachnus contorted her mandibles in what Xzkz recognized as an attempt at smiling. "Well, you know Intermo?"

The martian paused for a moment before answering. "Yes, seeing as I spend lunch break with him every day. Why do you ask?"

The spider coughed. "Well, actually... I'd kind of like to go on a date with him. Do you have any advice?"

Xzkz's jaw dislocated, forcing her to readjust it. "Why would you want to date a dumpster?" Of course I know, because inside that metal and trash-filled exterior beats a warm, loving heart... a heart that snuffs out lives daily, yet always regrets doing so... "Never mind. I'll call you about it later, alright? I have to get back to work."

Arachnus smiled. "Thanks, Xzkzpykian." Quickly, the bug skittered back into the elevator.

After she was gone without a trace, the accountant raised an eyebrow and smiled. One hour to lunch. Let's make it count.
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The noon sun glinted of Intermo's green surface. The holographic face on the side of the dumpster gaped in shock as he viewed the pictures of the latest jewelry heists-- a trace of spider silk in the corner, a silhouette of a two-segmented body disappearing out the door. "This is... impossible... I never thought Arachnus could be a criminal..."

Inwardly, Xzkz smiled. Of course, it took away time from both work and memorizing Ben's short monologue, but having both sides of his brain work on separate photoshop images was enough to easily destroy her competition. Arachnus was a friend, yes-- but if that friend was going to threaten her own chances with Intermo, that was just too bad. "Neither could I, but it's never who you expect, you know? Same thing with serial killers."

Intermo frowned. "Funny you should mention that... Xzkzpykian, I should have told you by now, but... I'm the Black Avenger."

Xzkz went pink. "W-wait, the black avenger? The one that stomps on people's grandmas and runs over their dog, but always sends a condolence card?"

If dumpsters had heads, this one would have nodded sadly. "And now I have to go... kill my best friend." He pressed a button on his side, and instantly, eight massive black legs shot out. Black armor plating coated Intermo's "torso", and massive turrets quickly sprouted from all over. Slowly, The Black Avenger headed off, as his best friend ran after, his shouts that he was just lying not getting through.

Xzkz began pacing. "Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck." He quickly whipped out a cell phone and called Arachnus.

"Yo, Xzkz! Any advice for me yet?"

"No, listen, there's a problem. I made a really stupid mistake. Meet me at the airship station in ten minutes."
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As massive as the Black Avenger was, he had been going in the wrong direction; Arachnus had not gone home after visiting the building. The spider and the martian arrived at the airship station, a massive chrome edifice blindingly reflecting the sunset, but soon found themselves held up by security. Jovian terrorists had been a problem, of late; the security people lumped in Xzkz, and by the time they managed to actually get to the terminal at the top of the building, it was too late.

Suddenly, the whine of a tremendous object approaching from the sky, slowly getting higher-pitched as it approached, became apparent. Once again, Xzkz blanched; but Arachnus only smiled strangely. "Ah, the Black Avenger..."

As Intermo landed with a massive quake, Arachnus jumped into the sky and pulled out a tremendous sword covered in bloodstains; upon landing, she rushed forward, easily slashing through the adamantium of the Black Avenger's legs. The vigilante stumbled, desperately screaming for reinforcements; but all the other supers were too busy embroiled in their own conflicts, many meaningless, at the time. With no other option, Intermo disengaged his power armor and fell to the roof.

Arachnus frowned and stabbed the sword into the roof of the station. "Well. I'm glad we solved that little dispute. I had no idea you were the Black Avenger, Intermo. But now I figure it's a good time to ask--"

Two legs once again sprouted out of the dumpster's back, one reaching inside and grabbing the skeleton of a swordfish, the other vaulting him forward towards the spider. "Here's something else you didn't know, criminal! How dare you betray my trust!"

Before she knew what she was doing, Xzkz had jumped between the two. After a moment, Arachnus stepped back, laughing. The martian was bleeding out, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Intermo quickly withdrew his fish. "Xzkzpykian, hang in there!" The martian merely smiled softly. "I l-lov'd Intermo; forty thousand sisters could not, with all their quantity of love, m-make... up..."

The martian turned pink, then blue, then finally white before slumping to the ground. Intermo screamed to the skies as Arachnus cackled.

"You remember, don't you, Avenger? It was thirty years ago today. My mother was poor, and had to steal to feed us. So you killed her. Shall I call you Inspector Javert?"

Intermo's face could simulate crying much better than nodding. "You bastard... you know that was her favorite musical..."

The spider simply continued laughing. "Ah, poor Xzkzpykian! You shall die, that everyone else shall do the same!" The sky slowly turned blood red as Arachnus danced, pairs of legs forming into one each, a coating of fur slowly enveloping her body, and so forth-- but mandibles staying the same-- as she slowly grew larger and larger, until finally she was a tremendous wombat, covered in spikes and crystals which shined in the scarlet of the sky.

Arachnus stomped at Intermo, who barely vaulted away before half of the roof of the airport came crumbling down. A booming voice rang out with the words "There's a grief that can't be spoken, there's a pain goes on and on..."

The dumpster once again attempted to stab Arachnus, but her thick black pelt deflected it. The only way in is the eye... Once again, Arachnus' foot stomped down, sending Intermo crashing down into the rubble of the station. "HERE THEY TALKED OF REVOLUTION! HERE IT WAS THEY LIT THE FLAME! HERE THEY SANG ABOUT TOMORROW!"

Slowly, the former spider lowered its face to the ground, grinning widely with its mouth of ten-foot-tall razor-sharp teeth. "And tomorrow... never..."

The dumpster, in one last desperate bid, threw its swordfish at Arachnus' left eye. Realizing what happened to late to react, the wombat was barely able to squeak out a "came" before screaming in agony, blood spouting everywhere. She rapidly began to decay, first her hind legs skeletonizing, then her torso, and so forth, until all that remained was a pile of dust and one last eye.

Intermo drove his fish into this eye as well, with such force it threw open his lid. Some of the demonic essence flew in, but Intermo didn't care. He simply left his fish where it lay, closed up, and waited for sunrise.
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This is the ten o'clock news. Today's top story: A lone wombat-- larger than most, about the size of a dumpster-- was seen leaving the Metropolis City airship station at 10:00 this morning. No other survivors were found, and the scene was utterly devastated. Hopefully next time... our heroes can save us. We go now to on-the-spot reporter Patricia Pauling for more. Patricia?

Here's mine! This was fun to put together.

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The Arachness grabbed the thug by the throat.

"Where is he?" she shouted. "Where's King Taran? I know you're working for him!"

"I... He contacts us maybe once a month! And never in person! I've got no idea where he is! I swear!"

She glared.

"Then how does he pick up the goods?"

"We... We don't know. They just disappear overnight after we grab 'em. I swear, I don't know anythin' else!"

She threw him to the floor, annoyed.

"Then I suppose we're done talking, for now."

Then she noticed another thug, one she had thought unconscious, slipping out through the back door. She ran after him, suspecting he knew more than his compatriot.

"Get back here, scum! Tell me where to find King Taran!"

She chased him down an alley, but he had vanished. All she could see was a dumpster. She ran over to search it, only for it to begin talking.

"Hey! Do you mind? You're in my personal space!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," she said, holding her nose. The dumpster smelled awful. "I thought someone might be hiding in..."

"What, in here? Nah, I don't let anybody in. I only let the smelliest trash in here. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

As the dumpster talked, Arachness saw a pair of pants inside it. A pair of eight-legged pants. A pair that she had never forgotten.

King Taran had killed her mother looking for those pants. And here they were. If she had them, he would be forced to reveal himself.

"May I see those pants?" she asked.

"What? No way! These are the filthiest, worst-smelling pants ever! They're the pride of my collection. I don't show my stuff off to just anybody, after all."

The Arachness sighed. She considered taking the pants by force, but the dumpster's stench was already overpowering. She'd need another approach.

***

Every day, tens thousands of dollars were spent on repairing the damage done by the superpowered battles that plagued Metropolis City. And Mulflork Snatzigander's job was to make sure it was all being spent properly.

Mulflork was the sole survivor of the tragedy that had befallen the planet Mars centuries before. A tragedy that could have been prevented by proper accounting practices. And so it was that he had trained himself in the ways of accounting.

And yet... the work was so damn dull. True, his advanced Martian intellect made him far more skilled at it than any human, but over the years, he had come to realize that what he wanted more than anything was to be a movie star.

That was what had drawn him to Metropolis City. The incredible danger and showy powers had made it a popular filming location, not to mention that they could hire local supers to save on special effects. He hoped one day, a film crew would come looking for a Martian lead actor. And in the meantime, his accounting skills were in high demand; with so much work going on daily, there were always concerns that a small-scale embezzler would slip through the cracks.

And he knew more about what went on in the city than anyone else. Both to be aware of upcoming films so he could audition, and to get a sense of where the troubles might lie in the accounting records.

It was that knowledge that brought the Arachness to his office that morning.

"What can you tell me about a talking dumpster?" she demanded, simply flinging the door open.

"Do you mean Stinky?" Mulflork replied, still working on his spreadsheet. He was used to supers entering like this and asking questions; it was just part of the job at this point.

"Don't know. I never got a name. All I know is, he's got some eight-legged pants that stink hideously, and I want them. Like you wouldn't believe. I want to know how I can get on his good side, so he'll let me use them."

Mulflork's calm demeanor evaporated in an instant.

"Get out," he said, putting his paperwork down.

"But I need--"

"Stinky doesn't need someone like you. He needs a real friend. Someone who understands him. Not someone who sees him as just a dumpster to root through for pants."

The Arachness sighed.

"Fine, I guess I'll just have to cozy up to him on my own time. Thanks for nothing, Snatzi."

And so she left. Mulflork pounded the desk.

She was trying to get Stinky! He couldn't let that happen! Stinky was his, and his alone! They were going to be stars together one day!

But wait... She'd said she was going to see Stinky anyway! He had to stop her!

He'd have to get to Stinky first. Make sure his wonderful smelly Stinky knew what a terrible and awful person she was.

Even if he had to make that part up.

***

Mulflork was shocked as he arrived at Stinky's alley later that afternoon, only to find it distressingly empty. In a panic, he ran out to the street, only to see Stinky and The Arachness sitting at a table inside a nearby filthy, run-down diner that was in danger of being closed at the next health inspection.

Horrified, Mulflork burst in, brushing past the server at the door. To his great disgust, he saw Arachness dropping rotten fish heads in the sentient dumpster.

"Thanks, spider lady!" Stinky said appreciatively. "I guess we just got off on the wrong foot last night. Let me know if you find anything else that smells terrible!"

"You're welcome, Stinky. And please, call me Arachness." She smiled. "But I'm afraid I'm busy right now; I'll see you later tonight!"

She bounded off, waving at Mulflork as she passed him.

"Hey Mulf!" Stinky said to his best friend ever. "That spider lady is pretty nice, huh?"

"No!" Mulflork shouted, pulling an incomprehensible spreadsheet out of his pocket. "She's terrible! She's just trying to trick you! She sets hospitals on fire and steals orphanages! And she robs banks, then dumps the money in the river to destroy the ecosystem! She probably just wants you so she can create another environmental disaster with your stink-powers!"

"Wow, really?" Stinky said, in shock. "Thanks for the warning, Mulf. I never would have suspected."

"So you won't be seeing her again, right?"

"No, I won't. No one will. I'll see to that."

"Good... wait, WHAT?!?"

Stinky sighed.

"Damn. That just slipped out. Look, Mulf, I've been meaning to tell you this for a while... but I'm secretly Dumpstertron 8000. I love this city too much to just sit by and eat garbage when criminal scum are polluting the place with their presence."

Mulflork was shocked. The Dumpstertron 8000 was Metropolis City's most brutal vigilante. Not only did he kill his victims painfully, he left no trace of their bodies behind.

Was that why Stinky often smelled of corpses?

Mulflork sighed. As much as he resented Arachness trying to take Stinky away from him, she didn't deserve death. Certainly not at the hands of Dumpstertron 8000. He'd have to talk his friend down.

"Stinky... Stinky, I'm sorry. I was jealous, and I lied to you. Arachness is honestly no worse than the city's average ruthless vigilante with no concern for collateral damage..."

"Oh, Mulf, my friend... I see what you're trying to do. You think it's too dangerous for me to take her on alone, don't you? I'm touched, really. But I can't let her crimes go unpunished!"

And with that, Stinky spat out a filthy wristband from the depths of his garbage pile, and pressed it with his lid. Before Mulflork could say another word, the mild-mannered sentient dumpster had become the Dumpstertron 8000, a heavily armored dumpster with robotic arms and legs.

"FEAR NOT. THE ARACHNESS WILL NEVER HARM ANYONE AGAIN."

And with that, the Dumpstertron 8000 leapt through the diner's ceiling, leaving a gaping hole behind.

"NO! STINKY, DON'T DO IT!" he screamed.

"Excuse me, mister," said the server, tapping him on the shoulder. "Neither of your two friends has paid for the meal. Are you gonna? And maybe for fixin' up our ceiilin'?

"I've already got one death on my conscience!" Murflorck shouted at the server. "I won't be responsible for another! I have to warn Arachness!"

"Yeah, but the ceiling? And the meal?"

"Put it on my tab! I have to make a phone call, and I think I left my cell phone back at the office!"

***

Arachness was patrolling the rooftops when her phone rang. She answered it to hear a familiar, and panicked, voice.

"Hello? Arachness? This is Mulflork Snatzigander. I've made a terrible mistake. The Dumpstertron 8000 is coming after you, and it's my fault. We need to get you out of the city, and fast. I'll meet you at the airship station, arrange passage, and pay for your fare."

"This had better not be a trick, Snatzi," she growled. "I'm close to a breakthrough in tracking down King Taran. If I have to give it up because of you, and I find out there was no actual threat, you will pay the price for getting in my way."

She crawled down to street level. The airship station was a long way away, and there was a long stretch without enough tall rooftops.

"Taxi!" she shouted. "I need to get to the airship station, and fast!"

The Dumpstertron 8000 stepped out of the alley as she got in.

"So, the fiend is trying to escape," it said. "But I know where she's going. Your reign of terror will soon be over, Arachness."

***

An hour later, Mulflork and Arachness were climbing the last flight of stairs in the airship dock.

"I can't believe the elevator was broken," Arachness groaned.

"Well, we need to leave as soon as possible. We can't wait for them to fix it."

They soon arrived at the top, and the airship dock.

"Finally!" Arachness groaned. "Now I'd better get out of here..."

"NOT SO FAST, VILLAIN!"

The Dumpstertron 8000 leapt from the deck of a nearby airship, shaking the entire tower as it landed.

"Arachness! Your crimes end today!"

Its robotic arm reached into the dumpster, and pulled out a gigantic dead, rotting, smelly swordfish.

"By my fish, you shall fall!"

It charged forward at Arachness.

"NO! STINKY!" Mulflork screamed. "I can't let you do this!"

The Martian accountant suddenly changed into a giant tarantula, and tried to push the Dumpstertron 8000 out of the way.

But he failed, and the swordfish stabbed him through the heart.

"What... Mulf... Why did..."

Tears of rancid apple juice ran down the Dumpstertron's armor, as the spider crumpled to the ground.

"Arachness... I always regretted... killing your mother..."

And Mulflork Snatzigander died in Dumpstertron's arms.

"NOOO!" the dumpster vigilante screamed. "Why did it have to end like this?"

Arachness simply laughed.

"My revenge is complete. And now, thanks to you, I can finish my mother's work."

"What... What are you talking about?"

"I realized some time ago that your friend Mulflork was actually King Taran. But I kept up the pretense of hunting him down, so he would assume he was still safe. Then I saw those pants inside you, and realized that they were the ones King Taran had taken from my mother when he killed her. That's when I knew he must have truly cared for you." She grinned wickedly. "And that meant I could use you to fulfill the prophecy."

"Prophecy? What prophecy?"

"King Taran was the final key to the Wombatgate, a rift between the human and Wombat worlds. My mother was trying to open it; that was what lead him to kill her. According to prophecy, however, the gate can only open if the final key dies at the hands of a loved one. Such as you."

Dumpstertron gasped. Before he had time to process the information, the sky turned dark and wombats rained down.

"And now the Wombatgate is open. My family's purpose has been fulfilled. I have no further use for you. Destroy him, Wombats!"

The Dumpstertron 8000 fought off the wombats, as Arachness leapt over to the nearby airship.

"I'll rule this world from the skies now! Farewell, Stinky!"

As Dumpstertron knocked away wombat after wombat, it seemed he wasn't getting anywhere. He had to stop the Arachness before she escaped! He didn't know if that would close the Wombatgate, but what other choice did he have?

He stabbed three wombats at once with his swordfish, ran towards the airship, and grabbed its rudder just as it took off. He climbed aboard, still fighting waves of wombats as they fell onto the deck.

Finally, he reached the steering wheel, and Arachness.

"You're still alive?" she snarled. "Then I'll have to take care of you myself, it seems."

As she finished speaking, she changed. She grew larger, and her features, save for her eight legs, changed to those of a wombat. She reared up on her four hindlegs, and growled.

The Dumpstertron 8000 was in trouble.

The wombat-spider leapt to the center of the airship, breaking its mast and wielding it as an enormous club. She was both stronger and more mobile than the dumpster vigilante; he barely dodged her first blow.

He grabbed one end of the mast and broke it in two, in hopes of matching her. But he couldn't wield such a heavy weapon as effectively as the Wombat Queen could.

After swatting at him some more, she grew weary of the struggle and dropped her mast, leaping at Dumpstertron.

He was caught off guard; he managed to run, but she had pinned his arm. She was dragging him closer...

And then he realized his arms were optional. He spit out his wristband and pressed it against his lid again, becoming the limbless Stinky once more.

The spider-wombat-goddess laughed. A helpless dumpster against her? This would be simple. She prepared to pounce.

That was when Stinky spat out the pants right in her face.

Though her wombat nose was less sensitive than her spider nose, the Wombat Queen still couldn't take such an overpowering stench so close to her face. She collapsed. Thinking quickly, Stinky wheeled himself over to where he had dropped his swordfish, and then pushed it over towards her.

Then, wheeling his way under her unconscious body, he quickly spun around, knocking the swordfish upward.

It struck her hard. Black ichor leaked out, and the Wombat Queen's body crumbled away. The sky brightened once more, and the surviving wombats screeched, fleeing into the sky. The Wombatgate had closed.

But the ichor blood of the Queen had leaked all over Stinky, changing him. He had became a Wombat.

The cleanest, nicest-smelling wombat ever. He screamed with his newfound lungs.

***

Three months later, "The Legend of the Dumpster" aired in theaters. The highlight of the movie was the actual security footage from the Metropolis City airship tower.

In the VIP seats, Stinky the Wombat cried. It was exactly what Mulf would have wanted.

Okay here is an opinion.

Both stories are good but Fogel's story incorporated the many bizarre elements in a more coherant way, plus also took the plot synopsis hilariously literally. I would have to vote for Fogel.

Okay, it looks like I win. Yay!

Now we can have another round! We could have someone challenge the winner (me), or if two people want to face each other, we can do that too. So, who's up for Round 2?

om nom nom characters

Setting.

I will accept the challenge. I will stand against Fogel and prepare myself for complete and utter failure. Bring it.

I will serve the steaming hot Plot Coffee

I'm just gonna drop my interest bomb here... and slowly wait for it to go off! You can't do anything about it!

(I'll take on the next challenge)

Okay! Ixcaliber and I will be facing off this time! Now send in those characters, plot, and setting so we can get this started.

I hate you all.

Characters, from cyber95:

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CHARACTER A: Will Smith. In West Philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground was where he spent most of his days. Nowadays he's a famous actor. Getting his big break with The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, he gave himself the goal of becoming "the biggest movie star in the world." He also raps.
CHACARTER B: Will Smith. A British comedian, actor, and writer. Does regular stand-up, and is most well-known for liking other things that are more well known than him.
CACACERTR C: Will Smith. American Football player for the New Orleans Saints. He's the Defensive End on the team, whatever the hell that means. He beat his wife last year, so that's fun.

Setting, from Chwoka:

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A dystopian nudist colony. The rest of the world is perfectly fine, but this one colony on the shoreline of America operates as if it's its own country. The American and international police agencies can't seem to touch them. There's a rebellion in the underworld of the colony, but it's actually a sham run by the state. The actual rebellion escaped 6 months or so ago, but nobody knows that.

Organ donation is compulsory. Money does not exist, you only have state-sponsored credits acquired at a piddling rate through forced labor. You get one hundred credits for turning in somebody else for crimes, however.

Crimes have only one punishment: everybody stops what they're doing and are brought to town square to cheer as you are embarrassed, tortured, and then executed. Crimes include wearing clothing, planning a rebellion, talking outside of designated talking hours, cutting perfectly circular holes in things, showing state-unsponsored arousal or romantic interest, high-fives, being not human and alive at the same time, modifying your state-issued refrigerator, showing state-unsponsored embarrassment or modesty, committing a crime or being accused of committing a crime, implying there might be an outside world, etc. The list of crimes goes on to infinity.

The primary method of getting new blood in the colony is kidnapping from the rest of the world or in-colony procreation.

Plot, from Schazer:

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A works in a high-security company. B is unemployed, possibly a sociopath, and acquires A's identification and uses it to infiltrate the headquarters of A thanks to either A+B's similar appearance, or B being a master of disguise.

While there, he discovers a terrible secret involving C, A's boss and the guy A's significant other is cheating on A with. It turns out the thing A has been working overtime on (on C's orders) is the last piece to fall into place on C's plan to take over the company and eventually the world! B and C have a tense stand-off, but C mistakenly assumes B knows nothing about A's project and lets him walk away with a bribe on the condition he never speak of this.

B gets off scot-free - albeit knowing C's plans - but is wracked with guilt and spends some time after the incident obsessively stalking A to see what became of them. A is fired, loses their significant other, and is close to leaving town on C's orders, when B explains everything. The two use their knowledge of C's nefarious plan to exact justice, and maybe save the world or something I'unno.

Here's my needlessly long, overly expository effort at making sense of this madness. Seriously this is too long. :/

SpoilerShow

Smithtopia; legally speaking it is the best place in the world because if you dare to suggest otherwise then you are committing A Crime. The many Will and Wilhelmina Smiths (you are legally required to change your name upon arrival in Smithtopia. Attempting to hold onto your old name, the last vestige of that outside world, is A Crime) that live in Smithtopia are in actuality far from happy. The List Of Crimes is so long that there it more than likely covers every eventuality including ‘Asking What Is A Crime’, ‘Looking Like You Are About To Commit A Crime’ and ‘Thinking About Crimes’. However it would take more words than this entire story to tell you the many ways in which the people of Smithtopia were oppressed, for our purposes we will note the rules that are the most revealing, so to speak.

It is A Crime to wear clothing.

It is A Crime to plan a rebellion.

It is A Crime to modify your state-issued refrigerator.

It is A Crime to imply that there is an outside world.

“The refrigerator one probably isn’t that important actually. That was something of an oversight, please ignore it.” Will Smith, leader of the state supported faux rebellion, felt that this lecture was going even worse than usual. His job was simple, people sought him out to become part of the rebellion, he’d do some kind of speech about how awful the government were just long enough for the enforcers to arrive and take the dissenters away for immediate humiliation, torture and death for the ‘amusement’ of the rest of the population. His main problem with his job, besides the crippling guilt, was that he would often slip back into his old job and try to slip a joke in there. It was today after the potential rebels were taken away that he was taken aside by his boss Will Smith and told that he was fired. He was told that he was performing an important task and undermining it with jokes was tantamount to A Crime. He was told that the refrigerator joke had been the last straw. He was also instructed that he had until this time the start of work the following day to find a job because as he knew:

“It is A Crime to be unemployed.” His boss parroted the rule back to him, as though Will didn’t already know it.

Will Smith, the now unemployed former lecturer, and even formerer comedian, left the rebellion hall and decided to swing by the Town Square and watch the latest batch of criminals slowly tortured and killed. He had never actually been down to the executions before. He had always been too busy writing his lecture for the next day, a wholly pointless task since nobody ever heard the lecture more than once. He’d shut his mind off from the humiliation and the brutality that he sent those who came to him to. As he watched the braying audience cheer for the deaths of those who simply wanted to live without oppression, he slowly realized that he could not stand idly by while this was going on. He had to do something.

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Meanwhile Will Smith, famous for, amongst other things, his role as the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, was hard at work. As much as his line of employment in Smithtopia could be compared to work; when compared to the forced labour inflicted upon the average Will or Wilhelmina Smith on the street it was practically relaxation. He was currently deep in rehearsals for a play of some kind. It was fairly obviously a propaganda piece. The entire thing was made up of thinly veiled references to how great Smithtopia was, and if that was not enough of a clue the entire thing was written, directed and produced by Will Smith (the former American Football player and current President of Smithtopia). If you wanted further clues you could cotton onto the fact that the play was being rehearsed and performed in the governmental manse.

Will Smith (the former fresh prince now governmental stooge) was more than happy to propagandize Smithtopia, he had been given preferential treatment since his arrival in this ‘paradise’. He’d been immediately set up with the Wilhelmina of his choice and given one of the largest housing complexes in Smithtopia. He regularly had Will Smith (the former American Football player and current President of Smithtopia) and his wife Wilhelmina over for dinner and a game of volleyball. Life was pretty good for Will Smith; if he had been a little more paranoid he might have come to the conclusion that he was being buttered up for his particular set of skills, but as he did not, we will not either.

After the state required end-of-rehearsal orgy Will Smith grabbed his stuff and started home. As he left the governmental manse he bumped into his old friend Will Smith (the recently fired faux-rebel lecturer and former comedian). With them both being famous (just about famous in Will’s Case) Will Smiths in a small town it had been pretty much inevitable that they would meet and befriend one another. They stopped for a chat, though Will’s mind was not on the antics of the former Fresh Prince, but on getting hold of Will’s identification so he could get into the governmental manse and take a good look around. While Will was lost in one of his own tall tales Will snatched his identification out of his bag and quickly made his excuses.

Will, the other Will’s identification in hand, approached the governmental manse and prayed that his skill as a master of disguise would see him through this particularly tricky situation. At reception; a reasonably attracted Wilhelmina Smith. Will showed her the identification he had swiped and put on his best Will Smith impression: “I left some of my stuff inside after the rehearsal.” Wilhelmina squinted at the card and at Will. Just as Will began to believe that his cover was blown she nodded and waved him through. Once into the building proper he laughed with relief. He didn’t know why he had been worried. He was after all a master of disguise.

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Annoyingly once inside the governmental manse Will found himself being herded towards the studio where Will had been rehearsing his play. The other doors simply would not budge for his identification, and as we all know it is A Crime to try to open doors you are not supposed to open. The studio was dark and eerily empty. At the far end, shadows moved in the dim-light from a backroom. Will cautiously approached this backroom. Inside there was a Wilhelmina (the wife of Will ‘the former fresh prince of bel-air’ Smith) and a couple of Wills, one of whom was instantly recognizable as the President of Smithtopia. He and Wilhelmina were sat together, his arm softly caressing her as the other Will Smith talked about the object he was stood in front of. Will (unemployed Will) easily recognised it as a video camera, although there was a bizarre futuristic attachment the like of which he had never seen before.

“The Subliminiser takes anything that is recorded and adds a layer of inaudible noise, beyond the register of any human.” The camera demonstrating Will Smith explained. “Regardless of whether or not it is perceived this noise is still heard and it essentially primes the mind, makes it malleable. Any information that is heard while in this suggestible state becomes to them irrefutable truth.”

“I am aware of the theory Mr Smith.” Will Smith (Smithtopian President) said. “What I want to know is does it work?”

“Yes sir.” Will Smith replied. “We have an entire lab full of people who believe Star Trek is a real thing to attest to the success of the Subliminaliser.”

President Smith laughed. “Think of it my dear Wilhelmina. Your ridiculous husband will be the one to convince the entire world to submit themselves to me.” He turned back to Will. “Move up the filming, now that the Subliminaliser works there’s no reason to hold off any longer.”

“As you wish.” Will replied. He turned and started to work on the camera. President Will stared at him for a minute or so, hoping the undercurrent of annoyance would promptly clear him out.

“Look Will.” Will said. “If you could clear off for a bit, give me a little alone time with Wilhelmina here…”

“Hmm…?” The other Will replied, not turning around.

“We’ve got stuff that we would like to do.” The President said suggestively.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Annoying can’t-take-a-hint Will replied. The President sighed.

“Look I am going to have sex with her. I prefer not to have an audience.” He said.

“Oh right.” Will replied. “Say no more. You don’t have to tell me twice you know.” He made his way to the door, to find Will, the unemployed comedian standing on the other side. You might have thought given the advanced warning he would have hidden himself, but in truth he sort of drifted off towards the end of the conversation and was thinking about what Wilhelmina was getting up to at the moment. The sight of The President standing in front of him jolted him back to reality.

“Well well Mister Smith.” The President said. “It would appear you have unwittingly discovered some things you ought not to know. The question is do I give you the incentive to keep quiet or do I arrange for you to never have the opportunity to tell your story…?”

“I… I can keep a secret.” Will stammered. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The President cocked his head to one sight contemplatively.

“Hmmm… You do have a good track record working for my little ‘rebellion’…” he paused. “Very well Mister Smith. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement. You’ll have your job back obviously, a generous bonus and a juicy raise. We’ll see about setting you up with a good housing complex and a well stocked fridge and a Wilhelmina of your very own. Yes, I think things are going to be pretty good for you from here on out Mister Smith.” He glanced back to Wilhelmina who was flicking through Smithtopian Vogue and then back to the two Will Smith’s (the bribe taker and his assistant). “I trust you can see one another out. I have something that requires my attention in here.” Will was better at taking a hint than Will and so promptly left. As he left the government manse, the cold night air hitting his skin, he couldn’t help but feel that same feeling he had had when he had watched those poor innocent people tortured and killed. He pushed it aside. He had to look out for number one.

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The next morning President Will Smith was having toast with his wife Wilhelmina and glancing over that day’s newspaper. It was as ever filled with pages and pages of stories about how great it is to live in Smithtopia because it is A Crime to have bad news. Though he had been busy keeping multiple Wilhelminas satisfied, he had been thinking about the situation as it stood. He had concluded eventually that Will Smith, the former fresh prince, was pretty much unnecessary in his scheme; if the Subliminaliser worked as intended then the propaganda should be taken for truth no matter how well acted. All he needed was someone trustworthy to act out what would soon become truth, and Will Smith (the bribe taking former comedian) had proved himself thus. He finished his breakfast and called up Will Smith (one of his numerous assistants).

“Will Smith; put him into a Downward Spiral.” The President said ominously.

“Which Will Smith are we talking about?” Will Smith hesitantly replied. “The one from legal who is always like ‘hey Will you shouldn’t put that in there you are mixing recyclables and non-recyclables blah blah whatever’. I wouldn’t mind seeing him go on a Downward Spiral.”

“No.” The President said irritably. “Will Smith the actor who was about to star in the propaganda play.” There was a general noise of agreement from the other end of the phone. “And while you are at it send a message to Will Smith saying he needs to meet me.”

“Which Will Smith are we talking about?” Will Smith asked. “Is this the one from legal?”

And this carried on for a while.

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It was a good day for Will Smith (new governmental lackey). If it wasn’t good enough that he’d been given his job back he’d been informed that he had been promoted. Admittedly it was a promotion to a job that facilitated world domination but still… He had a fancy new house and a sexy new wife. Life was good, and if other people had to suffer to make sure that Will’s life was good well that was not exactly his problem. He walked through the sunny streets towards the Rebellion Hall, he had some stuff he had to pick up; remnants of his old life. As he passed through the lecture hall to the back room, he couldn’t help but notice that amongst the eager rebels awaiting their imminent torture and death was Will Smith (the former fresh prince of Bel-Air). As much as he was in favour of leaving people to their fate Will was his friend. Having collected his stuff he grabbed Will by the arm and pulled him out of the Rebellion Hall into a secluded alleyway nearby.

“What are you doing Will?” He demanded.

“I’m taking down this wretched government.” Will replied gruffly. “Yesterday I was riding high, I had it all; the perfect job, the perfect house and the perfect wife. This morning I got fired, evicted and divorced within the space of an hour.”

“Ouch.” Will replied sympathetically. “In terms of bad days that is one hell of a bad day.”

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough I’ve lost my identification.” Will said. “With no identification I’m not eligible to purchase a new house or seek employment, and as you know…”

“It is A Crime to be unemployed or homeless.” Will said. “Yes I know.”

“I never quite realized how awful this government was until I stopped being one of the privileged few.” Will said sadly. “They need to pay for what they are doing.” Will (former comedian Will) regarded the down on his luck actor. On the one hand this was not his problem. On the other he was right, only yesterday Will himself had been thinking the same thing. He’d been ready to take on the government at whatever cost. He sighed heavily, though he knew he would regret it, he couldn’t let himself be swayed by Will’s bribe.

“If you really want to fight the government going in there is the last thing you want to do.” He confided in Will. “Come with me back to my new housing complex. I just might have a way we can take down the government for real.”

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Will Smith (the former fresh prince) had been flagged for death the moment that he had set foot in that Rebellion Hall. It was not long before he was dragged off to be publicly executed under the pretence of having modified his state issue refrigerator. Will Smith (the comedian) did not attend. He had important stuff to set up.

That night in the governmental manse a number of Wills and Wilhelminas had assembled to watch the very first performance of the play that would change the world. President Will Smith sat in the front row, along with a whole gaggle of Wilhelminas. Didn’t you know it is A Crime to say no to the President? Up on the stage stands the star of the show Will Smith (you know the one by now), the cameras trained upon him, the subliminaliser primed and ready to go. This was it. This was the moment that Smithtopia would spread to include the whole world. The President smiled as the lights dimmed and the play began.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Will Smith said. “I will not be performing the play written for you by President Will Smith. I’m not going to tell you anything you don’t already know; that what is being done here is wrong, that people should have the right to free speech, the option to wear clothes or not, the choice of whom they are allowed to show romantic interest in…”

“Stop this!” President Smith yelled. “Stop him, he is a liar and A Criminal!” Governmental enforcers stormed the stage, their weapons raised at Will.

“Will!” He yelled. “Do your thing.”

“I’m sorry Mister President.” His wife Wilhelmina said, suddenly brandishing a knife.

“Wilhelmina, what are you doing?” President Will demanded.

“Take another look.” Wilhelmina said. The President did so and suddenly realized that the woman he was sat next to was in fact Will Smith (the former comedian who was supposed to be up on the stage performing a piece of Smithtopian propaganda).

“What?” President Will was lost for words. “How?”

“I’m a master of disguise.” Will explained.

“But we…” President Will trailed off.

“Yep.” Will said. “The things I do for this rebellion…”

“If you’re here then who is…?” He turned to look up on the stage. Will Smith (who was formerly the fresh prince and apparently not dead) stood on the stage. “What?!”

“Will taught me a thing or two about disguises.” Will said.

“But you were executed!” President Will continued his bewildered cross-examination.

“No.” Will said. “What you actually executed was a well disguised refrigerator!” President Will sighed heavily.

“Who cares which Will it is? Just kill him!” He demanded. Will (the comedian) held his knife to the President’s neck.

“If anybody tries to interfere with the broadcast I’m slitting his throat.” Will said. “And as you all know it is A Crime to cause the president to come to harm.” And so Will Smith (the fresh prince) continued telling the world how awful Smithtopia is.

“The joke is on you.” President Will muttered. “We didn’t turn the subliminaliser on yet.” Will Smith (the comedian) laughed.

“The joke is on you.” He said. “We don’t need a mind control device to make everyone see how awful this place is. All we need is a medium, a platform from which we can shout out how awful Smithtopia is. The rest will happen on its own.”

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And indeed it did. Overnight the people of Smithtopia rose up and overturned President Smith’s corrupt government. They reclaimed their clothing, their freedom and importantly their identities. At one point during the night President Will escaped and there was a big chase sequence through the rebelling streets of Smithtopia blah blah blah you get the picture. In the end they shot him.