He had to admit, Oscar had been more than a little startled when the blue-skinned demonette had appeared behind him as he was taking care of business in a public urinal. "Hey, Thug," she'd announced. "Daddy's got a job for you."

For his part, Oscar remembered rolling his eyes at the moniker. Apparently it was tradition among supercriminals to take for yourself some ridiculous second name. The first time he appeared in the police blotter for an altercation with a cop, the text had referred to him as a 'thug' - and when it came out that he displayed 'slightly superhuman abilities', the news ran with the name (in the two or three sentences they'd devoted to him since, of course).

"Wish everybody'd stop feckin' callin' me that..." he'd grumbled, but by the time he'd turned around, she was gone, leaving behind a slip of paper with a time and a place.

And now here he was, seated at the crossroads of weirdness and stupidity. Lounging back in his chair, the criminal cast his gaze around the room. Some white-suit, cardshark type. A bloody alien. Cute blonde chick. Spider-robot. Medusa. Some creepy fuck in a bird mask. Several more. Not for the first time, Oscar wondered what he was doing here - after all, he'd sworn off evil minion work after that bastard Ne'erdowell had tried to lobotomize him. [i]This is different,[/i] he told himself. [i]This is climbing the ladder.[/i]

Clearing his throat, Oscar raised his hand casually. "Had some experience with mad-scientist lairs. Didn't much like it. I'll take the casino, with birdbrains and white-suit." He rose from his chair and stepped over to the two, hands in his pockets.