Hay gaise, turns out I CAN draw, just not very well.
You see this link?---------> link CLICK IT CLICK IT CLICK IT!
La lalalalalala laaaaaaaa la…..lalalalaalalalal………….lllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalalala- eh what, huh? Is that a carmera? Whu- what……………*Gaaaaaaaaaaaaassp* a character introduction!? I lllllllllllove charater introductions! Ok ok ok ok, this is my good side…. No wait this one……. Oh hell, they’re both good. Alight, *ahem*.
They call me many names; La parra dificil, Della Donna unomo, le bâtard masque, Der graue Fuchs, and, my personal favorite of all these nicknames, “that masked son of a whore that fucked my wife and stole all my shit”; though I liked to be called Shift. I’m what most people would call an “uncommon thief”. True, I steal things; valuable things mind you. But it’s not so much as what I take; it’s how I take it, where I took it from and WHEN I took it.
I’ve stolen Chinese pottery from the early-Xing Dynasty, a couple of Italian paintings from the late Renaissance period, seven samurai swords from feudal Japan and a cask of French wine that was bottled in the year 1689 to name a few.
You’re probably thinking that’s impressive, right? Well, what if I told you that all those items were actually only a few years old?
Still haven’t figured it out yet? Well let me give you a few more examples.
I’ve also stolen a freshly made flask of Greek fire from an Ottoman laboratory, a dodo egg, and six wives from the same Chinese emperor (It’s not kidnapping if they wanted to go with me).
Eyup, I’m a time traveler. Well…. I wouldn’t call it time travel. Truth is: time travel doesn’t exist. What I do is actually considered dimensional jumping.
Think Dragon Ball Z. Remember how Trunks goes back in time to warn Goku and the others about the androids and that heart virus so they could OT and kick their asses? Then he came back to check up on them, and found that the androids were stronger than even his? It was explained that Trunks actually didn’t travel through time; he had traversed into an alternate universe, just in a different time period. That’s essentially what I do.
The fact that what I do is jumping dimensions gives me freedom to do pretty much whatever the fuck I want, no paradoxes to worry about. And let me tell you, screwing with other dimensions is FUUUUUUUU-UN!
I’ve created a reality where Napoleon won the Battle of Waterloo…… by giving him Apache helicopters.
You know the rumor about the second shooter on the grassy knoll? ..... Well, it wasn’t me, there was no shooter on the grassy knoll, Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, and I just spread the rumor for shits and giggles.
I teamed up with Genghis khan, and robbed a Chinese warlord of everything he had, and to celebrate, we got shit-faced and had an orgy. It sure is good to be Khan.
In fact, recently, I met Adolf Hitler, Convinced him I was an alien, and he took me out drinking. For an angry, Anti-Semitic, uni-balled slop-artist, he was a cool dude and a great wing-man to boot…………… WHAT!? Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I farted in his mouth while he was out cold.
I suppose I should explain the getup.
The coat I’m wearing isn’t just some flashy outfit. It’s actually an experimental cloaking suit, intended for military stealth missions, but before it was actually used I stole it, destroyed the others and deleted all copies of the blue prints; that should throw their asses off for fifteen more years.
The suit I wear underneath is actually mobile cellular perseveration suit. To put it simple, I don’t age. I’ve been at this job for about 75 years, and I still look eighteen and sexy.
The mask isn’t part of the suit though, but it still serves a good purpose. Thermal vision, night vision, heart rate recognition, you name it. It’s also great to attract women; bitches love a man in a mask.
And just what is it that allows me to traverse dimensions, you ask?
Is it a blue police call box?
Is it a supped-up sports car?
Is it a steam-punk-chair-thingy with a big wheel thingy on the back and blinking light thingies on the front?
It’s my belt buckle. Now, while that doesn’t seem very interesting, think about this: it doesn’t have a mind of its own; it doesn’t run on plutonium; it doesn’t have a bunch of unnecessary thingies and it’s portable. The Doctor, Doc Brown and H. George Wells can all go suck it.
Finally, the tiny cube thing on my hip. You’re probably wondering where I keep all my shit. To be frank, I don’t trust banks, so I keep all my stuff on my person at all times. That little box is a multi-dimensional storage cube, a device that contains many compressed universes all capable of holding an infinite amount of goods. Oh, I’ve got all kind of stuff. Weapons, one of a kind items, gems the size of coconuts, paintings, booze, food and a shit load of money. I’m literally carrying over four thousand tons.
I was at the top of my game… or, at least I thought I was. My opinion changed greatly once I met Malgrephor.
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It all started as any other day. I was on a heist that I’d decided to go on just a few minutes before (who needs planning when you’ve got heavy duty equipment).
So where was I you ask? None other than the United Arab Emirates! It had been a while since I’d been here; been waiting for the heat to cool down from last time I came here. Let’s just say I really pissed off some oil tycoon.
So, there I was, standing on top of a low building, looking at one of the most prestigious banks in the country; not the largest, mind you, but is there really a biggest bank in this country? I mean, the people here already eat coal and shit diamonds right?
‘sooooooooooo, how shall I execute my approach? Stealthy, or balls-out, head first, Leroy Jenkins style?’
“Hmm.”
Minutes later…
“EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! HE HAS A FUCKING TANK!”
‘Stealth is so boring; having the subtlety of a Rhino, now THAT’S fun!’
So onwards I went, pan-caking cars in the streets of Abu Dhabi in a T-90 Russian tank whilst blasting Guns N’ Roses.
Within minutes, I got to the first obstacle: the doors.
‘Let’s see; approximately ten meters wide, another five meters high, made of mostly glass and aluminum (god I love this mask) ……..piece ‘o cake.
Crushable material means no need for shelling and no shelling means less debris and minimal casualties, perfect.
So just by rolling right through, I was past the first point; now to proceed on foot.
I opened up the top hatch and climbed out, an SMG in my hand. Once I stood up, I was greeted to the sight of thirty or so patrons staring wide eyed at me.
“Not to worry peasants!” is said as I jumped off the tank. “I am merely making a routine withdrawal, nothing too serious! I shall be in and out in about five minutes.” I proceeded to walk toward them in a brisk fashion. The crowd quickly parted as I proceeded to the vault.
Obstacle two cleared, now for the vault.
‘Let’s see, roughly three inches of reinforced steel, rigged to three thousand volts in case of drilling, ten digit code in Arabic……..easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.’
I turned on my cube on and typed in the item I wanted. The rift opened and I reached inside, pulling out my good ol’ friend.
“Ah, the hand-held precision mining laser, where would I be without you?”
Within twenty seconds, there was a giant smoldering hole in the vault door. Hurriedly, I stepped inside to claim my prize of over fifty million Dirhams.
I set the cube on the ground of the vault and opened a rift to the “currency” section. I then proceeded to chucking each of the bags inside. My spoils collected and the vault empty, I headed to the main lobby.
But there was a slight problem. Before I entered the lobby I could hear loud sirens and people shouting through megaphones, and I didn’t need to know how to speak Arabic (which I could) to know they were telling me to come out with my hands raised. To which I responded:
“FUCK DA POH-LEECE!”
Instantly, I knew I had to get to my tank before they got inside the building. I dashed toward the lobby at full speed and kicked open the double door……. to be greeted by the sight of twenty angry police officers.
“JEEZUS!” I shouted as I dove behind a marble block, bullets flying passed my face.
“Goddamnit! I hate open-gun-fights, IhatethemIhatethemIhatethem!” I really can’t stand the pressure of having a bunch of people shooting at me (that and I can’t shoot for shit).
Man I haven’t seen Arabs this pissed off since………… ya know what, I’m not going to go there.
My mind raced, how the hell was I going to get out of this? I was currently out gunned, and I didn’t have enough cover to get anything out of my cube. What to do, what to do.
Then I looked down at my belt-buckle.
“Oh right, DUH.”
So slapped the button…………….aaaaaaaand nothing happened.
“OH GOD, NOT THIS CRAP AGAIN. DON’T FRITZ-UP ON ME NOW!”
I bombarded my belt-buckle with a barrage of slaps. Seriously, I need to get this thing checked.
“Hahahaha, here, let me get that for ya.” A voice next to me said. A hand reached out from my left and touched my belt-buckle. Almost immediately, it hummed to life.
“Oh, cool! Thanks bro……. wait what?”
Right as I turned my head to see who it was, my belt flared, and I blacked out.