It's a good life as a freelance villainous advisor. Here you sit, secure in your tastefully opulent headquarters, critiquing vault-robbery plans and helping tongue-tied ne'er-do-wells craft their grandiose monologues. It may not be a hands-on sort of villainy, but as the Americas languish through year after year of depression and Europe lurches towards yet another Great War, it seems an altogether pleasant way to keep your hands clean.
But now the phone is ringing. One of your clients is contacting you on Line 1, hoping for on-the-job consultation via electro-radiographic zeta-wave transmitter. That's not a service you provide to just anybody; the retainer is quite substantial.
6th place (out of 79) in the 23rd Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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