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Night of the living Wig


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Was it pain? At this point it assumed it should feel pain, but the constant electrical current did nothing but continue to stimulate it’s senses. While the men who crept about and stared into the saline solution and wondered what it was, they never realized that it stared back and plotted.

Their faces were engraved within his...well, it didn’t have a brain, at least that is what “they” said. Archer was the one. The one that organized the constant experiments. And, oh how he strutted about. For such a pudgy man, he certainly held himself as the center of attention, desperate for all eyes to be upon him when he spoke. In every sense he was the opposite of the last host, “B17” who by reasonable accounts had been a horrible host.

The things he had seen while joined to B17’s head would have burned the eyes from anything that had them, and the thoughts were dazzlingly random and sporadic.

Yet B17 did have his perks. Oddly happy at all times, even the most inappropriate times. Adequate strength and speed too, but far too reckless, if not for the cushion it provided B17 would likely be dead from the many unsafe falls onto his head. Yet “Bingo” as many referred to him as was still alive as far as it knew.

Archer approached the glass container with a flock of scientist in his wake.

Archer: Yes, I want to question it.


Scientist: It...um...it doesn’t have any mouth? It can’t talk.


Archer: Fools! Attach a mouth and let it talk!


Scientist: Um...we can’t do that.


Archer slaps the scientist across the face.

Archer: Put on the wig!


Pulling himself up from the bitch slap, the scientist appears to tremble as he mumbled the indistinguishable words.

Archer: HAHAHA. Of course it’s safe! B17 wore it! He’s still alive, as of this morning. NOW PUT IT ON or I will feed you to my sharks!


That was the motivation needed. The pale man quickly ran to the counter and returned with a pair of gloves that reached up to his elbows.

Scientist: Unlock it.


His assistants did without hesitation. Hiss was let out of the container as the top was removed.

Archer: Yes, yes, yes. Do...it.


Plunging his hands into the solution it felt the firm grasp and pull.

There it hung dripping as those around it observed in aww. But it waited.

Archer: Now.


Suddenly he was placed upon the receding hairline of the older man.

But it waited.

Scientist: I feel nothing.


Archer: Wig17, where do you come from?


Silence upon the sweaty head of the nervous man.

Archer: WIG!


Scientist: SUPLEX!


Archer: Huh?


The scientist lunges forward and grabs one of his assistants and suplexes through a table.

Chaos erupts as the assistant attempt to scatter to the doorways. Archer is heard shouting: NO! YOU DIE FOR ME!




Another poor assistant is caught by the devastating effectiveness.

Archer makes it to the door first and quickly slams and seals it behind him while two young men pound desperately on the door.


  • Mark Out! 7

"Amatuer cheat hunter, Resident OCWFED historian, Lover of spreadsheets, data and HOI, MASTER OF THE GOKART"




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