John Doe, a substitute player on a little league team at most

"Stirred, not shaken", John told the waitress, who winked at him before sashaying away to get him his order.

The casino was a mine field of high level european aristocrats and diplomats from all around the world. The ladies in extravagent evening gowns were sipping their fancy cocktails slowly on the high tables off to the sides, the men in million dollar tuxedos populated the game tables, from roulette to blackjack and back. But Agent Doe had a clear goal in mind, the poker tables at the far end of the room.

Reserved for the highest of high rollers, these tables in the back were filled with princes and tycoons on the seats and their trophy wives in the stands next to them. One would usually play their way through the lower ranks and move upward to the prime table, but already having the money for the massive buy-in, John strolled straight over. Right as he reached it, one of the two players there had lost his all-in, making him leave the table in seathing. The only player remaining was none other than his target himself.

Dr. Fergus McMartin III., publicly a philanthropist figure head, secretly a super villain hellbent on world domination.

His dastardly plans had to be foiled, the man that had to be taken down. And luckily for the world, John Doe was just the man to do it. He gracefully sat down on the now vacated seat on the opposite side of the poker table and slowly pushed the suitcase with the money to the coupier.

"This should suffice for my entry", he kept eyeing his opponent while he exchanged money for chips, only taking them off of him once his sidepiece appeared next to him.

Elinor McMartin, a readhaired vision of gaelic perfection, was the fire to her husbands icy demeanour. The two of them were a couple in crime, working together to rob the world blind and take it over in it's weakened state. This fiery queen had broken many a heart, for any man with two healthy eyes was bound to get lost in either her creamy cleavage pushed up in her tight green dress or the subtle movements of her burning red lips who seemed to whisper right into your ear, even when she was silent.

The coupier started to hand down the cards, Texas Hold'em Poker, and Agent Doe's hand was mediocre at best. A simple pair, not even a high one at that. He carefully weighed his options and slightly raised the stakes. His adversary followed suit and the flop was revealed. Two aces inside it, this was not looking good for our hero. If the villain had even a single ace, he had almost already won.

"I raise you, Mr. Doe. How much do you have there in chips?", he demeaningly eyed Johns reserves. "Ah, no worries counting, I go all in."

The irish evil-doer smirked triumphantly and John was about to throw it, that way he'd lose this hand but stay in the game and could make good in the following rounds. But when his eyes landed on Elinor she was looking at him hungrily. Positioned right behind her husband, she motioned down to his cards with her eyes and started mouthing something to him. Her lips were bright red and somehow he heard them speak to him without her making a sound, "He's bluffing, he's got nothing on his hand."

Each of her words felt like she was nippling on his earlobe and the words that followed each were a little lick along the side of his ear, "Make - Him - Lose."

John pushed everything in as if possessed. The smirk of Dr. McMartin faultered and when the coupier put down turn and river, it did not get any better. At the end he asked for the hands to be revealed to determin the outcome of the game. Our hero turned his hand and slowly the villain did the same, making the coupier announce:

"And the winner is BEEP BEEP BEEP"

With a rush John woke up and set up in bed, although bed might be an overstatement for the bingy blow-up matress he had lying on the floor of his basement appartment. He hit the alarm clock with a badly coordinated swing of his chubby hand.

"Fuck, another one of those stupid Bond dreams", he groaned out and rubed his small, sunken in eyes. "At least this time the mayors wife was helping me, that's a first. Usually I lose that hand and the next two and have to leave that place broke and having failed my mission."

He slowly pushed away his thin and rough blanket and sat up, taking stock of his real sorroundings. His place was a bit different from the casinos of Monte Carlo or Monacco or wherever the rich and powerful spend their holidays. The roughly 20 squarefeet that John called home were a subterrainian cesspool. The one window that connected his sinkhole to the real world was on the street side and not only allowed whoever kneels low to look into the little privacy he had in life, but it also was badly isolated both temperature and sound vise. Oh and if he ever opened it when it rains outdoors, he'd probably drown like a rat trapped in an overly full sewer.

Ironically a sewer might have been how bystanders would describe the decoration John had adorned his flat with. There was a massive amount of crusty cleenex, or at least its no-brand cousin, around his sleeping place, unwashed drags that might have passed for clothes at some point were sprewn on the ground and judging by the smell, there was either a molding cup of pudding somewhere around here or an actual rat had become his roommate only to die and leave a carcass around. Those were the only two options capable of explaining the smell, but neither left any trace that could be taken care off to solve it, so no matter how hard he looked, so far he was doomed to keep the smell.

The one silver lining to John was his couch and TV setup. Sure, the couch had seen better days, for example when it still had all its padding or when there we no springs sticking out, and the TV most probably used to get more than one station when someone else had owned it, but considering he got both through dumpster diving and especially dragging the couch two blocks and into his basement, John considered them both his treasures.

Dumpster diving was how he got most of his appliances actually. There aren't many options in life for an orphan boy who never graduated past elementary school. Somehow employers cared a lot for education or social skill.... or hell, sometimes both. Arrogant bastards. He'd gotten a job now, after searching for ages, but well, he'd rather not talk about it.

Without going for either a wash or off to brush his teeth, John planted his chubby butt on the couch and turned it on. Around noon time his favourite news anchor graced his screen and he wouldn't want to miss that by gound into the upper yard and using the waterhose. Besides, personal hygenie wasn't his big strength to begin with.

"-and in other news, Mayor McMartin has announced an additional funding boost for the local artisan fair from city coffers as part of his new outreach program to increase the regional appeal of-", Annabella Dornallto droned on about local news this and that, but John could have listened to her reading the phone book. She was probably the most beautiful woman on TV. The latina anchor was blessed with long dark hair, deep chestnut brown eyes and a glossed skin, that was tantalizing no matter how little of it she showed in her stuffy professional journalist wardrobe.

"Damn, if only I could get close to her. Just shaking her hand would already put me at the peak of the pack with the boys", John idly fantasized about bragging to his two friends about knowing a real celebrity, let alone touching her. But they probably wouldn't even believe him anyway. Since the two of them left the orphanage after getting adopted in close succession [who knew that being good looking or bright or well-mannered gets you to leave that place in a matter of months instead of having to stay there until you are of age so they can throw you out?!] they had started looking down on him and seemed to talk to him more out of pity than because they really liked him.

But today was different. John felt different and so did the world around him. He'd so turn his life around and things would finally go up hill and-

*Ring* *Ring*, his iPhone 4 with the cracked screen lit up from within the couches crevice and John's mood soured instantly. The screen showed his work calling and damn, was he in trouble now.