HELL. NO. FUCK. THIS. SHIT. I'M OUT.

“Physicals?” Abra looked up from his book, uncrossing his legs as he sat up from his couch. “I didn’t know we had to do such things.”

Manny shrugged, “Not my call, it’s the organization’s so step to it. If you don’t comply, you can say good bye to this clan because there won’t be one anymore.” He walked out without another word and Abra sighed in anguish. He put a golden leaf as a bookmark and made his way out of the hideout. He blinked as he stepped out into the sunlight, stretching as he relaxed in its warm glow and then set out to the wRHG offices.

He was quickly ushered off into a room where he was asked to strip down so that they could check his weight, body fat, blood, heart rate, all the usual. When asked about the two gashes on his back, the nurses staring in horror at the charred ribs and black flesh, flayed and rough he simply giggled, “What one does in the name of art.”

As he reached to put his suit back on a doctor stayed his hand. “Sir we need you to put on training clothes and take more exams.” He gestured to a rack where hung skin-tight grey clothing, a t-shirt and pair of pants, as well as shoes.

“If you think I’m going to wear that, then I’ll have to question where you got your doctor’s degree.” Abra looked at the man. “Because you would have to be the stupidest man alive to believe I would wear something as disgusting as that.” With that said, he pushed the doctor back and put his suit on. “Now guide me to these little tests of yours.” The man scrambled for the door and Abra followed him out onto the training grounds.

The first was an obstacle course and Abra looked at all the things he had to bypass. It was comical what they were making him face off; swinging axes, flame traps, water with vicious creatures in it, a rock wall, monkey bars, the list went on and on. The man walked forward, traversing the traps with the help of his cards. He simply used them as a platform so he never actually had to touch any of the pressure plates, water, or ground itself. When he got to a spot he needed to climb or crawl through, he simply teleported to the next destination, ignoring the spectators’ complaints. He hit the buzzer at the end and smiled at the green checkmark that appeared on the board under his name.

The next was a strength test and he stared at the barbell they put in front of him, two guards flanked him and the doctor asked. “How much weight would you like them to put on?”

Abra stared at him in derision, “Seriously where did you get your doctorate from? Why would I do something as barbaric and savage as lift this?” The man sputtered as he tried to formulate an answer and Abra simply left the man there, not caring that a blaring red x appeared next to the green checkmark.

The final test was a test on his eyesight and accuracy as they directed him to a shooting gallery. The rules were simple, don’t shoot the hostages and kill as many bad guys as you could. When offered a selection of weapons he waved off the racks of bows and guns. “I have my own thank you.” He pulled out a deck of playing cards from his pockets and hit the buzzer to begin the test. As cardboard cut outs began rising out of the ground, cards began floating off the deck, Abra doing nothing but holding it out in front of him, his hand open and palm up. He stared at his targets, absorbing the layout before him before releasing the cards. They shot through the air like bullets, slicing through the cut-outs’ necks. Soon the test ended and he was awarded with 100% accuracy and no hostages killed. He pocketed what remained of his deck and looked to see another green checkmark appear under his name. Two out of three, but it was sufficient enough to pass and he walked out with a shrug.

Later that day he looked at his day’s work. The man was sitting in a chair, each hand crammed into the respective eye socket, his thumbs sticking outwards. The head lacked teeth and tongue, and in its place sat a silver spoon. His legs were crossed to the point that they were practically tied together. However, the most audacious detail about the piece was that the doctor’s head was poking out of his ass. Abra signed his name on the card and dropped it on the floor.

The Blight of Stupidity, By Abra the Virtuoso of Aces and Eights.