To be fair, I’m pretty sure I severed an artery and he was bleeding out, but still—his mewling was totally annoying.

“Now, who are you and why did you break into my top secret lair?”

“I am merely a messenger, Dr Disrespect,” he said as he slumped to the floor. “I broke in because you are known to be a man who appreciates danger and combat and your doorbell wasn’t working.”

“That’s not a doorbell,” I scoffed. “That’s part of my advanced experimental Honeywell XP-7000 alarm system with laser-powered motion detectors and multisonic trip wires. Strange that nothing went off. I’ll have to contact ADT.”

“I need medical attention,” he groaned. “I don’t want to bleed out before I give you my message.”

I tossed him a single Band-Aid. “Sorry,” he grunted as he fumbled with it. “I always struggle with peeling the little white tabs off the sticky part on the back.”

“Hurry up!” I growled.

He put the Band-Aid on top of the huge gash in his shoulder. Honestly, it didn’t do much. If that blood ruined my black wall-to-wall carpeting, I was gonna be pissed.

“Dr Disrespect, it is my honor and privilege to bring to you a message from the most ancient, most infamous, most powerful multinational criminal organization in the world. An organization so diabolical, so vile, so devious, that the very mention of its name inspires terror in the hearts of all who hear it spoken aloud.”

He paused for, like, dramatic effect or something.

“The name of that organization is… the Brotherhood.”

I stared at him. “What? That’s it?” I said.

“That’s what?”

“Like, that’s the name? The Brotherhood? It’s not, like, the Brotherhood of Evil or the Brotherhood of Hellish Criminals or the Brotherhood of Venomous Battle Cobras? Or, I don’t know, the Brotherhood of the Traveling Black-Leather Pants?”

“No!” he said. “It’s just ‘the Brotherhood.’ That’s it.”

“That sounds hella friendly. I know a few brothers who live down the street—Tom, Jason, Tony. They’re pretty nice guys, they have barbecues, put on game-watches…”

“The Brotherhood does not host game-watches!”

“Really? They might want to. Great way to meet people in the neighborhood. I mean, they usually ask you to bring something, beer or sporks, but I never remember.”

“NO!” he said. “The Brotherhood does not want to make new friends! And if the Brotherhood was invited to a potluck, it most definitely would bring a keg!”

“Well,” I said, “as long as it’s not some microbrew bullshit.”

“But,” he said, “what the Brotherhood does do is put on the greatest, most elite, most cutthroat illegal video game tournament in the entire world… the Kumite Except for Video Games and Also It’s Real. Otherwise known as ‘KEFVGAAIR.’ ”

My eyes lit up like thunderbolts on Mount Olympus. Which no one saw behind my complimentary pair of Ray-Bans.