mickilennial
Master Bruce
Supermaxx
AndyC
Lord Wraith
Festive
Simple Unicycle
Half Pint
Izurich
RocketteThe tall, gaunt man stood straight, arms comfortably crossed behind his back. He was alone in a relatively small room devoid of furnishing aside from a single monitor affixed to one wall. Primitive technology, the man thought, but his master had always had a taste for such antiquities. The screen of the device displayed hundreds of alternating images, each flashing across the screen for only a brief few seconds. Every picture was accompanied by several charts, graphs, and other statistics that the man paid no mind to, having already stored all the relevant information in his memory. Then, after the monitor shuffled through another dozen of the images it finally stopped on one.
The screen showed a composite of four different photographs each displaying the same figure. Of the four, three were taken from a distance and, seemingly, without the target's notice. The individual, a modestly handsome human with brown hair was depicted in one wearing a cheap suit and tie as he shook the hand of a graduating university student. In another, he wore a suit of a different kind; dark blue and red, formfitting with a cloth mask stretched across his face, and a stylized emblem across the chest meant to resemble an arachnid creature of his homeworld. In this image, he was swinging across a city skyline tethered to an off-camera surface by a white strand of unusual material. In the next, wearing the same costume, he was in a labyrinthian construct and displayed mid-battle with a large, barrel-chested brute wielding a massive battleax. Finally, in the fourth image, the same man, albeit haggard looking with unkempt scruff and wearing a plain white jumper, stared emotionlessly forward.
"Minor Domo," the thin man observing the monitor spoke in a soft, clear tone into the communicator he wore on his left ear. "I have found the final combatant for today's event."
A cheerful, feminine voice responded from the device. "That's amazing, Major Domo, sir! I knew you could find a suitable slave, I mean competitor before the match began! You're the best!"
Major Domo grimaced slightly at his assistant's overly-enthusiastic response. He unfolded his arms and waved one between him and the monitor. The images of the human male minimized and slid into an upper corner where it joined four other, similar composites each focusing on separate individuals.
"I am sending you the data for this one now. See to it that he and the others are brought to me in the ready room on time."
"Okie dokie, sir!" She replied. Her words seemed to come faster the more she spoke. "I see you've picked one of the underdogs. Another easy target for the heavy-hitters?"
"Perhaps," Major Domo answered. "It is true this one nearly perished in his last challenge but it is clear from audience polling that he is viewed favorably. No doubt due to the blend of fantastical persona and incessant quips. Nonetheless, I calculate his inclusion in the event will provide an approximate nine percent increase in viewer satisfaction."
"That's amazing, Major Domo, sir!" The woman repeated in the same excitable tone. "The master should be happy with this broadcast!"
"Yes, I suspect he will." Domo glanced at the corner of the screen containing the collection of individuals chosen for the event. Sliding his fingers through the air caused the images to expand and display the primary photograph of each bundle.
"I understand why he told me to include the child. Pedicide is quite popular at the moment and it is unlikely the boy would have survived much longer anyway."
He focused his gaze on one of the pictures showing an adolescent male. Underneath the photo it read: 'Tomás Raymond - Earth 188Y0 - Survivability: 28.1% - Favorability: 13.8%'. Then, his eyes moved over to the following image. It showcased a hairless humanoid, apparently female, with stark white skin. The statistics below displayed survivability and favorability scores above eighty percent.
"What I find to be foolish, however," continued Domo, "is his decision to frivolously waste one of our most in-demand champions. This one should continue to be sparsed out in individual stages longer. He risks spoiling our current primetime line-up."
His assistant on the other end of the call remained silent, knowing better than to question the master's rulings. Only Major Domo could get away with such blatant disrespect.
"Well," Domo mused as he spared a look at the final two combatants for that day's main event. The young woman wielding a blade purple hues and metal-suited man both sat comfortably with middling polling numbers. "In any case, the others won't be a substantial loss. And while I have taken measures to ensure a favorable position for the champion, were their unlikely expiration to occur the carnage should be sufficient enough to curb any audience dissatisfaction. For the time being, at least."
"Oh, I bet it'll be a real bloodbath!" The upbeat voice chimed in.
He gave an artificial sigh and dismissed the visuals on the screen. "Have them all delivered in one hour, Minor. I must see to the rest of the preparations."
"Righty-o, sir! You've got it! One soon-to-be winner and their four victims coming right up!"
The screen showed a composite of four different photographs each displaying the same figure. Of the four, three were taken from a distance and, seemingly, without the target's notice. The individual, a modestly handsome human with brown hair was depicted in one wearing a cheap suit and tie as he shook the hand of a graduating university student. In another, he wore a suit of a different kind; dark blue and red, formfitting with a cloth mask stretched across his face, and a stylized emblem across the chest meant to resemble an arachnid creature of his homeworld. In this image, he was swinging across a city skyline tethered to an off-camera surface by a white strand of unusual material. In the next, wearing the same costume, he was in a labyrinthian construct and displayed mid-battle with a large, barrel-chested brute wielding a massive battleax. Finally, in the fourth image, the same man, albeit haggard looking with unkempt scruff and wearing a plain white jumper, stared emotionlessly forward.
"Minor Domo," the thin man observing the monitor spoke in a soft, clear tone into the communicator he wore on his left ear. "I have found the final combatant for today's event."
A cheerful, feminine voice responded from the device. "That's amazing, Major Domo, sir! I knew you could find a suitable slave, I mean competitor before the match began! You're the best!"
Major Domo grimaced slightly at his assistant's overly-enthusiastic response. He unfolded his arms and waved one between him and the monitor. The images of the human male minimized and slid into an upper corner where it joined four other, similar composites each focusing on separate individuals.
"I am sending you the data for this one now. See to it that he and the others are brought to me in the ready room on time."
"Okie dokie, sir!" She replied. Her words seemed to come faster the more she spoke. "I see you've picked one of the underdogs. Another easy target for the heavy-hitters?"
"Perhaps," Major Domo answered. "It is true this one nearly perished in his last challenge but it is clear from audience polling that he is viewed favorably. No doubt due to the blend of fantastical persona and incessant quips. Nonetheless, I calculate his inclusion in the event will provide an approximate nine percent increase in viewer satisfaction."
"That's amazing, Major Domo, sir!" The woman repeated in the same excitable tone. "The master should be happy with this broadcast!"
"Yes, I suspect he will." Domo glanced at the corner of the screen containing the collection of individuals chosen for the event. Sliding his fingers through the air caused the images to expand and display the primary photograph of each bundle.
"I understand why he told me to include the child. Pedicide is quite popular at the moment and it is unlikely the boy would have survived much longer anyway."
He focused his gaze on one of the pictures showing an adolescent male. Underneath the photo it read: 'Tomás Raymond - Earth 188Y0 - Survivability: 28.1% - Favorability: 13.8%'. Then, his eyes moved over to the following image. It showcased a hairless humanoid, apparently female, with stark white skin. The statistics below displayed survivability and favorability scores above eighty percent.
"What I find to be foolish, however," continued Domo, "is his decision to frivolously waste one of our most in-demand champions. This one should continue to be sparsed out in individual stages longer. He risks spoiling our current primetime line-up."
His assistant on the other end of the call remained silent, knowing better than to question the master's rulings. Only Major Domo could get away with such blatant disrespect.
"Well," Domo mused as he spared a look at the final two combatants for that day's main event. The young woman wielding a blade purple hues and metal-suited man both sat comfortably with middling polling numbers. "In any case, the others won't be a substantial loss. And while I have taken measures to ensure a favorable position for the champion, were their unlikely expiration to occur the carnage should be sufficient enough to curb any audience dissatisfaction. For the time being, at least."
"Oh, I bet it'll be a real bloodbath!" The upbeat voice chimed in.
He gave an artificial sigh and dismissed the visuals on the screen. "Have them all delivered in one hour, Minor. I must see to the rest of the preparations."
"Righty-o, sir! You've got it! One soon-to-be winner and their four victims coming right up!"
