"....you really shouldn't have gone out there in your actual body, sir." The exhausted voice of the only entity that the Man in Red would actually even halfway listen to spoke up. "That's why you have the puppets."
"The puppets...can only do so much, my dear little Cowl," the eccentric host all but whispered. His voice was barely heard over the incessant mish-mash of beeping and hissing machinery that worked to patch up his ruined and damaged body. "Like watching a video...or those absurd tactile feedback systems for video games... It doesn't live up to the real thing. I had to see it for myself. With my own...two...eyes."
"I...understand, sir." An exasperated sigh arose from Cowl. "But shouldn't you at least get some proper rest, so you can properly heal? Even for someone like you, this amount of damage is—"
"The show..." The Man in Red interrupted, with a sharp coughing wheeze cutting off his own voice. "...it cannot be delayed further. Not on my account. I have left the direct running and organizing of it to someone else...while I recover. But I must do my part, in selecting...additional participants."
"...very well, sir." Cowl's voice was quiet and resigned. "Shall I prepare the list of...likely candidates, then?"
"Yes. Please do." Over the breathing mask affixed to his face, the glimmering golden eyes of the deranged showman lit up with a merry twinkle. "And...fetch me the reports on...the city, as well."
"The...city reports, sir?" Even under the impenetrable shadows lurking under Cowl's hood, the quirking of an eyebrow was impossible to miss. "May I ask what for?"
"I need to...decide." The eyes of the Man in Red slowly drifted closed. "Which surprises to unleash. Which terrors would be...best suited. To force a survival instinct."
"...ah, yes. Your little 'work together and survive' aspect for this game." Cowl shook their head. "It's not going to work, you know. Everyone is still probably going to turn on and murder each other without even flinching."
"And if they do..." The host cackled, his mirth trailing off into labored and body-wracking coughing. "...then they...will still be useful. It will still be...a valuable lesson."
"....I think I understand." Cowl nodded. "I'll return with the reports and contestant files shortly, sir. Please excuse me." And with a bow, the hooded figure turned and swept out of the office.
"Soon...very soon..." The practically mummified body of the eccentric showman shifted slightly, his gaze falling upon the map displayed on a large screen before him. A live feed of the small city they had prepared for this new game. It looked...unassuming and almost peaceful so far. That would change all too soon once the surprises were let loose on it, however. A little acceleration of its flow of time...
And it would be ready.
"The puppets...can only do so much, my dear little Cowl," the eccentric host all but whispered. His voice was barely heard over the incessant mish-mash of beeping and hissing machinery that worked to patch up his ruined and damaged body. "Like watching a video...or those absurd tactile feedback systems for video games... It doesn't live up to the real thing. I had to see it for myself. With my own...two...eyes."
"I...understand, sir." An exasperated sigh arose from Cowl. "But shouldn't you at least get some proper rest, so you can properly heal? Even for someone like you, this amount of damage is—"
"The show..." The Man in Red interrupted, with a sharp coughing wheeze cutting off his own voice. "...it cannot be delayed further. Not on my account. I have left the direct running and organizing of it to someone else...while I recover. But I must do my part, in selecting...additional participants."
"...very well, sir." Cowl's voice was quiet and resigned. "Shall I prepare the list of...likely candidates, then?"
"Yes. Please do." Over the breathing mask affixed to his face, the glimmering golden eyes of the deranged showman lit up with a merry twinkle. "And...fetch me the reports on...the city, as well."
"The...city reports, sir?" Even under the impenetrable shadows lurking under Cowl's hood, the quirking of an eyebrow was impossible to miss. "May I ask what for?"
"I need to...decide." The eyes of the Man in Red slowly drifted closed. "Which surprises to unleash. Which terrors would be...best suited. To force a survival instinct."
"...ah, yes. Your little 'work together and survive' aspect for this game." Cowl shook their head. "It's not going to work, you know. Everyone is still probably going to turn on and murder each other without even flinching."
"And if they do..." The host cackled, his mirth trailing off into labored and body-wracking coughing. "...then they...will still be useful. It will still be...a valuable lesson."
"....I think I understand." Cowl nodded. "I'll return with the reports and contestant files shortly, sir. Please excuse me." And with a bow, the hooded figure turned and swept out of the office.
"Soon...very soon..." The practically mummified body of the eccentric showman shifted slightly, his gaze falling upon the map displayed on a large screen before him. A live feed of the small city they had prepared for this new game. It looked...unassuming and almost peaceful so far. That would change all too soon once the surprises were let loose on it, however. A little acceleration of its flow of time...
And it would be ready.