DGS3 -- Extra Talent

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The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
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"Ah, sir...?" One of the staff of the facility, numbered 976 and named....Allen? or some such, tentatively approached the Man in Red's desk. "We, um...we have a guest. Here about the event."

"Hmm?" The masked maniac was busy at his desk, rifling through some papers and forms about potential candidates for recruiting.

"It's..." Allen took a deep breath to steady himself. "It's him again, sir."

The Man in Red paused, one paper in mid-swipe across his desk. "....him again, you say?" And slowly his neck craned up, his eyes twinkling behind his mask. "He just can't get enough of this little spectacle of ours, can he?"

"It doesn't appear so, sir."

"Well, no matter. An eager competitor is a good competitor!" The scarlet showman chortled, waving his other empty hand in the general direction of the rest of the facility. "Well, go show him in, then. And see to his introduction and joining, won't you, Alice?"

"It's...it's Allen, sir..."

"Yes, of course it is, Alex."

"....yes, sir." And the dejected associate hung his head, turning to shuffle out of the office.

Outside the door, the interloper in question was waiting, leaning against the wall. "Ah, so you return!" he spoke up, the exuberance in his voice hitting poor Allen like a slap across the face from a glove made of knives. "I trust our most generous host has agreed to my terms?"

"As per usual, Mid-Boss..." Allen muttered.

"M-M-M-MID....BOSS?!" the violet-haired adonis wheeze-snarled, pounding one fist against the wall to force himself upright. "How DARE you!"

"It's what the public knows you as, man..."
 

The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
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"Tell me again about this promising candidate you've unearthed, mister Flanders." The Man in Red paced along sedately, arms folded neatly behind his back. His gaze was fixed out the windows to his left as he went, observing the ongoing preparation and construction efforts below. So many things still to prepare and get shipped off to the 'island', so little time...

"Ah, yes, er..." The attendant, his nametag reading 'Hi, my name is Jeff' in a messy scrawl, hastily shuffled forward to keep pace with his boss as he flipped through some papers on a clipboard. "We...had a few in mind. But of the ones we scouted, only one of them really seemed the right....type for this."

"Pray tell, what exactly do you mean?"

"Well...most of them were just your average fighters, sir. Dime-a-baker's dozen, the kind you can find at any local tournament or fighting circuit." Jeff shrugged helplessly, looking equal parts exasperated and exhausted. "Not really the type to bring any...pizzazz. Or anything of actual substance; they'd all probably get offed day one with nothing to show for it."

"Ohohoho." This brought one gloved hand from behind the host's back up to his masked chin. "So only one of them is...promising enough to warrant actual recruitment. They've got some actual skills to their name, I take it?"

"Oh, yes, sir." Jeff nodded excitedly, his head wobbling back to and fro like a drunken bobblehead. "He's a bit of a show-off and blowhard, but...his skills definitely pay the bills. He's won just about every tournament he's entered, and racked up quite the sizable fortune and collection of awards and trophies. Not to mention a legion of fans and admirers."

"My, my...he certainly does sound like a prize candidate." The Man in Red turned his gaze down to peer at Jeff directly. "I trust you have a full file prepared on him?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes, sir." And Jeff shuffled a red folder out from under the clipboard in his hands, handing it to the scarlet showman.

His thin, spidery fingers plucked the envelope up and flipped it open, its contents resting neatly on his splayed out fingers as good as any bookstand. "Hmm." He scanned the contents silently as he continued his sedate stroll, his golden eyes sparkling behind his mask.

Jeff fidgeted nervously while keeping pace, looking anxiously from the floor to the file to the windows to his boss's face to his own hands. Finally, just when he could take it no longer, he sucked in a breath to speak up, and--

"In my personal opinion, the most spectacular thing about this man is his ridiculous hair," the Man in Red chortled. "Though I suppose it does make him quite recognizable and eliminate the need for helmets."

"Ah, uh...y-yeah. He's very...uh...unique, alright."

"Well, after seeing this...." And the host of the unfolding death game snapped the folder shut. "...I am quite convinced. Send our good world champion an invitation, won't you?" He turned a gleaming stare to mister Flanders, the mouth of his mask seeming to have curled into an even more unsettling smile than usual. "Make it one he...can't refuse."
 

The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
Level 2
Joined
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Nos'Talgia
"......"

"......"

The silence in the room, ever since Recruiter 7 had presented his boss with the most recent candidate files was by this point almost palpable, and rapidly growing past the point of 'awkward' right into 'uncomfortably suffocating'.

The way the Man in Red has his head slightly bowed, eyes hidden behind the rim of his hat, was deeply unsettling. His arms sat on the desk, hands resting one atop the other, as he ostensibly peered down at the open file before him. It was one of about half a dozen potential options, and only the middle of the pack, so to speak.

"Please tell me, if you would..." the host finally spoke up. "...why does this particular file have two potential candidates within it?"

Oh, that was the issue here? Recruiter 7 mentally breathed a sigh of relief. "W-Well, er... Originally we were only tracking and planning to recruit the first one in there, in the suit, sir." He nodded, gesturing at one of the pictures included within the file. "But while we were observing and deciding on whether to make a move forward, well...th-the other one in there, uh...." He paused, reaching up to tug at his collar. A bead of cold sweat formed on his forehead, slowly trickling down the side of his face. "...he found us."

This made the Man in Red slowly lift his head, so that the golden gleam of his eyes could just barely be seen. "Found you?"

"Yes, sir." Recuiter 7 visibly deflated in his seat a little. "You know we pride ourselves on not being noticed until we actually approach a potential participant, it's the motto of our business and my team's guiding principle."

"Ah, yes. I believe I do recall something to that effect." The masked showman nodded lightly, sliding one hand to turn a page in the file. "So you were found by this other man here. What happened then?"

"Well, sir, he...uh..." Recuiter 7 shifted uneasily in his seat. "....let's just say that he's the reason I put in those requisition forms for new members of my team when I got back."

This brought for a quiet, mirthless chuckle from the Man in Red. "Quite the feisty one, then, isn't he?"

"Feisty is, uh...a word, sir, yes." Recuiter 7 straightened up in his seat. "But, it...didn't go all that badly, in the end. We managed to piece together that he was sort of like...obsessed. With the other guy we had been scouting originally. It took some quick planning and off-the-cuff scheming, but..." Recruiter 7 leaned forward slightly. "...we managed to convince him to come along, as well. If we recruit our original prospect, he'll be coming with him. We figured that since we're so open about allowing other competitors to bring or summon extra help once they're here, that—"

The Man in Red slammed an open hand down on the desk, with a noise like a thunderclap, effectively silencing the babbling recruiter. "You made quite the reckless and risky decision, then," he chortled. "But...I think one that will work out just fine. Move forward with this one. Bring them both in."

"Y-Yes, sir!" Recruiter 7 nearly shot up out of his seat, hastily snapping off a quick salute, then nearly stumbling over himself to vacate the room.

"My, my, but this one does promise to be...entertaining..."
 

The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
Level 2
Joined
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Nos'Talgia
"Sir....e-excuse me, sir..." There was a hurried knocking on the door of the Man in Red's office, which opened quickly without even waiting for a response. "You have a...a guest, sir. A visitor."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure I do..." the masked showman murmured, not looking up from his errant scribbling of plans on his desk. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment, however. Tell him he'll have to come back later."

"He...really wants to speak with you very urgently, sir."

The deranged host's pen came to a stop, as his head slowly tilted upward. "And I said I'm quite busy. Send him away."

"Sir....he really wants to speak with you..." The man's face was pale and drenched with a cold sweat. "He's already caused...a lot of trouble and damage. You really ought to see what he wants."

"I don't really have time for this right now. I'm only interested in hearing details about your scouting reports." The Man in Red waves a hand dismissively, shooing the hapless employee away. "If this guest is causing so much trouble, send security to deal with him."

"I...I don't think that will work, sir! This one, he's—"

"I think I can speak for myself." A much louder, stronger voice spoke up. And the office door crashed open fully, its hinges a distant memory as it embedded itself in the wall, the masked attendant sprawling into the office. Standing boldly framed in the doorway stood...a true goliath of a man, clad all in red and blue, a long cape billowing majestically behind him back into the hall. "So you're the one behind this event?"

The Man in Red heaved a resigned sigh, placing his pen aside and folding his hands together atop the desk. It seemed like he wasn't going to get any more work done until he dealt with this. "Yes. I suppose, after a fashion, I am. Might I ask to who I owe the pleasure of meeting?"

"I'm not here to exchange pleasantries." The interloper slowly stalked into the room, his presence seeming to swallow the entire scene. "I'm here to make you stop this madness."

"Madness?" The scarlet showman gasped audibly, lifting a hand to lightly rest its palm against his cheek. "Why, whatever could you possibly mean? The only thing going on here is entertainment, my good sir."

"I'm referring to this insanity, of sending people out there to their deaths for your sick games!" The man in blue seethed through clenched teeth. "Making sport of their suffering, acting like it's all harmless fun and not hurting anything!"

"But, sir...!" The Man in Red feigned affront, recoiling in his seat as if slapped, hand fluttering to rest over his heart. "I assure you, it is all harmless fun! Everyone is restored to life after the conclusion of my games, with not a hair out of place on their heads!" He slowly recovered himself, leaning forward to rest both arms on his desk. "And besides...it isn't as if we're the only ones to do this. We're not even the most popular ones."

"I'm well aware of that. But at least Karl Jak and his Syntech games are all filled with willing participants." The man in blue's eyes hardened, his jaw clenching. "I've been watching how you and your...recruiters operate. The coercion, threats and even kidnapping to get your contestants and participants. It's sickening."

"My dear boy....your accusations wound me." The Man in Red threw his head back, lifting his hands to sweep his hat off and cover his eyes. "Yes, regrettably, we do at times have to resort to rather...underhanded measures to secure adequate participation. It is a nasty part of the business, to ensure we get up and running with enough popularity to draw in the crowds and viewership, I'm afraid."

For a moment he held his pose of faux sorrow....then his entire body shook with a mostly suppressed laugh as he lowered his head again. He set his hat aside, resting his hands half-curled into fists on the desk. There was a venomous gleam in his eyes, two shining points of gold, as his mask curled into an ugly smirk. "But the more pertinent question is...what exactly do you intend to do about it?"

For a moment only silence reigned in the room, the man in blue's jaw working, but no actual response coming. "I'll stop you," he finally said, fists clenching tightly. "Whatever it takes."

"And how, exactly? Will you kill me? Strike me down and assert your silly little heroic viewpoint?" The Man in Red raised his hands, arms spread out to either side. "I am but a simple man. Unarmed, powerless, and without a violent bone in my body. A simple civilian. Can you really, in good conscience, actually 'strike me down'?" There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he inclined his head. "That wouldn't be very super of you, man."

The man in blue recoiled somewhat, his expression twisting. "You...know who I am?"

"Oh come now...you walk into a place like this, knowing what we do, and assume we wouldn't know about such a splendid public figure?"

Superman grimaced, regaining his posture and composure as he straightened up. "....unfortunately, you're right. I can't just kill you...it wouldn't solve the problem. Someone else here would just pick up where you left off."

The Man in Red chortled, shaking his head. "My dear man....you are quite misinformed, if you think you could even kill me to begin with. Unarmed and powerless I may be, but unprepared...I certainly am not." And he slowly relaxed, reclining in his chair. "But suppose I were to offer you an...alternative to put a stop to all this?"

The Man of Steel crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. "I'm listening."

"Join my little game. Take part as a participant." His eyes twinkled merrily as he snapped his fingers, and one of their suppression collars flickered into view on his desk. "Prove your heroism by winning the entire thing. Whether you kill anyone else or not matters little; they will all be revived afterward. But if you win....I will permanently put a stop to my games."

Superman's expression remained stony and unflinching as he absorbed the offer. "And if I lose?"

"If you lose..." The Man in Red's merrily twinkling eyes took on a cold, sinister glow. "....then you will get out of my facility and go tackle some actual problems in this universe, and never show your face to me again."

".....fine." The Man of Steel stepped forward, reaching down with visible trepidation as he seized the collar and lifted it up to his neck. With a teeth-baring grimace, he slowly put it on...and it clicked into place, sealing his fate.
 

The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
Level 2
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Nos'Talgia
"Mmm.....yes...." The Man in Red murmured as he perused the items laid out before him. A truly strange and eclectic mix of scattered and assorted equipment, all the goods prepared for use in the coming contest. "I believe they will be able to make find use of all of these, this year..."

"It's a lovely assortment this year, certainly, sir," one of his assistants agreed. "Personally love the mask, there. Whoever gets that is going to have....plenty of fun."

"Yes, indeed." The masked host chortled, straightening up and turning to regard his assistant. "I trust you have something for me?"

"Naturally, sir." The assistant in question was one of the few in a 'prestigious' enough position to have been granted his own mask, that of a leering and grinning demonic face. He was garbed in a pristine scarlet suit jacket worn over the same brighter red utilitarian jumpsuit most of the other staff wore, and marked off by crisp white gloves and shiny black boots. He was one of the few that actually had the privilege of making the occasional mistake without suffering reprimand for it.

This time, however, he wasn't coming to present a mistake. "You wanted us to find a real beast to join the ranks of competitors this year, sir. And, well..." He held up a tablet, idly flicking through a few files on it before settling on one. "....we found half of one, at the very least. Take a look." And he turned the tablet around, presenting it to his boss.

"Half a beast...?" This was enough to pique the Man in Red's curiosity somewhat, as he peered intently at the tablet's display. "My, my....quite fearsome, this one, isn't he? Remarkable swordsman, knowledgeable in magic and hunting, professional bodyguard and capable general servant.... And a direct attendant to...." He trailed off into a chuckle of delight. "Oh, yes. This one should serve beautifully, and even comes with an easily exploitable method to convince him to take part nearly of his own volition."

"Are we good to bring him in, then, sir?"

"Of course, of course! Bring him aboard immediately."
 

The Man in Red

malignant masked misanthrope
Level 2
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The Man in Red was prepared for many things to happen in the course of preparing for and running these events. Scrambling about like a beheaded chicken to make last-minute preparations, procuring sufficient items and supplies for the game itself, preparing the venue for the coming bloody contest, dealing with disgruntled contestants and viewers.... It wasn't that different from his old life, once upon a time, when he was merely a simple stage performer traipsing through the countryside with family and friends. All that had really changed was the scale and scope of it all, and his position in the grand scheme of things.

He wasn't the one on stage anymore. He was now the one managing everything, pulling all the strings, setting the scenes and gathering all the workers and performers. Sometimes, that bothered him. Sometimes. Other times, he remembered why he had decided to leave the stage, somewhere around the fourth 'dimensional pool noodle incident'.

....then, at other times, he regretted — if only for a few moments — ever choosing to take the life of a performer. Today, as he stared at the phone in his gloved hand, was one of those times. It was a call from one of the highest-ranking members of his staff, one of the few who had been with the 'company' long enough to have come to terms with everything. Everything. The type of person who had been specifically picked out and trained to be one of a select few who were capable (and insane) enough to take over operations of the Carnivale entirely, temporarily or permanently, if the Man in Red should ever be disabled or otherwise put out of commission for any reason.

The scarlet show man hated the man, personally. Every meeting with him was like looking into a grim, less amused with the world mirror. The similarity was jarring, and the uncanniness of the slight differences was...unsettling, to say the least.

Getting a call from him, at such a delicate time in preparing for the event's opening, was not what he wanted.

A soft beep as his gloved finger finally pressed the 'accept ball' button and he lifted it to his head. "Vater," he murmured. "I trust you have some suitably important reason for calling me at such a...precarious moment."

"Oh, stuff it, Rosa. Save the sass for someone who you can intimidate," came the curt, bristling response. "You know as well as I do that I don't call you up for a pleasant chat. There's something urgent."

Behind his mask, the Man in Red's eyes narrowed to glimmering slits as he turned to pace back and forth behind his desk. "How urgent, exactly?"

". . ." The pause on Vater's end of the line was filled with the background din of rampant chaos and pure panic, the distant beeping and wailing of computers and warning sirens. "...class six, unexpected visitor urgent."

That brought the Man in Red's pacing to an abrupt halt, his fingers clutching ever more tightly at the phone in his hand to the point the casing began to crack. "How? No, nevermind that; can you deal with them?"

"....hell no." Vater's response was...filled with a venomous sort of unease and disgust. "Already tore through half my staff down here, and got loose out there on the island itself. We can barely track it, there's no stopping it without a full-blown manhunt. We don't have the time, or the numbers right now, to do that."

"....fine. I'll see that it's dealt with. Just minimize the damage and make sure preparations are complete by the scheduled date."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, no fuckin' problem. Screw you, Rosa." And the line promptly went dead.

The scarlet showman slowly lowered the phone, staring at it in silence for a long moment before placing it down on his desk with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. He turned to pace slowly across the room, stopping when he could place a hand on the wall before him. It shimmered and wavered, slowly giving way from what seemed like rich wood paneling into a nearly floor-length window.

Staring out into the stars, the Man in Red lifted his free hand to his mask, pulling it from his face and letting his arm drop to his side. "Already happening, is it..." he murmured, gazing out into the stars. "I thought there would still be time, that it wouldn't be until the event had started. I suppose I'm not the only one who likes to make a show of things, though..."
 
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