DGS4: Talent Scouting

[The Man in Red]

"The season is upon us once again, my friends." The Man in Red chortled quietly as the doors slid open nearly soundlessly before him. His arms clasped behind his back, his posture hunched forward just slightly, he slowly ambled forward into the impromptu meeting room. They had several others specifically meant for the purpose, of course, but they were currently...occupied for other reasons. Not to mention on the other side of the current facility.

"I trust you have something interesting for me this time?"

"Of course, sir," one of the countless, red-suited and bemasked underlings in the employ of the Carnivale said, sounding uncharacteristically cheerful. "If this were closer to the more usual formats, I don't think someone like this would really, er...fit the bill so to speak. But given what we have slated this year, he'll probably fit right in!"

"Oooh?" The masked host's golden eyes glimmered behind his mask as he sunk into a chair that seemed to pull itself back from the table of its own volition. "Consider me intrigued. Explain, if you would."

"Yes, sir!" The henchman nodded quickly, taking a tablet from his associate and flipping open the cover. The screen lit up, shining and reflecting off the pristine white surface of his own mask as he flicked through menus and files before turning it around and sliding it over the table to his boss. "This is the one, sir. We think you'll enjoy his...unique mannerisms."

The Man in Red leaned forward over the table, one hand lightly coming to rest on the tablet and pulling it toward him. He quickly scanned over the contents displayed to him, the smile on his mask slowly but steadily growing wider as the eyes curved into more wicked, manic lines of delight. "Why, that certainly is something... An ace detective, is it? My, my, and quite the lauded and capable one, no less." The scarlet showman flicked a finger upward, causing a long list to rapidly scroll by in a blur of text, eliciting a long, low whistle from him. "A truly impressive array of solved cases and skills he brings to the table, it seems..."

"We thought you'd find him a good candidate, sir," the second underling piped up cheerfully, reaching up to slightly adjust her mask. "We filtered out a few others of a similar...type, and felt he was the most promising option."

"Yes, yes... He is indeed quite promising. Send him a personal invitation, won't you?" The Man in Red sat back in his chair, slowly bringing his fingertips together. "If he can survive whatever we'll be walking into for long enough, he may even be of enough help to track down the root cause of the problem..."

"Yes, sir!" the two underlings said quickly, with an almost perfectly in unison salute as they turned to scamper out of the room and set to work on getting a special recruiter sent out.

 

[The Man in Red]

"A returning competitor?" the Man in Red murmured, the eyes of his mask narrowing slightly into something suggesting a disgruntled expression. "Yes, of course, I suppose there would be the expected face to show up, by now..."

"Well, sir...we didn't even go out scouting him or anything," the underling on the other end of the line spoke up nervously. "We assumed after last time he'd want to steer clear of this whole thing, and just watch if anything. But...seems like we were mistaken..."

"Hmm. I suppose his end was rather ignominious, even by the standards of his past showings." The scarlet showman sighed.

"Past...showings, sir?"

"Yes, yes...this will be the fourth consecutive time this oaf has made an appearance in my little games, and each time before he has only put on a truly, stunningly inauspicious performance." The Man in Red merely gave a soft, contemptuous laugh. "He has been a fine jester and subject of much laughter and adoration among certain fans, of course... His continued appearances and efforts in spite of his failures serve to endear him endlessly to some."

"Uh....I think you've got the wrong guy, sir..."

"....what?"

"Uh, sir? Sir!" The line briefly cut out, as if the phone was dropped. Distantly, far from the receiver, a voice could faintly be heard shouting, "...you can't go in there, sir!"

Moments later, the doors of the Man in Red's office slowly opened. And there, framed in the doorway, his normally pristine suit ever so slightly creased and rumpled from the 'effort' of walking through the dozen or so sprawled out guards and staff behind him, stood...

"....ah. Now I see," the host chortled. "I see now. Come back to take another crack at this, have you? I can't say I expected that. But I'm not altogether surprised to see you again."

The eyes of his new guest narrowed. "You know why I'm here."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Where is he?"

"Busy."

"......I won't get to get him out of here if I don't play your game, huh?"

"Right to the heart of the matter. Shall I have you signed up?"

"...fine."

"Splendid." The Man in Red's eyes twinkled as he swept an arm out before him, gesturing to the seats opposite his desk. "Please, take a seat, won't you? We have some paperwork to prepare."

 

[The Man in Red]

"Sir....it's him again," an exasperated underling spoke up as she flicked through a tablet, approaching her boss in one of the many viewing rooms the facility had set up. "We didn't even need to go looking for him. He went and entered himself this time around."

"Oh, dear. Mid-Boss again?" the Man in Red chortled. "How delightfully expected. At least we can always count on some consistency in these events, hmm?"

"So he's got the clear to take part, then?"

"Of course! He's well acquainted by now, and knows the risks. He's always welcome."

"Even in spite of his, er...previous showings, sir?"

"Naturally. He sets a sort of...standard, for things." The scarlet showman's eyes twinkled behind his mask. "He puts on a strong performance, endearing himself to almost everyone...and then his inevitable quick, painful stumble and slide into defeat and elimination always proves to elicit such strong reactions. 'One of these years, he'll win! We're all rooting for him!' they say."

"He'd do a lot better if he didn't hold back and act like such a pompous fool..." the underling muttered.

"Perhaps. But then he wouldn't be our beloved Mid-Boss, now would he?" The Man in Red held up a gloved hand, index finger raised. "Every game needs that one lucky entity whose defeat signals the start of the, as they say...'real part of the game'."

"I think I get it, sir. I'll mark him as approved and get his information added to the roster."

"Wonderful."

As the brief meeting reached its conclusion and parted ways, the amusing topic at hand distracted both parties enough that the third, eavesdropping participant, went entirely unnoticed. On one of the viewscreens, normally set up for two-way conferencing...a set of three red lights in a triangular pattern glowed dimly. The pattern remained static, though as the host of the madhouse strolled off, they almost seemed to ever so slowly and slightly shift to one side, as if a set of eyes following after him, only to slowly fade out to nothing as he exited the room.

 

[The Man in Red]

"Are you quite certain, dear...?" the Man in Red murmured, his voice uncharacteristically...soft. "This year isn't scheduled to be anything quite like the norm, you know. I don't know if you'd be exactly suited for it."

"You're just trying to keep me out of it, like always!" the girl before him whined, only a few steps shy of a full-on indignant soul-wrenching pout.

"No, no, it isn't that, just..." The exasperated host leaned back in his chair, one hand slowly lifting to cover his masked face as he desperately searched for an answer that would satisfy the precocious little tyke. It was getting harder and harder to do so every year, and it was only by merciful convenience he had been spared from it the past few seasons. In fact, were it not for the Unmaking business growing to be as much of a concern as it had, she would still be out there keeping herself well and truly distracted among the Crossroads, and no reason would have been needed at all!

Eventually, however, he sighed heavily. "....ah, I suppose...the simple truth of the matter is that it just wouldn't be fair, little one."

"Wouldn't be fair?" The girl canted her head slightly to the left, her bright red eyes glimmering. "Why not?"

"You know me almost as well as I know myself." The Man in Red leaned forward, resting his elbows atop the desk before him. "Every little trick and trap and twist of the plot....you'd see it all coming the moment I opened my mouth to announce it." The smile on his mask grew slightly wider, as his eyes upturned in obvious mirth. "Wouldn't you?"

"Mmmm....." She directed her gaze toward the ceiling, idly swinging her legs to and fro while she seemingly contemplated quite deeply. "I guess so. But...that doesn't really make sense this year, papa!"

"Whatever do you mean, little one?"

"You just said this year is gonna be different!" She hopped up, practically standing in her chair as she leaned forward, planting one hand on the desktop and her other stretching out to point a a finger in as stern and accusatory a manner as her diminutive frame could muster up. "And when you say something is gonna be 'different', that's just your spooky string-puller all-knowing clever-smart-mastermind-guy-man talk for 'i have no idea what will happen'!"

The Man in Red threw back his head with a groan, slapping an open palm to his mask with such intensity his hat went tumbling off to drift lazily to the floor behind him. Accursed child, being so smart! It's what he deserved, he supposed, after just pointing out to her that her knowing too much was the reason she couldn't join.

"I suppose you've got me dead to rights, there..." he admitted. "....it's true this year will be a bit of an unknown. I only have an agenda of events and objectives, instead of an actual...plan, shall we say."

"So that means I can join, right?!"

"Yes, yes..." The Man in Red slowly righted himself, running a hand through his hair. In the dim light, it almost seemed to glimmer with flecks of gray before it was smoothed down beneath his gloved fingers. "You've beaten me, this time out. If you truly wish to take part, I can see to getting you formally signed up. But just remember..." He held up a finger, his eyes gleaming brightly in the shadow of his mask. "....you must make sure to play by the rules, just like everyone else. Do you understand?"

"I sure do!" And she practically launched herself across the desk, tackling the exasperated showman in a hug.

With a musical chortle, the Man in Red wrapped one arm around his sometimes insufferable but eternally beloved child. Most would have perhaps been quite reluctant to let someone like her anywhere near something as grim and bloody as Death Game usually tended to be, he thought idly...but then again, he suspected most didn't have a little monster quite like his Elena to think about when making a decision like that.

His mirth was short-lived, however, as something soon enough caught his eye. One of the viewscreens on the opposite wall had flickered to life, displaying an image that was...ever so slightly unnerving. Three red dots in a triangular pattern, glowing dimly against a nearly black backdrop. Beneath the image was a flashing text cursor, that as the host stared at it, slowly moved across the screen one character at a time.

HELLO, MILAN. WE HAVE SOMETHING TO DISCUSS.​

 

[The Man in Red]

"Do you really think you have the means to coerce me into doing whatever you wish...?" the Man in Red murmured, as he sat quietly in his office. In a rare occasion, all of the mirth and pomp and circumstance had left him. His normally eerily grinning comedy mask had twisted itself into a scowling frown somewhere between rage and tragedy. The eyeslits were backed by glimmering pools of gold, hiding the true cast of his eyes, but as his posture suggested — straight-backed in his chair, hands clasped together over his chest, legs raised up to rest on the edge of his desk — he was soundly situated right at the nexus of 'completely unbothered' and 'ready to murderously pounce', in the way that only a wild beast could.

I DO NOT 'THINK' ANYTHING, MILAN.​

This drew only a scoff from the scarlet showman. "I've been threatened many times before, my dear nameless interloper...you will have to do better than that to even get me to give you the time of—"

PROJECT VIRIDIAN.​

The Man in Red drew up short, his words coming to a close. That project was certainly kept tightly under wraps within the science division here, it was true...aside from a few contestants who had encountered it some years ago, the only ones who should even know of it by name were—

CASE STUDY: SUBJECT 46-04-20. PERFORMANCE NOTE: WHAT A CARD.​

The silence in the room grew deafeningly quiet, as the executive shifted his posture. His legs slid down off the edge of his desk. The glowing sheen behind his mask died out, to reveal vertically-slit eyes behind the eyeholes, glaring out with absolute death. ".....how do you know of that?"

HOW I KNOW OF IT DOES NOT MATTER. THE SIMPLE FACT THAT I DO SHOULD SPEAK ENOUGH TO YOU.​

The Man in Red seethed silently. "You are aware we know from where your transmission originates? We can have you dealt with before you even get a chance to—"

EMILYRA.​

The scarlet showman visibly flinched, his gloved hands tightening.

ALLEANE.​

The Man in Red's hands spread apart, sliding down to rest on the edge of his desk.

MATTHIAS.​

His gloved grasp tightened, with a squeaking groan of wood. His normally cold, indifferent heart thudded almost audibly in his chest.

FERNLY VOLETA.​

"Enough..." the executive finally hissed. "One more word from you and I will—"

ROWAN WESTALL.​

Whatever threat had been in his throat died then and there, and faded into a low rasping noise somewhere between a roar of defiance, a strangled scream of grief, and a reluctant groan of utter defeat. "....how...how could you possibly...?"

YOU WILL PLAY BY MY RULES, THIS TIME, DEAR DIRECTOR. OR YOUR PROJECT WILL BE VENTED INTO THE SUN.​

"Such insufferable cruelty..." the Man in Red murmured, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the blank symbol staring back at him. Three dimly glowing, unblinking red dots. The pattern was familiar, somehow...but not in a way he could place. "...so be it, then. The data involved in that project could be recreated and restored again...but not in my lifetime. Not to the same degree of perfection. It is..."

ONE OF A KIND.​

"....yes." The executive slowly shook his head. "Speak, then. What are your terms?"

YOU WILL REROUTE THE VENUE FOR THIS YEAR'S EVENTS TO THESE COORDINATES.​

A dizzying string of data flashed across the screen all at once, before the printer built into the Man in Red's desk whirred to life, and spat out a page containing the same data. With a puzzled look, he picked it up and scanned it, before letting out an icy cold laugh. "....are you mad?"

EVERYONE IN THIS FACILITY IS MAD, MILAN. YOU KNOW THAT BETTER THAN MOST.​

"Very well, then. Only myself and the Conductor know the original destination, regardless...I can have it changed. If that will be all—"

NOT QUITE, DEAR DIRECTOR. YOU WILL BE PARTICIPATING IN YOUR OWN GAMES, THIS TIME. I HAVE ALREADY SELECTED A SUITABLE REPLACEMENT TO OVERSEE THE FINER DETAILS IN YOUR STEAD.​

"....what?"

DO NOT WORRY. I ASSURE YOU, SHE IS MORE THAN CAPABLE OF...HOLDING DOWN THE FORT, AS YOU SO LIKE TO PUT IT, FOR THE DURATION OF THIS EVENT.​

The Man in Red's gloved fist crashed down upon the desk hard enough that it very nearly split in two, splinters flying out every which way as if a small bomb had gone off. "I will accept a great many things..." he all but whispered. "...but having my game taken from me, and handed off to anyone else..."

I DO NOT RECAL MAKING IT A REQUEST, MILAN.​

"I will find you. During this game or after." The Man in Red's voice wavered ever so slightly, as something rose up to flicker around him. A dull, sickly green glow pulsing and thrumming in tune to his hammering heartbeat. Every syllable he uttered sent ripples and sparks of dark violet and blue coursing through it and dancing off to fly and flutter into the room around him, turning whatever they landed upon to so much ash and dust and rust.

I AM COUNTING ON IT.​

The screen went dark, leaving the office in nearly pitch blackness, lit only by the pulsating aura around its owner and lone occupant.

With trembling fingers, he reached for a keypad off to one side. The press of one button, and a compartment slid open, as a sealed box slowly rose up to the surface. "You have no idea the gravity of the mistake you have just made, my dear little interloper..." he whispered, flipping open the lid. "I haven't participated in one of these games directly since the last host was in charge...let us hope I haven't lost my touch."