Post by BWS2K on Apr 11, 2021 17:23:43 GMT -7
In the not too distant future...
"GARBAGE!"
Mojo hurled a stack of screenplays, storyboards, and video interviews out and over the mass of perpetual audience that surrounded his Control Room. It was for this express purpose that he'd had most of the walls removed - sometimes a ruler needs to throw things. Mojo was the ruliest ruler, and so he threw things the furthest and no one disputed that with him, so the debris floated out across the endless stands full to the brim with Spineless Ones enjoying their flavor of mindless programming.
"I'm surrounded by talent-less hacks who couldn't dialogue to save their mothers! Hmm... Someone write that down. We'll use it later!"
"Of course, your Obesity, but you have to admit that these numbers represent only-"
Large taloned hands moved unbelievably fast to snatch up the lackey by his shirt collar: "They. Represent. Everything."
Mojo was many things, not the least of which was moody, and his mood in this very moment was something approaching Dare Me To Rip Your Head Off so the assistant merely gulped and nodded.
Setting him down slowly, his point having been made, the Master of Mainstream Multiversal Media mused aloud, gesturing widely across his domain. A realm he ruled only because he provided non-stop entertainment to an entire race of adrenaline-junkies who literally had nothing better to do than channel surf. "I can't rely on the X-Geeks anymore. They're stale. Has-beens that never-should-have-been. I need fresh, exciting, original. Thrills, chills, spills, kills, and frills! And romance! I want the audience to feel a tug on their heartstrings and then I want to rip the hearts from their beating chests and I want their last dying breath to be cheers of adulation for the spectacle I've provided!"
As usual, he knew he was asking too much. Surrounded by dozens of hangers-on with metric tons of camera equipment for filming anywhere - anywhen - and it was all little more than a crusty hull of barnacles on Mojo's Ship of Glory. All the best ideas were his anyway, or they were immediately acquired by his legal team, which is functionally the same thing. But for all his endless creative genius, the Fat Pharoah of Fever-Pitch Flicks was in the middle of a really bad case of writers' block. Everything had been done, it seemed to him, and even his file of Really Last Ditch Ideas was dry.
This was when he was at his most dangerous, of course. When no concept was beyond consideration, when any pitch was worth a listen, when desperation danced with delusion and drama and destruction - that was Peak Mojo. He turned in his cybernetic chair and scuttled across the metal tiles, spindly legs click-clacking and deftly avoiding the myriad cables strewn about the floor. Reaching a center console, he punched in a rarely-used sequence reserved only for the most dire of straits. This was his Hail Mary, his last-ditch effort, his reach for the stars, his Money For Nothing.
Giant holographic projections of scenes from across the multiverse suddenly appeared in the vast expanse above the heads of the Endless Crowd. They all then coalesced into a pair of multi-sided three-dimensional shapes and began rapidly rotating in place. Mojo grabbed a nearby pick-up and broadcast his own Vivacious Visage out over the captive audience as well. Everyone's screens cut to static or test patterns and he now had their complete attention:
"What say we shake things up, eh?" he grinned deviously to thunderous applause. "What say we use these pretty baubles to let the Fates decide our next Super Summer Blockbuster Sensation, eh?!"
The nigh-infinitely sided dice were now a blur, cycling through millions of scenes unfolding in different realities with millions of potential stars. Heroes, villains, star-crossed lovers - it was all there. Anything - anyone - worth watching was featured on one of the sides of the projections.
"Well, then let's just see who our first contestant is!"
Mojo slammed a giant red button on the terminal in front of him, causing the first of the enormous dice to freeze in place. The center-most panel then grew to eclipse the others as they eventually faded away. Displayed now was a green humanoid in flight above a city skyline that the denizens of the Mojoverse knew all too well: New York City. "Ugh!" reviled the Network Nihilist Supreme in disgust. "Earth?! What cruel Fate indeed!" His reaction was shared by all those watching who expressed themselves in similar fashion. "I wonder who that ugly thing is supposed to kill?"
Depressing the button again, this time with a little more care, the second die settled in place and an image altogether different in tone filled the right half of the projection. Another humanoid, but this one looking half-dead with some kind of armored suit and blasting away at an unseen foe. "Oh, what have we here, my pretties?! This looks promising, yes? Ol' Grandaddy Mojo's gonna cook you up something real good with these two, don't you fret! Stay tuned, stay seated, stay hydrated!"
The feed cut, programming was restored, and Mojo began to mix his cybernetics and sorcery to reach out across space and time, pulling his next two superstars from their homes to his Arena Planet where anything can happen...!
Mojo hurled a stack of screenplays, storyboards, and video interviews out and over the mass of perpetual audience that surrounded his Control Room. It was for this express purpose that he'd had most of the walls removed - sometimes a ruler needs to throw things. Mojo was the ruliest ruler, and so he threw things the furthest and no one disputed that with him, so the debris floated out across the endless stands full to the brim with Spineless Ones enjoying their flavor of mindless programming.
"I'm surrounded by talent-less hacks who couldn't dialogue to save their mothers! Hmm... Someone write that down. We'll use it later!"
"Of course, your Obesity, but you have to admit that these numbers represent only-"
Large taloned hands moved unbelievably fast to snatch up the lackey by his shirt collar: "They. Represent. Everything."
Mojo was many things, not the least of which was moody, and his mood in this very moment was something approaching Dare Me To Rip Your Head Off so the assistant merely gulped and nodded.
Setting him down slowly, his point having been made, the Master of Mainstream Multiversal Media mused aloud, gesturing widely across his domain. A realm he ruled only because he provided non-stop entertainment to an entire race of adrenaline-junkies who literally had nothing better to do than channel surf. "I can't rely on the X-Geeks anymore. They're stale. Has-beens that never-should-have-been. I need fresh, exciting, original. Thrills, chills, spills, kills, and frills! And romance! I want the audience to feel a tug on their heartstrings and then I want to rip the hearts from their beating chests and I want their last dying breath to be cheers of adulation for the spectacle I've provided!"
As usual, he knew he was asking too much. Surrounded by dozens of hangers-on with metric tons of camera equipment for filming anywhere - anywhen - and it was all little more than a crusty hull of barnacles on Mojo's Ship of Glory. All the best ideas were his anyway, or they were immediately acquired by his legal team, which is functionally the same thing. But for all his endless creative genius, the Fat Pharoah of Fever-Pitch Flicks was in the middle of a really bad case of writers' block. Everything had been done, it seemed to him, and even his file of Really Last Ditch Ideas was dry.
This was when he was at his most dangerous, of course. When no concept was beyond consideration, when any pitch was worth a listen, when desperation danced with delusion and drama and destruction - that was Peak Mojo. He turned in his cybernetic chair and scuttled across the metal tiles, spindly legs click-clacking and deftly avoiding the myriad cables strewn about the floor. Reaching a center console, he punched in a rarely-used sequence reserved only for the most dire of straits. This was his Hail Mary, his last-ditch effort, his reach for the stars, his Money For Nothing.
Giant holographic projections of scenes from across the multiverse suddenly appeared in the vast expanse above the heads of the Endless Crowd. They all then coalesced into a pair of multi-sided three-dimensional shapes and began rapidly rotating in place. Mojo grabbed a nearby pick-up and broadcast his own Vivacious Visage out over the captive audience as well. Everyone's screens cut to static or test patterns and he now had their complete attention:
"What say we shake things up, eh?" he grinned deviously to thunderous applause. "What say we use these pretty baubles to let the Fates decide our next Super Summer Blockbuster Sensation, eh?!"
The nigh-infinitely sided dice were now a blur, cycling through millions of scenes unfolding in different realities with millions of potential stars. Heroes, villains, star-crossed lovers - it was all there. Anything - anyone - worth watching was featured on one of the sides of the projections.
"Well, then let's just see who our first contestant is!"
Mojo slammed a giant red button on the terminal in front of him, causing the first of the enormous dice to freeze in place. The center-most panel then grew to eclipse the others as they eventually faded away. Displayed now was a green humanoid in flight above a city skyline that the denizens of the Mojoverse knew all too well: New York City. "Ugh!" reviled the Network Nihilist Supreme in disgust. "Earth?! What cruel Fate indeed!" His reaction was shared by all those watching who expressed themselves in similar fashion. "I wonder who that ugly thing is supposed to kill?"
Depressing the button again, this time with a little more care, the second die settled in place and an image altogether different in tone filled the right half of the projection. Another humanoid, but this one looking half-dead with some kind of armored suit and blasting away at an unseen foe. "Oh, what have we here, my pretties?! This looks promising, yes? Ol' Grandaddy Mojo's gonna cook you up something real good with these two, don't you fret! Stay tuned, stay seated, stay hydrated!"
The feed cut, programming was restored, and Mojo began to mix his cybernetics and sorcery to reach out across space and time, pulling his next two superstars from their homes to his Arena Planet where anything can happen...!