by Mars Dorian
“Guys, I understand you need to make as many sales as possible, but twenty Vorbs is already a generous offer.”
Whizzard turned to him and snorted.
“Generous offer? Come on, you’re a multi-millionaire, you even own a building.”
Mr. Jones squinted his eyes.
“I don’t like your tone, young man, I demand your respect.”
Whizzard whirled his arms around and cursed till his mouth foamed.
“Yadda, yadda, come on, don’t be a pussy now.”
Mr. Jones’ face wrinkled. He formed his hand into a fist and hit his desk. Papers and silver pens flew into the air. Every vlogger regarded him with a hundred percent of respect. Mr. Jones grunted.
“You know what? I’m not going to buy a single Vorb from you. I thought I was doing you a favor, I wanted to support your mission. But now I’m getting shouted at? This is not how you do business. You guys need to learn some etiquette.”
Bam closed his eyes. This can’t be happening. Not now. This idiot of a vlogger scumbag just cost them a surefire deal.
No way.
Trigger moved to Whizzard.
“Great, you happy now? We just lost twenty sales thanks to you.”
“What does it matter? We would have lost anyways.”
Laci chimed in again. Perfect timing at the worst possible moment.
“Guys, five minutes and forty-three seconds left.”
Bam stomped the ground.
Trigger shrugged.
Whizzard straightened his back, said two words no one expected to hear, not from him.
“Maybe not.”
Everyone in the room stared as he walked around the dark wood desk, right up to Mr. Jones, until he was only a breath away from his face. Whizzard said,
“You know what? I think you should buy a thousand Vorbs.”
Mr. Jones’ face broke out into dark laughter. It echoed throughout his office.
“Are you nuts? I’m not going to buy a single one from you.”
Whizzard smiled and pointed the repeater pistol at Mr. Jones’ temples.
“Oh, I think you will.”
57
Trigger stiffened into a statue. He checked his holster and realized Whizzard was holding his repeater pistol. Damn the crooked vlogger and his pickpocketing hands. Trigger stepped back and saw Mr. Jones’ face shaking up. Whizzard smiled as he pushed the gun into the millionaire’s face.
“You’re insane,” Mr. Jones said, as he felt the cold steel barrel pushing against his temples, “you’re totally insane.”
Everyone agreed, even Whizzard himself.
“Insane in the sales membrane,” he said.
Bam raised his voice.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
“Winning this mission for us,” Whizzard said without turning to him. He kept his gun pointed at Mr. Jones who sweat a waterfall of salty pearls.
“Three minutes, you guys.”
Laci was still speaking, she must have seen what was going on. And yet, she seemed to be emotionally detached from the situation. Her voice was as cheerful and annoying as ever. Mr. Jones forced himself to smile and failed the second his lips struggled to move up.
“You’re pointing a gun at me and millions of viewers are seeing it live. How stupid are you? As soon as this situation is over, I’m going to tell my lawyers to destroy you.”
Whizzard smiled, not a single drop of sweat on him.
“Laci, as a vlogger participating in the Blogbuster, I’m 100% covered by Stax Media, right?”
“That is correct. For the duration of this game show, every emerging lawsuit will be handled by our lawyers, well, as long as you remain alive.”
Whizzard smiled. Mr. Jones’ pockets were deep, but not Roman Stax deep.
“See buddy? I don’t think I have to worry at all.”
Bam and Trigger watched him in silence. Whizzard didn’t even care about them anymore, he owned this moment. He was this moment.
“Now please, will you consider this offer?”
He activated a digital order in front of Mr. Jones. It read one thousand Vorbs.
“Come on now, it’s not even a big deal. It will cost you less than three hundred thousand credits. And according to your last blog post, you made over twenty-five million last year. It’s not even pocket money, not even a drop.”
Mr. Jones sweat, but kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t pressure the gunner maniac with a lawsuit anymore, and he knew it.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said, maybe as a last cry for defense.
“No, but you will, well, a second before I pull the trigger and splash your brain against those mahogany walls.”
Laci said,
“Fifty-four seconds, you guys.”
Whizzard pushed the barrel against Jones’ head, pushed it right into his skin till it wrapped around it.
“Last chance, Mr. Jones. Either you sign the one thousand Vorbs order, or your office gets a brain salad free on the house. Your choice.”
The multi-millionaire took one last sigh before he authorized the digital order.
Whizzard grinned.
“You’re a smart business man after all.”
“Go to hell and suck Satan’s dick.”
“Maybe after I chilled with the angels celebrating my victory.”
Whizzard tucked the gun away, smiled at Trigger and Bam.
“And stopppp.”
Laci’s voice squealed through the Vorb. Trigger walked up to Whizzard, asked for his repeater pistol.
“Here,” Whizzard said with his trademark grin.
Trigger nodded and punched him to the ground. He moaned, LOL’ed no more. Touched his nose, felt the blood dripping down.
“What the hell was that for?”
“For stealing my gun and pointing it at a civilian.”
Whizzard grunted, wiped the blood from his nose, it kept coming.
“Jeez, relax, captain justice, there wasn’t even a magazine inside.”
“What about the chamber?”
“Chamber?” Whizzard said.
Trigger sighed, knelt down, slid the gun back and revealed the chamber.
A bullet was left inside.
“You could have killed Mr. Jones by accident.”
Whizzard dragged himself up.
“So what? I wasn’t even going to shoot. Do you think I’m a murderer?”
“You never, never ever point a loaded weapon at an innocent person.”
Whizzard waved him away, all whatever style.
“You should be thankful, I may be the only reason we’ll win this round.”
He swapped looks between Trigger and Bam.
“You two were bad jokes. Crashing into cars and annoying people on the streets, wow, what a sales strategy. My grandma would do better, and she’s cooling off in a coma.”
He took out a napkin, ripped it apart into two pieces and pushed them inside his nostrils to make the bleeding stop.
“I probably made more sales than you two would in one week combined.”
Bam kept his cool.
“It doesn’t matter, you’ve crossed a line, Whizzard.”
The guy grinned.
“Yeah, the winning line.”
58
The official Blogbuster presence overloaded with real time comments. Laci Steem picked the best ones and published them.
LadyfromLunar wrote.
Who knew sales could be so exciting ? I should sign up for some online classes.
Moonbustr97 wrote.
Wow, wow, wow, Whizzard is one twisted f*$%.
IOU69 wrote.
Did this really happen? I mean OMFG call the cops and the snipers and get rid of that psicko asap !!!!!! #sosick
Skeptix wrote.
Whatfreakingever. The business guy was fake, he’s obviously an actor paid by Stax Media. Seriously, a soap opera extra with face spasms is oscar-worthy compared to this dude.
#cantfoolmebutnicetry
SocialJusticeWanda wrote.
This Whizzard guy is sick to the spine. He should visit a mental institution. This proves how money corrupts. Big amounts of money corrupt big time. So people, please wake up. See how #greed and #capitalism throw us into a destructive me-world where individualism is favored over the Greater Good. It’s just wrong.
Ka$hburrn wrote.
Whizzard 4 prezident.
59
Back in the BlogBuster Building, top floor.
Stax sat on his throne and grinned like the emperor who just crushed his enemy in a major war. In a way, he did. He reviewed the first Blogbuster mission on his gigantic screens. Rewound the showdown with Whizzard and cracked up when Mr. Jones authorized the sales order. Drama at its best. Stax was so immersed into the scene, he didn’t even notice Laci Steem walking up from behind.
“What a way to end the first mission,” she said.
“How many viewers?”
She sighed, but read the data.
“We had around 55,000,000 in the first hour and hit a peak of 135,000,000 at the end. Whizzard’s ‘sales method’ almost tripled viewership.”
“Of course it did.”
He swiveled around and stared into Laci’s grass-green eyes.
“The audience doesn’t give an ape’s ass about vloggers selling electronics. It wants drama, raw emotion. And we just provided that.”
Laci nodded.
“But wasn’t that a bit too extreme, I mean, for the first mission?”
Roman grinned and leaned back into his throne.
“There’s no ‘too extreme’ in entertainment. On the contrary, ‘too’ is something you must seek out when you want to hit it big.”
“Just saying.”
He regarded her.
“Get the Vorb sales data ready, right down to the comma. I have to prepare for the boardroom session. Tell all the vloggers to expect some verbal beating. I’m not going to hold back.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Roman jolted up and moved back to his office, which neighbored the media control room. A place where he could prepare for the best part of the show, at least according to him. As he slid into his office chair, he checked the live comments flooding the official Blogbuster presence. Hate, love, and hundreds of messages from disturbed viewers. Online watchers were clearly not expecting that much drama, which Roman hoped for. Lead them to a false start and end it with a bang, like a page-turning thriller novel.
But if the audience thought the first mission was already intense, they’d seen nothing yet.
60
“We annihilated the sausage team.”
Violet stood half a meter away from the door to her suite when Elli Mental intercepted her.
“I’ve heard they pulled some dirty tricks. I haven’t seen the footage yet, but it looks like they were desperate. Unlike us.”
She moved closer, invaded Violet’s personal space and unleashed a hug attack.
“I’m glad we worked so well together.”
She looked up with her freckle-faced smile. Frecklemania.
“I knew I could count on you. We stuck together like Legos, two soul sisters on the big crusade.”
Violet freed herself from the hug. Too much was too much.
“I think it’s a bit too early to celebrate, Elli, we have no clue how well the other team performed. Maybe their desperate action paid off.”
Elli squinted, but kept her smile on.
“Heh, you’re so practical, that’s what I love about you. Staying cool and collected.”
Violet remained expression-less, craned her head towards the door, flashing a not-so subtle hint for I Want To Get To My Room Now. Either Elli didn’t pick it up, or she didn’t care.
“Hey, you know what? Let’s have a hot cocoa in the cafeteria. Or a salad, or some lychee lassis. We have enough time until the boardroom session commences, and I want to see more of your luscious artwork — I want to see all the femme fatale techwear you’re working on.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It will take only a drop of time, I promise. Come on, show me your wondrous work. I want to be swept away by Violet’s gear.”
Ratatatata, Elle’s mouth turned into a submachine gun with endless verbal ammo. Violet felt the word shots piercing through her nervous system.
“I’m kind of tired, Elli, I really need to take a break. It was an intense mission, I can barely stand.”
Elli saluted, kept her smile beaming, but it seemed forced.
“Of course, no worries, get your beauty rest, I mean rest. You are already beautiful. I see you in the courtroom, sis. Whatever happens, we’ll stay together.”
Violet nodded. Watched the little freckle-faced girl walking away. Watched her all the way, till she reached the end of the floor, because with Elli, you never knew. She could stop in mid-walk, turn around and unleash another sisterhood symphony. But this time, she wandered off for good. Around the corner, and away she went. Finally.
Violet waved her hand over the door scanner.
“Please enter, Violet Gear,” the artificial female voice said.
Violet entered the suite, tidy as ever. Home sweet home, sort of.
It wasn’t as comfy as her studio space, although it did offer more sitting opportunities and a kick-ass refrigerator that re-stocked itself by sending out messages to the Blogbuster service crew. But it also felt a tad too sterile, as if the whole place was robot-assembled in a car factory.
Only this time, Violet didn’t care. She crammed a month-worth of fashion show preparation into a couple of hours and succeeded. She waddled to her bed and fell into the soft cushion.
Sister. Elli. Sales. Vorb. Blogbuster.
Violet’s eyelids shut down, and before she shut down herself, she told her eScroll to wake her up forty-five minutes before the boardroom session. Despite her stellar performance, there was a chance the other team made more sales with whatever questionable technique they used.
And at this point, she could absolutely not fail.
61
Blogbuster Building, courtroom, first floor.
Roman Stax sat behind a raised desk and peered down the seats in front of him. He modeled the courtroom’s architecture after the Supreme Court, with the only exception to raise his desk even more. Because higher was better.
Stax snapped his finger, which was the signal for Laci to bring all eight vloggers in. Six Vorbs floated near the ceiling, ready to record every face and interaction from every angle.
Judgement time.
The vloggers walked in. Roman inspected their faces — they ranged from half-asleep to stone-frozen. When all of the contestants sat their butts down the designated chairs, Roman smashed the mighty hammer.
“Silence.”
Laci walked up to him and whispered.
“But no one said a thing.”
Roman smirked.
“I know, but I always wanted to say it.”
He looked down at his Blogbuster participants and inspected their gestures. It was time to blow some life into those puppets.
“Boom,” he said.
Smash, he made.
With the steel-ridged hammer clutched between his manicured fingers, he felt like a thunder god. He leaned back, put the hammer away and intertwined his fingers. Sported his best judge face, straight out of the Judge Jade show.
“Now what can I say, vloggers, that was one intense first round. And I bet over a hundred million viewers would agree.”
He raised his head and waved at the two Vorbs floating above his head. Brushed his fingers through his thick, black hair and exposed his trademark smile. One part of him thought his teeth were too bright for the Vorb cam, the other part didn’t care.
“Some of you have done well, others have failed miserably. So miserably, I hope my mom’s not watching now, because she’d be rage-pillow-eating.”
He stared into everyone’s eyes and made sure the tired contestants looked back at him.
“Some
of you were downright twisted in the sales approach.”
His attention shifted to Whizzard.
“You, my friend, have single-handedly redefined the meaning of a pushy salesman.”
Whizzard grinned. Roman kept on.
“I mean, pointing a gun at a potential customer is downright mental. Don’t expect any repeat sales from Mr. Jones.”
Awkward pause.
“Still, working for me means burning with ambition and aiming with determination. It requires to think outside the box and going places others don’t dare to. Listen, I didn’t turn Stax Media into an online empire because I was cuddling with Mr. FluffyPuff. I succeeded because I nailed my balls to the gas pedal and never let go.”
Whizzard cracked up. Roman paused.
“Do you think that’s funny?”
“No, sir,” Whizzard said.
“Too bad, because I think it is.”
Stax unleashed a roll of laughter. He tilted his head towards Laci.
“But first things first. Mrs. Steem, whose team made the most sales?”
Laci shifted her eyes from the eScroll between her hands. She locked eye contact with Violet.
“Well, let’s start with team V-empire. They got a head start because they leveraged your private helicopter.”
Roman nodded.
“That was a bold demand, Violet. I never rent out my baby to anyone, but I reward audacity as long as it’s somewhat reasonable. So, kudos for pulling up that card.”
He clapped three times and motioned Laci to go on.
“Their tactic was to visit Sandfort University and sell the Vorbs to rich college students.”
Roman smiled.
“Sandfort? I remember that place, probably because I went there, before they kicked me out.”
He rolled his eyes and licked his lips.
“Oh sweet memory, I was hooking up with the headmaster and the faculty didn’t like it. They fired her and suspended me forever. I was devastated for at least fifty seconds. But I turned out ok, don’t you think?”
He winked at Laci, she sighed.
“Well, despite rock-solid initial sales, Violent convinced her team members to create an ad hoc fashion show to hook more potential customers on the campus ground.”