Intermission 2

“Mr. S will see you now.” The PA’s words struck as a rebuke to Sylvia, who sat in the waiting room like a condemned prisoner on **** row. For once, she wasn’t wearing her top hat, or any fancy or gaudy outfit. She was dressed very professionally in a suit and tie, with her hair tied up in a bun. She’d even brought out her old pair of glasses to complete the look of a responsible businesswoman.

She hoped that a change of appearance would deflect from the shitstorm she was about to walk into. With her head held high (and just a slight bit of shaking) she entered the executive producer’s office.

“Ah, Sylvia. So glad you could make it.” The man sitting at the desk was only known as Mr. S.

Sylvia knew he had a real name, but she couldn’t say it. Or even think it. Special magic was in place that kept her from perceiving him in any tangible way that might inform upon his identity.

It was the same for his appearance. Sylvia knew he was a man, but beyond that, she could see very little. He had hair, of course, but she couldn’t quite tell how long, or what color it was. His skin had color to it of course, but what pigment? Caucasian? Or darker? And what color were his eyes? She couldn’t tell in the slightest.

The only definitive thing she could say about the man seated in front of her was that he was wearing a dark suit and a smile.

Not a happy smile. The sort of smile the big, bad wolf got when Little Red Riding Hood walked into grandma's house not knowing that her grandmother had been served for dinner, and she was just in time for dessert.

“Y-Yes, sir, I’m pleased you took such great care to invite me here personally!” Sylvia said, trying to keep the smile on her face. She was about two seconds away from pissing in her pantsuit.

“Now, I’ve brought you here for a very important reason. Can you guess what that reason might be?” Mr. S asked, his eyes narrowing.

Sylvia gulped. “Is it… um… the polls?”

“Bravo!” The producer applauded, his face lighting up with glee. “I knew that kind of smart thinking was why we gave you the job after our last host retired!”

Sylvia relaxed for a moment, and let out a sigh of relief. But it was premature.

“Which begs the question why such a smart cookie like you would allow your very first season to **** into such a farce.”

Sylvia turned pale. “A… a farce, sir? I wouldn’t quite say that…”

“Then what would you call this?” Mr. S asked, snapping his fingers. Three pie charts appeared in the air above his desk, demonstrating three results from the polls.

“U-Um, sir, this is… well, I mean-”

He didn’t give her a chance to explain herself. Mr. S wasn’t one of those cool “let’s talk it out” bosses, he was more of a “you’re lucky I don’t string you up by your toes over the lip of a volcano!” boss.

“THREE poll results showing BLATANT signs of vote tampering. Did you SEE Holly’s poll? One of her transformations received a vote influx of over 30 votes in less than an hour! And it JUST SO HAPPENED to be enough votes to tip that option over the edge? Come on now, not even the audience is that naïve.”

Sylvia was **** to get out her side. “Sir, if you’d just let me explain-”

“What’s there to explain? I run a tight ship here, Sylvia. A mistake like this is bad enough, but three times? It’s simply unacceptable. I know we’ve given you some leeway since this is your first season, but this is too far. Now, I expect a bit of finagling here and there to make the show run smoothly, but the most important thing is to give the people what they want. If your audience thinks that there’s no point in voting because all the polls are rigged, you know what they’ll do, right?”

“…They’ll stop voting?” Sylvia answered meekly.

Mr. S smiled. Once again, it was not a friendly smile. “That’s exactly right. And we don’t want that, do we?”

“No sir…”

“’No sir’ indeed,” Mr. S nodded. He sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps this was too early for you. When your predecessor passed you the cane, I was fine with it. I thought you might even be able to turn this idea into something interesting. But this…? No, a mistake like this-”

“Excuse me, sir! But I don’t think that’s a fair estimation!” Sylvia had had enough. It was one thing to deride her abilities, but to make light of her performance in comparison to… to her?! This wouldn’t stand!

Mr. S raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“That’s right! You’re getting upset with me because a bunch of trolls and bots snuck their way into the polls, right? And the reason for that is because the polls were left open for viewing, so they could see the discrepancy in all the votes!”

“That’s our going theory, yes,” Mr. S agreed. “That’s why I decided to step in and remove the function to see the results until after the vote was concluded. Cleaning up YOUR mess, when that should have been YOUR responsibility in the first place.”

Sylvia couldn’t believe her ears. They were seriously blaming HER for this?

“But that’s not fair! My predecessor NEVER had to hide the results! She just did whatever she wanted! And yet when the bots attack, it’s MY fault?!” Sylvia exclaimed.

Mr. S narrowed his eyes. “Your predecessor was a psychotic witch who didn’t give a damn about the wishes of the masters in her seasons, OR that of the audience. She thrived on depravity and suffering for their own sake, and that twisted mentality drew in the truly sick-minded who reveled in watching the girls **** themselves and their bonds of love. It was precisely that twisted nature of hers that led us to approve her retirement and in turn gave you her position, because we assumed that you would be a saner mind that would take this show seriously, and do your job properly as a host.”

He sighed.

“Apparently we were wrong.”

“N-No!” Sylvia cried, slamming her palms on the desk. “I’ll show you! I can still do my job properly! This… this is just a little mistake, that’s all!”

“Are you sure?” Mr. S asked, narrowing his eyes. “Because it’s not too late for us to call her back to take your place and run this season.”

Sylvia went pale. “No… no, sir, you can’t! With her twisted personality, she’d… she’d-!”

Sylvia didn’t even want to think of the horrors that her predecessor would wreak on Nick and the girls of his harem. Contrary to what they all believed, things could get much, much worse.

Mr. S said nothing, staring appraisingly at Sylvia. “You seem very passionate about this, Sylvia. Is it because you’re that attached to the power that comes with being a host? I’m sure in a century or two, you’d get another-”

“No, it’s not that!” Sylvia shook her head frantically. “I’m just concerned about the master and the harem! After all, knowing that woman… well…”

“…You raise a valid point, I suppose,” Mr. S sighed. “And honestly, if it were just this little blip in the polls, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of calling you here.”

“O-Oh, really?” Sylvia asked. She clutched her cane tighter, her palms getting sweaty. “Then why-?”

“Because those votes being packed weren’t the only irregularities in this last round,” Mr. S replied, snapping his fingers. Footage of the first challenge began to play in front of Sylvia’s eyes. She looked on with guilt in her heart as the race reached the climax.

“Right there… there’s Dakota in the lead, juuuuust about to cross the finish line,” he noted, smirking like a snake eyeing up a baby bird. “…When look! There’s you, nodding your head! And then… splat! She takes a nosedive! An unfortunate coincidence, is what it is. …Unless… it’s not that, and what we have here instead is an example of collusion.”

“C-Collusion, sir?” Sylvia squeaked out, trembling in her stylish shoes.

“That’s right. For example, let me pose a hypothetical here. We have Dakota, just about to win immunity from transformations for the round, and then took a fall, allowing someone else to claim that immunity. And wouldn’t you know it? In her batch of transformations there just so happens to be a transformation that will grant her what she’s wanted most, 15 years of established history with Nick, the one thing that kept him from sleeping with her at the conclusion of their date. Now, to a more suspicious man, that would suggest that maybe the two of you had a little deal going on, hmm? That Dakota would agree to throw this match, in exchange for you rigging things to make sure her desired outcome would be on the ballot, thus ensuring her a greater chance for victory due to more intimacy with the master.”

Sylvia felt like she was already on fire. He knew. He knew everything. There was no use denying it. She opened her mouth to plead for mercy, but all that came out were helpless squeaks.

“In fact, some might even think that YOU were the one responsible for rigging all those ballot dumps, to draw attention away from giving Dakota the outcome you both wanted,” Mr. S continued.

THAT made Sylvia find her voice. An accusation of vote tampering? This wasn’t a presidential election, you couldn't just let allegations like that stand! “I-I would never!” She exclaimed. “I may have agreed to put Dakota’s ideal outcome on the ballot, but the voters chose that fair and square! I swear, whatever vote tampering is going on, it has NOTHING to do with me!”

She paused to catch her breath, staring warily at Mr. S's piercing eyes.

“...I know that, of course,” he smirked. “Don’t tell me you forgot? You’re physically incapable of such things, my dear little doll. Your creator designed you to follow the rules, after all. So while a little gamesmanship like your backroom deal with Dakota may be overlooked, vote tampering? Certainly not. You couldn’t do it if you tried.”

Sylvia sighed with relief. “Then you believe me? I’m not being thrown into the pit of eternal fire?”

“Obviously. That was never going to happen,” Mr. S laughed. “This was just a warning. It’s okay to have your favorites each season. As a host, we expect it. You're almost human, after all. But you shouldn’t let that result in biasing the games in such an over manner, or swaying the polls to benefit a certain girl over the others. This is your second strike, Sylvia.”

The levity left his voice. “You won’t be getting a third. From now on, I want a clean season from you, missy. This issue you’re having with the votes? Fix it. Figure out a way to resolve the problem now, something that your audience will accept. If not, well… I think you know what’s going to happen.”

Sylvia gulped. “…The pit of eternal fire?”

“Or the pit of eternal snakes,” Mr. S mused. “Or heck! Why not both? We’ll just set the snakes on fire! Yes, I think that shall do nicely!”

Sylvia began to feel sick to her stomach.

“…You can go now, by the way. And like I said before, fix it.”

Sylvia turned to leave, but Mr. S stopped her at the door.

“One last thing, Sylvia. The way you were acting, worrying about what would happen to the master of your season should you be replaced…”

“Y-Yes, sir?” Sylvia asked, shaking.

“You haven’t begun to develop feelings for that boy, have you? Remember, your responsibility as a host comes first. Actually falling for a master? Ridiculous.”

Sylvia flinched. But she **** a professional smile onto her face and turned back to the producer.

“Certainly not, sir. That would never happen.”