Target Audience
The new group stared back with eager eyes from the assembly hall seating. All of them were attractive or at least narcissistic enough to believe that they were. They’d all answered the ad placed in four national newspapers.
It was a casting call for a new reality show. Fifteen thousand people had answered the ad. Using the photos attached to the resumes for reference, we picked the most attractive applicants. Using the essays attached answering the question “why should we pick you?” as sounding boards, we picked the most stupid and conceited applicants available.
We rejected ten thousand of them, deeming them actually valuable to society. They thought that they had lost.
We accepted the five thousand applicants sitting in the folding chairs in front of the stage. They were here to be slaughtered but none of them new that yet.
They were about to be briefed on the subject of the new reality show that they were to be a part of. High stakes, one winner, starting immediately.
This room was on the top floor of a building scheduled for demolition. Many millions of dollars had been sent out to the cleaning crews and demolition companies to turn a blind eye. The building had been outfitted with hundreds of cheap cameras on every abandoned floor.
The building would be demolished in five days. If there was more than one person left alive at that time, they’d go down with the building. If there was one person alive, they’d be rescued and given a prize.
Online betting on the published profiles had already started. The encrypted wealth of reality gambling snuff tournaments was already filling the accounts to record levels.
Glory was behind the curtain on the stage wearing that tight skirt and that killer smile. She had guns in each hand. Angela was tied to the office chair beside her, duct tape bloody, to serve as an initial demonstration.
The investors were huddled in the back room watching the live feed count down to Day One. Glory stretched her neck in anticipation of the carnage about to begin. The curtain would come up in sixty seconds.
“Are you sure we’re going to be a success?” asked one suited investor to another.
“My dear James,” the other investor replied, “we’re going to make a killing.”
He thumbed the ‘talk’ switch for Glory’s earphones. “Knock ‘em dead, Glory.” He said.
tags
It was a casting call for a new reality show. Fifteen thousand people had answered the ad. Using the photos attached to the resumes for reference, we picked the most attractive applicants. Using the essays attached answering the question “why should we pick you?” as sounding boards, we picked the most stupid and conceited applicants available.
We rejected ten thousand of them, deeming them actually valuable to society. They thought that they had lost.
We accepted the five thousand applicants sitting in the folding chairs in front of the stage. They were here to be slaughtered but none of them new that yet.
They were about to be briefed on the subject of the new reality show that they were to be a part of. High stakes, one winner, starting immediately.
This room was on the top floor of a building scheduled for demolition. Many millions of dollars had been sent out to the cleaning crews and demolition companies to turn a blind eye. The building had been outfitted with hundreds of cheap cameras on every abandoned floor.
The building would be demolished in five days. If there was more than one person left alive at that time, they’d go down with the building. If there was one person alive, they’d be rescued and given a prize.
Online betting on the published profiles had already started. The encrypted wealth of reality gambling snuff tournaments was already filling the accounts to record levels.
Glory was behind the curtain on the stage wearing that tight skirt and that killer smile. She had guns in each hand. Angela was tied to the office chair beside her, duct tape bloody, to serve as an initial demonstration.
The investors were huddled in the back room watching the live feed count down to Day One. Glory stretched her neck in anticipation of the carnage about to begin. The curtain would come up in sixty seconds.
“Are you sure we’re going to be a success?” asked one suited investor to another.
“My dear James,” the other investor replied, “we’re going to make a killing.”
He thumbed the ‘talk’ switch for Glory’s earphones. “Knock ‘em dead, Glory.” He said.
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