#modern au..?

Somewhere in Baltimore, a new Singularity forms.

Those who pull the strings -- within each timeline, they hold within themselves a plan.

Multiple concurrent worlds. Singularities occurring all at once, simultaneously one -- and not.

Each script ties into itself. Two plays viewed as one -- splitting body and mind of its Audience into two separate places, two separate worlds, with the promise of reconnecting one day.

To destroy the Viewer, the playwright must merely keep these halves separate.

'In order to create the best appeal,' the being wonders -- 'what is it that the Viewers wish for most?'

The [screams/devouring/sobs] of the populace beg for something only the immortal could give.

It's so easy--

--How could this be any other way?

--

The recording room is empty, but not for long.

Soundproofing lines the walls, even extending to the door leading into the booth itself -- the only exception, a glass window peering in.

On that end of the window lay a handful of people.

Someone with incredibly long black hair, tied in a loose ponytail that would perhaps have still fell to their hips, who made a point of never taking off their sunglasses, sat at the front -- tapping their finger idly against a control board. The microphone and audio quality was easy to control, especially here -- but it didn't stop them from keeping a close eye on it. The last thing they wanted was to handle those goddamned executives again -- their coworkers had to restrain them the last time.

To her left, a woman with hair like platinum, clad in a black-and-white suit -- writing something down on a clipboard she rested against her lower arm, her brow furrowed in focus. Budgeting, one could assume, was a pain in the ass -- but despite the lady's stoic exterior, she took a bit of happiness in such things. Someone needed to handle the business side, after all.

And to the black-haired lady's right, a woman with vivid dyed pink hair -- tapping a pen to a tablet screen, her gaze laced with venom as she stared down the wire frame figure of a symbol. Supposedly, this was a business symbol - but nothing seemed to fit quite right, yet. Breathing out a sigh, she switches tabs, focusing on a small graphic animation.

And at the back of the room, a woman with flowing black hair with a small braid tied just at the back of her head. Her green eyes flit from page to page -- scratching out parts of a script, filling it in with words she thought up at the very last minute. She did have a small karaoke outing to plan after this session was over -- but not one to be outdone, she'd already planned this yesterday. Having connections, after all, proved quite useful -- especially when editing this script last-minute proved so important.

On the other end -- the barren portion of this location, only holding the soundproofed walls and a microphone -- the door opened, as the green-eyed lady suddenly made a mad dash out of her side of the room.

After some muffled talk -- the other three picking up a 'I changed a few words,' a 'Do your best, dear~!' -- the green-eyed woman stepped back into the control booth, with someone entering the recording booth moments later.

Closing the door behind him, a blonde-haired man breathed a careful sigh out to settle his heartrate -- followed shortly thereafter by a subdued laugh.

"...Geez, you're sure this'll sell?"

"Of course it will," the sunglasses-donning one responded, "as long as you've nailed the delivery."

"...I'll do what I can."

The platinum-haired lady's gaze flicked up to the glass window as the blonde got settled -- checking and repositioning the microphone, his eyes settled on the script, trying to memorize his companion's additions to the page.

"You'll do well. Think of this as practice towards a different... Shall we say, 'style.' They're used to something calmer -- this will spark quite some attention for us, and attention pays for itself."

The woman spared him a momentary, gentle smile, before returning her gaze to the page.

"...Right. --Er, Kiyo, when are we..?"

"Whenever you're ready. Hold your hand up when you're set."

"And don't be afraid to improvise a little!"

...The blonde nodded, as the pink-haired lady leaned a little over to see the man in the booth.

"I'll kill you if you go too far off script, though. These designs are a pain, and if I've gotta redo these, you owe me some food."

"Isn't that a w-"

"--I realize now the error of that threat. I'll just kill you."

...Still, as she returned to her tablet, the blonde could note her covering her mouth to muffle a laugh.

Taking a few last deep breaths, the boy raised his hand -- and, giving him a nod in return, Kiyo raised up her hand, silently counting to three --

-- before a glowing red light from the microphone informed the blonde that he was now live.

With only one thing left to do, and one spare glance to his script, the man suppressed a stupid smile and forced himself into seriousness.

Channeling all the rage he could, he finally spoke up -- loud enough to leave an impression, while not loud enough to overwhelm the microphone.