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Scar pushes a tape into the TV. It buzzes with a show of static, and flickers on.
— 📺 —
“Mumbo?” A man says, dressed in a red jumper and black pants, leaning over to look at a dusty mound of… something, under a table.
The camera dips with him as he drops down to get a better look at whatever was there. Something vaguely human-shaped whispers hoarsely, in frame but still too hard to make out from the sheer graininess of the video tape. Whatever it said, the other man responds warmly, his smile curling into a fake, over-enthusiastic grin. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Well, you already know how we can fix that!” His eyes flick over to something off-screen— cameramen, other actors, products —before standing again, gesturing for ‘Mumbo’ to follow him up, the camera sinking to catch it. Nothing moves. It cuts back over to the spokesperson with a sudden jerk, shakily focusing in on him. Uneasy.
The frame stays for moment. Cuts to black.
Grumbot inc.
why die?
Shimmers into existence between the man’s outstretched arms. He grins, big and bright and too wide and unnatural, red light flickering in the reflection of dark eyes. The feed whines, a high pitched sort of scraping, buzzing, as the frame stretches on for seconds too long. Longer. Louder. Black eyes staring— blinking back at him.
With a high-pitched screech and a few quick flashes of light, the program stutters back to life on a new frame. This time a shot of the man next to an open doorway, a rolling stream of terms & conditions obscuring the grey-ish thing he was glancing down at.
“Now we can fix you up, bud.” The brown-haired man said, almost softly but still corporate, as if he actually wanted to fix whatever was lying there. If only for a raise.
Rolling in on squealing wheels, a small blue robot comes (kicked) out of the door and stops next to the spokesperson, who wraps an arm around its not-quite shoulders. It’s the size of a child, a greenish-blue mustache pinned to its plastic screen to match lifeless glowing eyes and fake grey hair, shaped like the bangs of the man beside it— down to every feature but the coloration. Like he’d decided to build a strange child out of metal. The thing, ever present, isn’t covered anymore, the text now at the top of the screen.
It is not a corpse. Only looks like one. Pale flesh clings to visible bones. Slumped without any muscles to hold it up, the vertebrae—
The endless flow of text— only 89.99 a month for 48 months, call now for 15% off a second model of equal or lower price —and a well placed step from the spokesperson can’t quite cover it now, dark eyes flicking over to the body and back, bright smile twitching, panic barely hidden under a veneer of calm confidence.
“Aaand here’s our Model 20! Perfect model for our friend Mumbo over here!” He says, nervousness rolling off of him in waves. In awkward chuckles and clenched fists. “This here is our perfect solution. Lights, please!”
He snaps.
The screen cuts into black again aside from the glowing screen of the robot, dimly lighting the set as ‘Mumbo’ was dragged out by someone vaguely medical, a complex expression on the spokesman's face, half hidden by the darkness. Sad, almost. The look of a sorry man.
Eventually the robot is dragged out as well before the feed cuts from the black screen to a bedroom set, the man standing next to the robot again with that smile that gets faker every time he does it. Beside him, Grumbot wore no expression at all. Blank, blue eyes staring beyond the camera, as if looking straight into the audience. Newly, now, it blinks. A sort of humming emanating from it, in and out, louder and quieter. Mimicking breathing.
Quietly, the audio itself begins to hum as well.
“Gri-an. Thank-s!”
It smiles. Two upwards carets as eyes. Mustache lifted as its mimicry of a smile.
‘Grian’ stares at him. Shoulders slumped, smile broken, walking himself back to lean on the bedside table with the start of a tremor in his hands.
“What have I done? What—”
A loud bang, bumping the buzz that much louder, sounds from off-screen, and Grian startles, wide eyed, back around to face the camera, that grin that doesn’t reach his eyes back again.
“That— that’s it for today, folks! You can get one of these yourself for just £89.99 a month. Or if you’re savvy, you can get 15% off a second grumbot with the purchase of one of equal or lower price! Again, that’s 5% off a second Grumbot with the purchase of one of equal or lower price! Please call 1-800—”
“I can’t do this.”
The humming gets louder. Grian stares at the camera like he’s scared before the feed flips, screeches, and flicks off in a screen of static and a high pitched beep.
— 📺 —
When the tape comes back out ruined, Scar is in no haste to fix it.