The man's golden, glittery heels tip-tapped down the long hallway with precision and sureness in his step. He presented a beaming, ruby red smile to the outside world, simply shrugging off the questioning glances and approaches of the workers from Network 66, who were confused as to who he was and why he was here. "I've got a pitch for the network, darling," he would tell anyone who dared to speak to his face, utterly airy and carefree. "Surely that sort of thing doesn't come as a surprise around here, now does it?"
No, it didn't, was the silent reply. Every now and then TV executives would wander into the headquarters of Network 66, having set up a rare face-to-face appointment with its fearless leader, Ned Grossberg. Usually such transactions were done over the viewphone, but it certainly wasn't shocking to have them done in person. Truth be told, the mere appearance of this new TV exec was not what was surprising the employees of the TV station. What surprised them was his physical appearance, a swanky, smirking man dressed all in gold, the platform boots clearly boosting his diminutive height, who oddly enough wore a pair of red horns atop his head. The black frame of them blended into his black hair, so that a few passersby had to stop and make sure they weren't naturally, permanently fastened on.
A buzzer sounded, and Grossberg looked up from his seat as the front of the now-empty table, his eyes torn away from the ever-present TV screen in front of him, broadcasting his own network. "Yes, what is it?" There was no verbal reply, but he heard the click of someone's high heels on the floor, and jerked his chin out as an oddly-dressed man entered the room, carrying a computer disc and smiling enigmatically. An employee was right behind him, and Grossberg sat up straighter in his chair, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he gazed at the man. Here he was, in the flesh- the man that promised to save Network 66 and get them the largest ratings boost anyone had ever seen. Grossberg sent the employee away and called, "Come in." The man sauntered forward, and Grossberg reached out his hand to shake, eyeing his visitor's shining gold suit as he did so. Where had he gotten such a gaudy thing… and what were those horns doing on his head? Ah well, the appearance of the executive couldn't be helped, as long as he gave Grossberg exactly what he wanted.
"It's so nice to meet you, Mr..." Grossberg gave a quick glance down at the small screen by his side where he had downloaded the visitor's personal information.
"Mist- er…"
"MacPhisto," the man said breezily, slipping his hand into Grossberg's and giving it a firm shake. "It's a pleasure to be here. You're Grossberg, I imagine?"
"Yes," Grossberg answered, letting go of MacPhisto's hand and sitting back in his chair, clasping his hands together. If there was any symbolism regarding the visitor's name and his horns, it was lost on him. "Let's get down to business. What's this new program you're offering?" He stole another glance at the small screen on the table, while MacPhisto took a step back and gazed imperiously into Grossberg's eyes, frozen in motion. "Z-"
"Zoo TV," MacPhisto said before Grossberg could even finish his sentence. He watched as Grossberg looked up towards him, jerking his chin out, and then started in on his sales pitch. "I've been developing this program for years- it's my life's work. It employs a simple method of subliminal messaging through its flash of random textual images to persuade the viewer to continue to watch. I've already tried it on test audiences, which responded well, but I would like to show you the pilot I've developed, to see if you would broadcast a program like this." MacPhisto held up the large disc, and Grossberg's eyes followed it as he nodded slowly, trying to process the information. Subliminal messaging…
"Before I watch, I need to get one thing straight," Grossberg said. "Is the technology anything like Blipverts?"
"Without unfortunate side effects, yes," MacPhisto said smoothly. "However, it employs the use of text rather than images."
"And it doesn't have anything to do with addictive hexadecimals or what do you call it?" Grossberg stated, remembering the Whacketts crisis. It was the only time he had willingly let Network 23 get the better of him.
MacPhisto gave a short, croaky laugh. "Ah, nothing of the sort, pet," he simpered. "I promise you that viewers will get hooked on Zoo TV, but only based on the strength of the program's messaging alone."
"Good," Grossberg said, his eyes drifting away from MacPhisto to stare at the large TV screen hanging in front of him. I don't need Edison freaking Carter coming in here and giving Network 23 higher ratings by making our network look bad. He lazily held his hand out in MacPhisto's direction, jerking his chin out. "Let me have that disc."
MacPhisto surrendered it, and Grossberg put the disc in the player nearby and watched as Network 66's scheduled programming disappeared, to be replaced by a black screen. The sound of drums- real drums, not drum machines that were used in practically every song these days- filled the air, and for a few seconds Grossberg was worried that MacPhisto's program was actually a music video channel promoting the latest unknown band, exactly the kind of mindless crap that Grossberg was sick of having offered to him all the time. However, as soon as the electric guitar riff came in, which Grossberg had to admit was actually kind of catchy, the screen lit up with white words on the black background, spelling out a confusing message. EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG. It only lasted for a few seconds before the message changed, words flickering up at every millisecond. It hurt Grossberg's eyes to try and read each individual one, and so he sat back and let the barrage of text wash over him while a singer with a throaty voice much like MacPhisto's presented a song.
It's no secret that the stars are falling from the sky. It's no secret that our world is in darkness tonight…
The words continued at a lightning-fast pace- URGE BEAR GLIB INSTANT SOLUTION DESTINY LEFT RIGHT WHO CARES HYPOCRISY ETC. Grossberg found himself leaning forward towards the screen, and nearly placed his elbows on the long table before he caught himself. He straightened back up and tried to maintain an image of aloofness, to not seem entirely interested and also to not look at MacPhisto. But the more of the Zoo TV pilot he watched, the more he wanted to watch. It didn't feel as if Grossberg would be deprived without Zoo TV- not like the addictive Whacketts program- but he did notice that whenever he looked away from the screen, it felt like an invisible string was pulling him back, whispering in his ear Watch. Watch TV. Watch me…
The song ended on an ominous note. "Look, I gotta go. Yeah, I'm running out of change. There's a lot of things if I could I'd rearrange." Following these lyrics was a screaming guitar solo, and words began to flash up in a single message, one after the other, in quick succession. IT'S YOUR WORLD YOU CAN CHANGE IT IT'S YOUR WORLD YOU CAN CHANGE IT IT'S YOUR WORLD YOU CAN CHANGE IT. For a moment Grossberg was disturbed by this radical message- he didn't want any impressionable TV watchers to fall under its sway- but then, by straining his eyes, he discovered that words were flashing at a millisecond in between the words of the other message. All together, the previous message faded away and Grossberg made out a far better message underneath it. WATCH MORE TV WATCH MORE TV WATCH MORE TV. Suddenly the song ended with a crash, and the screen went black again, until a logo appeared- ZOO TV, it stated in bright red letters, surrounded by an equally red circle. Then the logo vanished and MacPhisto, who Grossberg had successfully avoided looking at for the entirety of the pilot, burst into applause at his own work.
Stunned by the fancily-dressed man's enthusiasm, Grossberg maneuvered his chair so that he was staring at MacPhisto at last. MacPhisto was smiling broadly, showing clean white teeth from beneath his unnaturally red lips. When he noticed that Grossberg was staring at him, he ceased his applause and angled his head forward, the tantalizing and somewhat transfixing grin still on his face. He looked entirely consumed by pride and expecting compliments. "Wasn't that marvelous, Mr. Grossberg?" His croaky, aging British voice somewhat disconcerted Grossberg, though he didn't show it. MacPhisto continued in a broad, pondering voice, "Will you consider taking up my program?"
"It is very effective," Grossberg admitted. "I appreciate the idea, although I'd advise you get rid of the message at the end if you don't want the censors on our backs."
"'Our?'" MacPhisto stated, leaning in close to Grossberg and still not removing that disturbing smile from his face. "Are you implying that you've already decided?"
Realizing his misstep, Grossberg jerked his chin out and muttered, "I was merely implying, hypothetically-"
"So it is a yes?" MacPhisto said matter-of-factly, not asking so much as stating the facts. He held out his hand, and Grossberg realized that this unusual man would not allow him to weasel out of a deal. Ah well, the program did look useful, and its subliminal messaging techniques seemed promising. Might as well finish the job. He slid his hand into MacPhisto's and gave a hearty shake, noticing as he did so that MacPhisto's hand was eerily a different shade than his face.
"Thank you for coming here, MacPhisto," Grossberg murmured as MacPhisto pulled away and went to collect his video disc.
"You're welcome," he simpered. "The pleasure is entirely yours."
"If this program doesn't boost the ratings, though, I'm removing it from the air after a week," Grossberg warned. For a reason he couldn't explain, it felt as if MacPhisto's motives were more insidious than they were presented. Maybe it was the strange appearance and presentation of this man- ridiculous glittery boots and stupid red horns and all- or perhaps it was the radical messages on the Zoo TV pilot, with the possibility to incite rebellion, but MacPhisto simply did not seem like a person to be trusted. Of course, it was impossible to predict anything based on gut instincts, and Grossberg knew that no matter how sketchy MacPhisto appeared, the Zoo TV program would attract at least a few more viewers of Network 66 and would boost at least a few ratings.
"I don't think you will be disappointed, Grossberg," MacPhisto said as he pushed the retrieved disc down his finger. "Not at all. As long as you start broadcasting it as early as tomorrow. Have you got the file downloaded?"
"Yes," Grossberg said, turning his chair back to face the TV screen and moving his eyes back onto the regular network programming. "Goodbye, MacPhisto."
"Au revoir, Grossberg," MacPhisto called, already turning to leave, and try as he might to block the sound out Grossberg could still hear the tapping of his boots down the corridor and the strains of a show tune being whistled.