A/N: Slight OOC warning. I understand this fic is a bit hackneyed, but it might help if you imagine it as though you were watching it on the tube.
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THE FOLLOWING HAS BEEN
A PAID PROGRAM PRESENTATION
The image of a stage in a television studio faded in on the screen, a spotlight trained on the center of a red curtain in the background as a cheesy applause track played from the sound booth. Then, a bespectacled man with loosely combed hair and a five o'clock shadow arrogantly swaggered into the shot and took his place in the spotlight.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," the man said, brimming with charisma as the recorded applause came to an abrupt halt. "And, uh, you too, Claudia, in case you're out there watching," he added in a half-serious tone. "For those of you who don't know me, the name's Vincent." He then pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Don't forget it, okay?" he added with an air of arrogance. "I trust more than a few of you are wondering why you were all dragged here kicking and screaming today."
"YOU BET YOUR ASS!" came the heated reply from the audience offscreen.
"But before I get to that," Vincent continued, "let me tell you a little about myself…" He was subsequently met with numerous boos and hisses and other sounds of extreme disapproval, at which he merely shut his eyes and scowled, quietly fuming for a moment. "Quiet, or I'll be forced to use force!" he said as two Scrapers stepped out from behind the curtains, both wearing red armbands with the image of the Halo of the Sun in place of the swastika. The cat calls were immediately silenced. "That's better," Vincent smiled, his charismatic demeanor returning as the Scrapers ducked back behind the curtains. "I'm here on behalf of The Order, and as such am their representative to you. I'm an accountant and manager of finances. Mostly their finances, and not always in the manner they expect, if you know what I mean, but hey! It's for a good cause! Primarily 'cause I need the money, but that's moot point. The key is, some for me, some for you. That's business, am I right?"
He was met with silence, to which he responded by snapping his fingers. "I said, am I right?" he repeated in a firmer tone as the Scrapers stepped back out. The crowd applauded and cheered their agreement. "That's right," Vincent nodded, waving the Scrapers back behind the curtain. "In just a few short years, I've come to enjoy the benefits of financial success! And you can too! All the secrets are revealed in my book." He held up a book bound in a red cover, the title emblazoned across its front in gold lettering as the camera zoomed in on it. "It's titled, How to Succeed In Business Without Really Dying!"
The audience, not particularly apt to be threatened with the presence of ruffians again, verbally feigned interest and fascination to appease the man's ego. "That's right!" Vincent continued. "For just $39.95, you can hold the secrets to financial success! Just call 1-800-794-6353! That's 1-800-794-6353! Operators are standing by to take your money…erm, calls!" The number blinked at the bottom of the screen as he spoke.
1-800-794-6353
(blink)
1-800-794-6353
(blink)
1-800-794-6353
(blink)
1-800-SWINDLE
(blink)
"This book outlines all the key steps you need to take to secure your financial future!" Vincent continued as he opened the book and began thumbing through the pages. "You'll learn of such things as office furnishings in Chapter 1: Some Spackle, a New Coat of Paint, and It Will Still Suck!" The audience made sounds of approval. "You'll also learn of how to invest wisely in Chapter 2: Forget Fortune's 500, This is Fortune's 666!" The audience continued vocalizing their approval. "And of course, you'll learn how to properly manage your financial empire in Chapter 3: Business So Evil, It Must Be Owned by Bill Gates!" Now, the audience was actually cheering in earnest for the man, who found himself having to motion for them to settle down before continuing.
"That's right!" he said, holding up the book. "Order yours today, and…!"
"Out of my way!" a British-accented voice shouted from offstage, which froze Vincent in mid-statement with absolute horror. The audience immediately began heckling the interrupting newcomer, with whom they were apparently familiar as they shouted at her to take her crazy religion elsewhere, to which she fiercely returned their disapproval with words of condemnation. "Silence!" she shouted. "You will all go to Hell!" Vincent looked as though he were about to cry as the late arrival began the headcount. "You will go to Hell, you will go to Hell, you will go to Hell…" A blonde woman in a black dress stepped onscreen as she continued pointing out members of the audience. "You are definitely going to Hell, and you! You can expect to spend some time in Purgatory!" Then, noticing Vincent (who was still frozen in place), she apparently remembered why she'd come here in the first place. "Ah! Father Vincent."
"Hello, Claudia…" he said weakly.
"Yes, I'm so very glad I found you," she said as she draped her arm around his shoulders in a manner so amicable, it was threatening. Vincent was then forced to lift his chin a bit as she held a copper dagger up to his throat. "We have a matter to discuss," she said. "Someone seems to have misplaced a large sum of The Order's funds. Would you, by any chance, happen to know where those funds went?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Vincent squeaked. "To the publisher."
"What publisher?" Claudia demanded, forcing Vincent to stand on tiptoes by lifting the dagger a bit. Vincent merely presented her with the book. "Oh, I see," Claudia nodded, the fire in her eyes betraying her calm and collected manner. "It seems we've been busy. And just what were you planning on doing with the money you acquired from the sales of this book?" Vincent did his best to look at the camera with a steady expression.
"All…" his voice cracked, forcing him to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat before continuing. "All proceeds will be directed to The Order, that we may prolong our work in God's service."
"Yes," Claudia agreed, "I believe it would be put to excellent use by the Silent Hill Smile Support Society."
"Wha--?!" Vincent tried to protest, but was cut off in an almost literal fashion.
"Please, Vincent," Claudia insisted, forcing him even higher on his toes. "Think of the children." Vincent, now visibly sweating, swallowed again with a bit of difficulty, hoping the motion of his throat wouldn't rub it against the copper blade and run the risk of having any of his prized five o'clock shadow shaved off.
"All proceeds will be directed to the Silent Hill Smile Support Society, a charity foundation sponsored by The Order."
"Excellent!" Claudia practically chirped, quickly pulling the dagger away from Vincent's throat. Vincent heaved a sigh of relief as he lowered his heels back to the floor. But his relief was short lived as Claudia snapped her fingers, to which the two Scrapers immediately responded. They flanked Vincent on either side and physically arrested him, fixing their iron grasp to either of his arms.
"What are you doing?!" Vincent protested to them. "I am your superior!"
"Chain of command, Vincent," Claudia replied smugly. Vincent was furious.
"You're hijacking my Storm Troopers!" he seethed.
"And you're usurping my religious revival!" she retorted with equal venom in her tone, pointing the dagger at him for emphasis. Then, her demeanor lightened a disturbing degree. "Now, come along," she said as though instructing a child as she walked offscreen. "You have some charity work of your own to do. You will replace every last dollar you embezzled from The Order's account." The Scrapers followed closely behind Claudia with Vincent in tow.
"Don't just sit there, dammit! Help me!" Vincent pleaded to the audience as he unsuccessfully struggled against the hold of the Scrapers. The screen then abruptly changed to the image of the Halo of the Sun on a black background with six words scrawled out beneath it.
EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES
PLEASE STAND BY…
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A/N: The title of the book and its chapters are taken from my favorite SH3 walkthrough.
By the way, when Vincent says Storm Troopers, think the Nazi SA, not the Galactic Empire.
Oh yeah. Before anyone does anything foolish, I want you to know that I made up that phone number. If any of you try dialing it and it turns out to be real, I deny any and all responsibility for any problems it might cause.
One more thing. Consider this my Christmas present to all you Silent Hill fans! Or, as the case may be, a late/early Christmas present, depending on when you read this. Joy to the world, suckers!