"Yesssss?"

"Priscylla? It's me. We need to talk, now."

Even in a completely different country, sitting in his office, phone in hand, Milton couldn't help but feel a little unnerved at the girl's stare. He couldn't see it, sure, but he knew without looking she was handling her wretched rats, smile on her face, looking into the mirror or at a photo or something else unnerving as they spoke. Hiring her was one of the best and worst choices he had made.

"I'm all ears. sir~" Priscylla hummed, something popping and fizzing on the other end.

Milton sighed, drumming his fingers on his table as he sifted through a stack of papers. "Julie called me this morning. Said some interesting things about you."

"Oh? What sorts of things?"

"Things like 'creepy', 'troublemaker', 'unsettling', 'unhygenic' and, oh, this one is important- that you're probably spiking her coffee." Milton glanced up as there was a knock at his door. "Come in!"

Priscylla, for her part, didn't sound too concerned, giving another giggle. "I'm just doing what you asked me to do, sir."

"Are you? I don't recall you asking to be caught." Milton looked up as the door opened- he smelt him before he saw him. He always did. Dirt and gasoline, the man in the greasy white shirt, torn jeans and faded red hat walked in, skin gaunt and leathery, his two eyes daggers of ice. For anyone else, he looked like the boogeyman. For Milton, just another employee. "Sit down, Clay. Coffee?"

Clay shook his head. He always did.

"Good. Anyway, Priscylla. I'm going to make this quick because I have a meeting," Milton sighed, rubbing his temples. "Julie doesn't have the authorization to fire you. But we can't have her causing trouble. I take it she's probably stopped drinking the coffee by now?"

"She's been taking it. I think she's been dumping it out. She's slept better the past few nights. Still some nightmares but the juice is wearing off."

"Hmph. But if she's still not all there..." Milton paused, thinking. "Priscylla. Listen to me carefully. Here's what your to do. Julie is becoming a problem. The questions, the complaints... she knows too much to just be fired. She needs to disappear."

Clay looked up, expectant. Milton just waved him away.

"Here's what you do. Finn. The unstable Irishmen? Give him fear gas," Milton told her, flatly.

"Finn? Fear gas?" For the first time, Priscylla sounded annoyed. "I'm using it."

"I'm very well aware, but YOU need to be aware of who's in charge. Give him fear gas- hit him with it just before..."

Milton explained his plan to Priscylla, who listened in, her mood slowly returning, giggle following shortly after.

"Hm... I don't like sharing. But this might be entertaining enough to make it worthwhile," Priscylla snickered.

"It will. We need to break Julie down. Then... well, I've a plan. You'll see," Milton assured her. "Now, I really must go. Ta-ta, Priscylla."

Milton hung up before she could respond, sighing as he put his phone down- only for it to begin ringing again immediately. He simply picked it up, hit end, and then casually tossed it into a corner behind him as he stood, walking over to the counter where he kept his drinks.

"Do you think I like this job, Clay?" Milton asked absently, opening a decanter filled with bourbon, pouring it into a glass, not stopping until it reached the brim.

Clay grunted in response.

"That's what I like about you. You listen," Milton sighed, taking a long drink of his glass. "Well the answer is simple. No. But I do like money. I never wanted to be an actor, a director... but the man pulling the strings? Well, that's a position that suits me fine." He tilted his head back, downing the glass, before slamming it on the counter. "When the puppets begin to see the strings, though... that's when things begin to complicate themselves. We need to start tying those strings."

"I'm listening," Clay grunted, his voice like sandpaper that had been soaked in whiskey and left out to dry in the sun.

"Camp TV has been too much trouble for what it's worth," Milton explained, pouring another drink and sitting back down. "Reality Rush though... well, aside from this business with Blaineley- my own fault, mind you- its been wrapping up nicely. That's the future of this studio. Camp TV has run its course. This season, its going down in flames. But I want one last thing out of it."

Milton looked into the air, smiling. "Camp TV Versus Reality Rush. The television event of the century. At least, that's how we'll bill it. Afterward, Camp TV will go away, and Reality Rush will go on to be our flagship show."

Clay stared at him absently, clearly uninterested. Milton didn't mind. He knew Clay had his interests.

"But until then, there's those nasty loose ends to make... go away," Milton told him, looking back down. "Julie is one I'm working on. That lunatic Sierra is gone- it was funny at first, but if she interrupts another show I'm putting her on your grocery list. but most importantly..." Milton slid a folder forward. "A former employee of mine has absconded with some money. Money that... well. Its not exactly legitimate."

Clay slowly opened the folder- a news clipping of Chris McLean clipped on top of some documents.

"I don't know HOW he gained access to this money," Milton said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Nor do I know what he intends to do with it. I thought he was hauled back off to the asylum after I sprung him, but clearly this isn't the case. I don't think he's in the country anymore, so I need you on this, do you understand? You're the only one I can trust with this. Find him."

Clay looked at the picture, then at Milton. "One question."

"Yes Clay?"

"What do you want done with him?"

Milton scowled, leaning in even closer, ignoring the stench. "I know you never liked Chris. So I'll tell you what. One time only, handle him however you want. Consider it a reward for services rendered."

Clay stared, eyes locked with Milton, before laughing, low and throaty. He stood, getting to his feet, bones creaking as he licked his lips.

"Consider it done."