"Two minutes to air!"
Tristain Goodby unhappily shuffled the script on the desk in the Channel 8 newsroom. He'd been hired away from a more successful station by WBAB news two years ago to prop up their sagging news ratings. If he'd thought about it, he'd have turned them down, but one thing Tristain never lacked for was an ego. He'd convinced himself he could turn WBAB around and make it the premier news station in the city.
Unfortunately, neither luck nor the station's news budget were on his side. WBAB had been fourth out of five when he arrived, and they were fourth out of five today. As a result Tristain's contract probably wouldn't be renewed, and instead of being a promising hotshot, he was a fourth-place anchor who'd be lucky to get a job hosting the morning show in a mid-level market.
Tristain glanced around at the rest of the team, none of whom he particularly cared for: his snotty co-anchor, Caherine McBroom, who'd been undercutting him since he arrived in hopes of getting the lead anchor spot herself; sports anchor Chris Mandalay, an ex-jock who chased anything in a skirt; and the staff weatherman, Sherman Shelbourne, a man whose flip attitude and juvenile humor irritated Tristain to no end.
Maybe leaving here is for the best after all he mused. Even if I have to go to Nowheresburg and start all over, I'll be out of this dump! Still - it would've been nice to have made this station number one. He smiled insincerely at Catherine, who smiled back just as insincerely.
"One minute!" came the director's voice.
At that second, Narayanne's power enveloped the set.
Tristain now found himself unable to move. He continued to gaze at Catherine, that fake smile plastered on her face; beyond her, he could see Chris and Sherman were also frozen stiff. Oddly, the crew beyond the news set itself not only seemed unaffected by whatever had hit them, they didn't even seem to notice anything was wrong.
