SEPTEMBER 17 EMERGENCY SECRET BROADCAST
Day 4,685, 01:55
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Published in USA 
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by
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by Wilker Nath
story inspired by events which may or may not be fact or fiction
Federalist Top-Secret Facility, Unknown Location, eRepublik Day 4688
A haggard Paul Proteus was the first one in the studio. He groggily turned on the lights, then walked over and tapped a button on the radio, before kicking the coffee machine into operation.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11TyAd2fkho
Predictably, Route 66 by Chuck Berry came on. He longed for any kind of music that was newer than 1965, he’d even listen to Nickelback if someone put it on! But alas, that was not in the cards for this week. Jazz, classic country, and hipster rock were all they were permitted, in order to properly get into character.
“Did you check the status of that IP farm this morning?” Taco was the next one through the door, followed closely by Dinnyin. Startled, Paul gave a jump. “Does anyone suspect that we’re the ones behind the WTP multis? Or is that project still secret?” Was the first question from Dinn’s mouth. Paul rubbed his eyes. It was too early for this.
Within a few more minutes, the studio was bustling with activity. Paul was rushed into his daily morning task of grooming and dressing the animatronic Wilker Nath dummy that was sitting in its usual spot behind the news desk and surrounded by cameras. He hated this job. They made him do the voice for this thing, too. This was getting old. He considered finding a new guy to dump that voiceover task onto.
MR’s voice rang out above the sound of the hustle and bustle: “Our 11am Molly Emma segment is cancelled, polls are showing it would be a bad idea to make the public too aware of the procedural CBOD rigging we’re doing! Do we have any filler propaganda content for that time slot?” Paul rubbed his temples. Why did this place have to be so loud?
An intern replaced Paul’s coffee mug on the table next to his hand with a freshly-filled one. Paul looked up and saw the face of Stormin, one of the newest Fed juice-drinkers. This one showed promise! Paul remembered reading data last week that showed he was marking 20% more cognitive dissonance on the same amount of Fed juice! Amazing! Maybe he would be willing to take over this job.
“Hey Stormin, mind watching the Nathomatronic for a second? I need to… go do something for a minute. I’ll be right back, I promise!”
“Okay boss, whatever you say! Just be back before the show starts! I’m in the first segment, and the broadcast will look funny if I have to voice Wilker AND myself.” Paul nodded, then turned and sped away.
That was a problem. It seemed he would have to voice Wilker for the first segment, anyway, if he didn’t find anyone else to do it.
He took the elevator up to the parking lot so he could sneak in a smoke break. He knew the work schedule for next week showed double overtime every day, as opposed to the single overtime everyone was doing now. He would have to relish the ability to step away from tasks like this while he was still able to.
Why did the party insist on running dummy accounts like this? Especially ones that were so active in the media? If they put half as much effort into broadcasting from their own newsrooms, they would get so much more done.
Paul groaned when the elevator music came on. It was Blue Suede Shoes by Elvis, a song he had heard at least 5 times this week. This was going to be one loooong election cycle.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oz5wSPE69nw
As the elevator doors to the surface opened up, Paul was greeted by a surprising and horrifying sight! Aliens had come down to earth and decided to punish the entire human race for the crimes of 153rd congress! Poor Paul just happened to be the first victim. He was shot through the face with a laser beam. The sounds of Elvis anticlimactically blared all around the street corner as Paul’s blood pooled on the sidewalk. The other Feds never saw him again.
Federalist Top-Secret Facility, Unknown Location, eRepublik Day 4688
A haggard Paul Proteus was the first one in the studio. He groggily turned on the lights, then walked over and tapped a button on the radio, before kicking the coffee machine into operation.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11TyAd2fkho
Predictably, Route 66 by Chuck Berry came on. He longed for any kind of music that was newer than 1965, he’d even listen to Nickelback if someone put it on! But alas, that was not in the cards for this week. Jazz, classic country, and hipster rock were all they were permitted, in order to properly get into character.
“Did you check the status of that IP farm this morning?” Taco was the next one through the door, followed closely by Dinnyin. Startled, Paul gave a jump. “Does anyone suspect that we’re the ones behind the WTP multis? Or is that project still secret?” Was the first question from Dinn’s mouth. Paul rubbed his eyes. It was too early for this.
Within a few more minutes, the studio was bustling with activity. Paul was rushed into his daily morning task of grooming and dressing the animatronic Wilker Nath dummy that was sitting in its usual spot behind the news desk and surrounded by cameras. He hated this job. They made him do the voice for this thing, too. This was getting old. He considered finding a new guy to dump that voiceover task onto.
MR’s voice rang out above the sound of the hustle and bustle: “Our 11am Molly Emma segment is cancelled, polls are showing it would be a bad idea to make the public too aware of the procedural CBOD rigging we’re doing! Do we have any filler propaganda content for that time slot?” Paul rubbed his temples. Why did this place have to be so loud?
An intern replaced Paul’s coffee mug on the table next to his hand with a freshly-filled one. Paul looked up and saw the face of Stormin, one of the newest Fed juice-drinkers. This one showed promise! Paul remembered reading data last week that showed he was marking 20% more cognitive dissonance on the same amount of Fed juice! Amazing! Maybe he would be willing to take over this job.
“Hey Stormin, mind watching the Nathomatronic for a second? I need to… go do something for a minute. I’ll be right back, I promise!”
“Okay boss, whatever you say! Just be back before the show starts! I’m in the first segment, and the broadcast will look funny if I have to voice Wilker AND myself.” Paul nodded, then turned and sped away.
That was a problem. It seemed he would have to voice Wilker for the first segment, anyway, if he didn’t find anyone else to do it.
He took the elevator up to the parking lot so he could sneak in a smoke break. He knew the work schedule for next week showed double overtime every day, as opposed to the single overtime everyone was doing now. He would have to relish the ability to step away from tasks like this while he was still able to.
Why did the party insist on running dummy accounts like this? Especially ones that were so active in the media? If they put half as much effort into broadcasting from their own newsrooms, they would get so much more done.
Paul groaned when the elevator music came on. It was Blue Suede Shoes by Elvis, a song he had heard at least 5 times this week. This was going to be one loooong election cycle.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oz5wSPE69nw
As the elevator doors to the surface opened up, Paul was greeted by a surprising and horrifying sight! Aliens had come down to earth and decided to punish the entire human race for the crimes of 153rd congress! Poor Paul just happened to be the first victim. He was shot through the face with a laser beam. The sounds of Elvis anticlimactically blared all around the street corner as Paul’s blood pooled on the sidewalk. The other Feds never saw him again.
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