Windkill

“Is that Dolan?” Marked watched the screen.

Brock was on his way to the location of the first explosion that decimated the valley, leaving Mark free to cycle his way through the rest of the video feeds.

There were over two hundred cameras placed in the valley to catch the reactions of the Ottinger family. Melissa and a staff of five operators did the actual monitoring of the feeds during the show, but Mark determined the setting of the locations and angles. It was his artistic eye that set the tone of the show with off angles and overhead shots to give the audience the suggestion of knowing more than the victim stumbled their way about the location. His intent was to let the audience feel like gods.

The nature of the broadcast required a time delay to the network that would allow the censors’ time to block out any offensive words or actions. The delay worked in Mark’s favor; he had time to decide on the best shot for the live feed.

Should anything truly bad happen, he could shift the focus of the show to an unfamiliar area and deal with the problem without letting the audience know there were other people in the valley with the Ottinger family. Mark paused in his study of the displays.

“Melissa,” he rubbed the fanciful beard he was attempting to grow. “Call the local hospital and ask them if they would have an ambulance stand by here for the duration of the show.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” she reached quickly for a cell phone.

“No, just a precaution.” Mark explained as he watched Dolan walk away from the crater. “Have them parked in a spot close to the victim’s staging area.”

A slow smile crept to Melissa’s face. “I get it. We’re going to psyche the family out.”

“That and make the show look dangerous to the audience.”

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Melissa grinned and made the call.