Hudson pointed at the teleprompter.
“Ah! Um. Good afternoon, Harrisburg. I’m Griffin Gentry coming to you with breaking news. I am—” He paused and squinted at the screen. “Hey! That’s not nice. I’m not saying that!”
“Oh, but you are,” Hudson said, plucking the gun off his lap and holding it to the news anchor’s neck. “Read it, Gentry. Read it with feeling.”
“I’m Griffin Gentry, and I’m a huge jerk who only cares about looking taller than I really am—I’m five-foot-nine.”
Hudson jammed the gun harder into his flesh. “You’re five-foot-four, you lying little leprechaun. Read. It.”
“Erm. Okay. Um. Because of my greed, Channel 50 fired nearly a dozen people and gave pay cuts to everyone left. Also, I use my expense account to pay sex workers to call me Big Boy.”
There were a few titters from the captive audience. Riley noticed that no one looked overly surprised.
She shot a glance at Bella, who was standing on her usual mark in front of the weather green screen. She didn’t look too bothered by the forced confession. She didn’t look…well, anything. She was probably still humming in her head.
“I’m a greedy pig man incapable of caring for anyone other than himself. I’m a mean, selfish man-child, and I don’t deserve to live. Over to you, Hudson.”
Hudson preened for the camera. “This just in—Griffin Gentry admits to being a selfish asshole.”
“We’re gonna get so many fucking FCC fines,” Chris moaned into his hands.
“And this, Harrisburg, is Chris Yang, news director and professional ass kisser. Thanks to him, people like Griffin and his father, Malcolm Gentry, whose hobbies include rampant sexual harassment, are rewarded for their behavior with higher salaries and fatter expense accounts. While everyone else pays the price. Say hello, Chris.”
“Hi,” Chris said through his hands still covering his face.
“Over at sports, we have Chelsea Strump, neighborhood nuisance, tattletale, and internet troll. Say hello, Chelsea,” Hudson ordered.
Chelsea crossed her arms in front of her skinny chest. “This is ridiculous. I don’t belong here with the rest of these losers.”
“On the contrary,” Hudson insisted. “You are one of the nastiest commenters on Channel 50’s social media accounts. And if you don’t admit it right now, I’m going to shoot Griffin.”
“What do I care if you shoot him?” she snorted. “I don’t care if you shoot everyone in this building. None of them are as good a person as I am.”
Hudson flashed the camera a smug “I told you so” look.
Camera 1 closed in on him. “You see, Harrisburg, I’m the hero you need. The man willing to not just stand up to the school yard bullies but eradicate them. People like these don’t learn lessons. They don’t change their ways or turn over new leaves. They get more bitter and more dangerous until they need to be cut out of your life like a cancer.”
“Oh, please,” Chelsea scoffed.
“Unfortunately, my work was interrupted by local psychic Riley Thorn.”
Camera 2 whipped around to zero in on her.
Riley waved weakly.
“If you’ll watch the bottom of your screens. These are the rest of the individuals on my murder list, including their infractions. I may not be able to finish the work I started, but that doesn’t mean one of you can’t step into the role of hero and continue eradicating evil.”
Great. Just what the world needed, an unhinged lunatic on TV encouraging other unhinged lunatics to start killing people.
Riley peered at the monitor closest to her and saw a ticker tape running across the bottom of the screen listing names and infractions.
“I encourage you to stay tuned, Harrisburg, for my grand finale,” Hudson said, unzipping his backpack. “When I send Channel 50 and its employees to hell where they all belong.”
“Oh, shit,” Riley breathed.
“That’s not good,” Valerie agreed as Hudson revealed an improvised explosive device with a countdown clock and important-looking wires.
“Is that some kind of robot kid toy?” Chelsea asked, wrinkling her nose at the sports desk. “My children were never allowed to play with robotics because circuits are the devil’s work.”
