Table Read - VS - Act 1: The Setup – “Welcome to the Killing Floor”

Episode Date: October 8, 2024

VS, Act 1: Versus opens the door to a nightmare none of our characters saw coming. Programmer Randall Parker’s life starts spiraling when he takes over a job for his friend Dana, leading him deep into the enigmatic Versus Incorporated. What begins as a simple day at work turns into a nightmare of violence, captivity, and betrayal, as Randall and fifteen others wake up caged and collared in a blood-soaked arena. Their captors? Unseen, but ever-present—demanding only one thing: fight, or die. The first episode sets the stage with a harrowing introduction to the brutal tournament, laying bare the horror that awaits as these ordinary people realize they’ve been thrust into a gladiatorial death match. The fight is real. The stakes? Life or death. About VS: "Sixteen people. Three rounds. One survivor. Welcome to the Versus Tournament, where everyday people must fight to the death—live-streamed for the darkest corners of the web. A brutal, high-stakes competition where only one escapes with their life... if they can survive the blood-soaked horrors within." Inspired by the dark and twisted imaginations of Scott Sigler, Versus is a full-cast performance podcast where Saw meets Gladiator in a terrifying, action-packed three-part saga. With Academy worthy sound design and a cinematic score that will leave you on edge, every moment is crafted to plunge listeners into the terrifying brutality of the tournament. Vist Us: https://www.tablereadpodcast.com/ Check Out Scott: https://scottsigler.com/

Table Read Versus! Black screen. Silence. Extreme close-up of a slow-motion black baseball bat swinging through the darkness, arcing toward the camera. We can see the Louisville Slugger logo burned into the wood. As it swings closer, filling the screen, we see it is smeared with flecks of blood and what might be a tooth. The sound of a bat hitting a face brings us out of silence and into full speed.

Fighter One falls onto a blood-streaked white canvas that is illuminated by a large overhead spotlight. All around the canvas is darkness. Fighter One is wearing surgical scrubs and bleeding badly from the head and mouth. When he falls, he scrambles clumsily to one knee, lifting a baseball bat of his own. His is natural wood color, clearly different from the black bat we saw in the open.

Fighter 1 stumbles to his feet and swings wildly. Fighter 2 steps back, avoids the clumsy swing. Fighter 2 is bleeding from a broken nose. He limps badly on his right leg. He's dressed in a Bloodstreet buttoned down shirt and tie. Stay away from me! I'm ending this. Fighter 1 tries to rush in and swings, but he's groggy from the blow to the head. Fighter 2 flinches and ducks away. He is clearly not a professional combatant. Fighter 1 swings again, but Fighter Two ducks away,

then swings back at just the right moment, knocking the bat from Fighter One's hands. Fighter Two steps forward and jabs the end of the bat into Fighter One's mouth. Fighter One hits the canvas, spitting blood and teeth. His limbs fail him. He rolls to his back. Fighter Two steps forward,

hands tightly clutching the handle of his bat. He raises the bat, then pauses. Please, no. I have kids. So did I. Shot from the ground, Fighter 1's hand is extended into the frame, palm up, fingers out. The defensive posture of a man pleading for his life. Fighter 2 is looking down. He seems so tall from down here.

Slow motion, Fighter 2 swings high. As the bat descends, the shot reaches normal speed just as it fills the screen, giving us a split second view of the Louisville Slugger logo once again, just before a squelching sound. Cut to black. Fade in social media pages. Music plays over a series of images.

Facebook status updates, tweets, and texted pictures of two young people, Randall Murphy and Dana Johnson, partying with friends. Randall is 31, dressed in nerd chic clothes, button down white shirt, slacks, a computer bag usually over his shoulder. Dana is short and stocky with close-cropped hair. Her style is butch lesbian with a touch of goth. The pictures show them getting progressively drunker as the night continues. Fade to black.

Fade in interior bedroom of small apartment, morning. A dark room. A cell phone lights up as it rings, providing the only illumination. One, two, three rings before a hand reaches out and picks it up. Randall looks at the caller ID. Insert. Cell phone reads, apartment front door. Oh my god, my head. He answers.

Yeah. A series of angles between Randall's bedroom and Dana, who is at the apartment building's front door. Yo, play it, buzz me in. Dana, are you kidding me? I just got back three hours ago. I brought coffee and Dunkin's. How can you even be awake? You dropped me off at three in the morning. Not on the jeans, baby. Dunkin's, come on, buzz me in. I think I'm dead. Go away. No, on, buzz me in. I think I'm dead.

Go away. No, no, no can do. I need your help. Dana, I love you, but fuck off. Seriously, buzz me in. Randall hangs up, falls back into bed. Randall! Dana starts to dial again, but woman one exits the apartment building.

Dana smiles, holds the door for her, then enters. Hangalon, Randall in bed, several beats, then Randall jumps as Dana pounds on the apartment door. Duncan! Damn it. A pause, then a monotone pounding on his apartment door. Randall puts the pillow over his head, trying to ignore the noise, hoping Dana will just go away. Rhythmic pounding continues through fade to black,

fade in, interior apartment, living room, morning. Empty living room, Dana's pounding continues, a nonstop steady bam, bam, bam. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Randall enters, shuffling across the living room.

He opens the door. A smiling Dana is there with coffee and donuts. Good morning, sunshine. Dana pushes a coffee into Randall's hand, then walks in. Randall stares at her as he shuts the door. I don't want coffee, Dana. No, I don't want coffee. Because it will keep me awake, and I'm going to go to bed as soon as I say no to whatever you want. Come on, bro. You're a pushover. I'll ask, you'll say no, I'll say please, and you'll cave. Just tell me what you want.

Okay, I've got to land on a new job. I need you to work for me today. No way. It's Sunday. This is my one day off. Come on! This job is a perfect culmination of my life's goals. Which means it pays more than we're making now, right? Exactly. It pays 120K. 120? Wow, that's 37% more than we make now. Nice math, Rain Man.

Why are you springing this on me now? When did you find out? Dana walks to Randall's laptop, which is on his small kitchen table. He is annoyed she would touch his computer, but she ignores him. They've clearly been through this before. Dana sits, calls up a website. About an hour ago, I was prepping for work. Mr. Cameronelli has me installing a little server farm in a warehouse, right?

I googled the address of where I'm supposed to go, and it brings up a shitload of job listings. Security, marketing, receptionist. And wait for it. Wait, wait for it. A programmer? You didn't wait for it. A programmer, dude. I called and talked to them. You called when? About an hour ago.

On Sunday? At 5 in the morning? I have to interview this morning or they'll fill the job with someone else. A company wants to pay you $120 and you called at 5am? They answered and want you to interview on a Sunday? Good to know you're getting all this. So I need you to work for me today so I can do the interview. Randall reaches for the mouse trackpad.

Just let me see the job posting. Dana slaps his hand. No way, dude. You and I both know they'd hire you for a programming job over me, no question. Yeah, right. With my record, no one wants to hire a convict. Oh, whatever. It's not like you did armed robbery or anything. Just a little bank hacking. Hmm. Taking money electronically is, oddly enough, something many companies frown upon. Mr. Cameron Alley hired you?

Yeah, and he made it clear that no one else would. I only got this job because I'm the bomb with banking software. I'm not going to screw it up looking for another gig. So why do you want to see the job posting then? You said they want marketing people? Dana rolls her eyes. For Samantha? Serious?

Randall, come on. She dumped you, man. She didn't dump dump me we're trying to work things out you're trying to work things out she's riding the disco stick of anything that moves dana you okay i'll show you if you promise to cover for me today randall sighs and nods told you you were a pushover. Let me call them and tell them I'm coming. But what if Cameronelli is at the job site? They'll see. The company has 200 employees.

I've never even met Cameronelli in person, and I used a different name in case. Dana dials on her cell phone. Yeah, yeah, Mr. Smith? This is Danielle Johnson? Is that 8 a.m. interview slot open? Great. I'll be there bright and shiny, sir.

Dana hangs up. Danielle instead of Dana? Wow, you're like a freaking super spy. Well, that's me. Let me show you the job postings, then you go shower. You smell like twice-baked tequila. Ugh. Fade out. Interior Randall's apartment, morning.

Randall is now dressed and cleaned up. He's wearing a button-down white shirt and a tie, and actually has a pocket protector. He's at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. Angle on his screen, showing several craigslist.com ads for various jobs. He clicks one that says, marketing director. Angle on Randall.

He looks at his cell phone, wondering if he should call. He checks his wristwatch, which has a picture of Megatron from the Transformers on the face. It's 7.45 a.m. He rubs his eyes. It hurts to even think about her. He dials. Hello?

Uh, hi. It's me. Pete. Randall. I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk for a while. It's 7.45 in the morning. I know, and I'm sorry to bother you, but I found a job that I think you might like. A job?

It couldn't wait until later today? No, actually, or I wouldn't have called. They're interviewing this morning, and it's a marketing director job. He's 120. A B. 120? Really? Where is it? Right here in the city. I read the posting for it. It sounds perfect for you, but I think you need to contact them right away.

Oh. Well, thanks. That's... It's sweet of you to think of me after, um... After we... Randall smiles. This went better than he thought it might. Don't worry about it. A thin, tired voice comes over the phone. Oh, babe, hang the fuck up already.

Just a minute. Randall is crushed. Oh, um, sorry, I didn't know you had company. What beat? Randall, sorry, I didn't know you had company. A beat. Randall, look, I... I already emailed you the job posting. I gotta go. Randall hangs up, stares at the phone. He knew she was seeing other people, but didn't think it would hurt this much.

He closes his laptop and puts it in his computer bag. He reaches for his keychain. his laptop and puts it in his computer bag. He reaches for his keychain. Insert keychain. Four or five keys with a silver USB flash memory drive attached to the ring. Randall leaves the apartment. Fade out. Randall in car, day, traveling. He's got one hand on the wheel, another on a sheet of paper with an address. He pulls up to the closed loading dock garage of an old building. People are walking by on the sidewalk. The neighborhood isn't great, but isn't all that bad either. The garage door is dented, scratched. A sign on it says, Versus Incorporated. Job interviews today. Hunked for access.

I guess this is it. He hunks. A few seconds later, the garage door rolls up. Mr. Jones comes out, holding a clipboard. You here for a job interview? No, I'm Randall Parker from IDG Computing. I'm here to fix the banking software. Beat. I was told to expect a woman, a Dana Johnson. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's sick. I'm covering.

Mr. Jones looks from the clipboard out to the street, then at Randall. He points into the concrete parking area at an open slot. Pull up there, follow me in. I have to talk to Mr. Cameron Alley. He's here? He's been here all morning. Drive. Randall nods, pulls ahead. Mr. Jones rolls the garage door shut behind him. The place is poorly lit, looks mostly vacant.

Not uncommon for a company taking over an unoccupied building, but it's still a little spooky. Keep your head down, Dana. I hope you know what you're doing. Randall notices two medium cargo trucks. No markings, no plates. Some graffiti on them. They look very used and nondescript. Kind of out of place for a corporate setting. Cut to interior lobby.

Mr. Jones enters, followed by Randall. Randall looks around. The lobby is full of job candidates. Old lady, gangsta, bodybuilder, single mom, and actor are all sitting, waiting their turn, resumes in hand. Dana is also there. She and Randall try not to look like they see each other.

Have a seat, dude. My name is Randall. Whatever. Park it. From another door, interviewee number one enters, followed by Mr. Smith, who holds an iPad. Thanks for coming in. I still don't get it.

The interview was going fine until I said my wife was coming to pick me up. Why is that a problem? Life is a mysterious thing, sir. Let's go. Mr. Jones heads back to the garage. Interviewee number one sighs, then follows. Mr. Smith looks at his iPad. Danielle Johnson? Dana raises her hand.

That's me. You're up. Let's go. Mr Johnson? Dana raises her hand. That's me. You're up. Let's go. Mr. Jones walks to another door. Dana follows. She stops, turns, and winks at Randall. Then she's gone. Randall looks around, finds an open seat next to the actor,

across from the old lady. Randall sits. I hope you understand that I'm next, dear. Hell no. I was here before you. Well, I never... Watch how you talk to the lady. I didn't say nothing. I have to let her go first because she's white? Don't play the race card, asshole.

Mind your own business, meathead. Maybe I'm making it my business. You better step the fuck off and leave me be. I'm not going to tell you a second time. The bodybuilder stands. He is a thickly built man dressed in slacks and a sweater. I've had enough of your mouth. Gangsta also stands. He is medium height, mid-forties, but in excellent shape, wearing hip-hop clothes covered with 49ers logos.

Randall is shocked. He has no idea what's going on. Mr. Jones is still nowhere to be seen. Actor jumps up and stands between the gangsta and the bodybuilder. Actor is a classic leading man type, tall and handsome, with a disarming smile. Hey, hey, hey now. Let's take it easy. Who fucking asked you, Clooney?

What the fuck, man? All I know is I don't get calls for six-figure jobs every day. And I'm guessing you guys don't either. Bodybuilder and gangster start staring each other down, but they both shake their heads. If you two get into it, maybe the company clears the lobby. And maybe no one gets a job, right? Right. Yeah. Yeah, okay.

All right. So, just call it even and relax? The bodybuilder and gangster look at each other, nod, and sit down. The mention of the money and the job seems to have calmed them down. Actor sits and turns to Randall. Name's Harvey Hartley. Randall Parker.

Nice to meet you, Randall. What are you here to interview for? Oh, no, I'm here to work on the computer system. Nice. I'm interviewing as a company spokesman. So, what do these guys make, or do, anyway?

I don't really know. Some kind of gambling website, I think. Is that legal? Beats me. I probably won't even find out. I just fix the software code, test it, that's it. Whatever they do, they need a good-looking lead man to be the face of the company. At least that's what they said when they called me. They called you? Yeah. They found my resume on Craigslist. Something about this bothers Randall. He looks around the room again.

These people don't look like corporate material. What is this spokesmodel gig pay? Spokesperson. I don't do swimwear. Spokesperson, right. Did they say? Actor leans in to whisper. He and Randall's exchange is quiet, as private as it can be in the crowded room. 120. A beat.

That's the same amount they offered to Dana. What are the others here to interview for? Actor sits up straight again. His volume returns to normal. Well, so far, everyone is here for something different. Those two are here for security gigs. She's here for a secretary position. And she is here for some work from home thing. I'm a bookkeeper. They said I can do their accounting for my house. Just be in the office one day a week. Got three kids five days a week in the office is hard. This would be a dream job. Isn't 120 a lot for a work-from-home

bookkeeper? It is, but it would be a life changer for my kids and I. Joseph Cameronelli enters. He looks haggard and hurried. He is carrying some rumpled printouts. Which one of you is the programmer? That's me, sir. Joseph checks the printouts. Your name is Dana? Dana is sick. Asked me to fill in. Why didn't anyone call me? Uh, I guess she didn't expect you'd be on site, sir. I've... I've never seen you on site. Joseph stares at Randall, a faint glimmer of recognition. Wait a minute. Do I know you?

You interviewed me, sir. I don't do interviews, except for the... You said your name was Randall? Randall Parker, sir. I don't do interviews, except for the... You said your name was Randall? Randall Parker, sir. You're the hacker guy. Former, sir. I'm still very grateful you gave me a chance. Whatever. Fuck.

Joseph checks his watch. He's starting to sweat. If it's banking software, I assure you I'm your best employee. You're also the best at looking at shit you're not supposed to see. Sir, I assure you... Shut up. Joseph checks his watch again. Fuck! I don't have time to get anyone else. This client is...

Joseph looks around the lobby, sees the other candidates are looking. The client is not someone you want to screw with. I need you to get this software issue fixed and not around you got me yes sir good leave your computer here you can't bring it into the server room uh how come because you're a convict and i don't trust you randall hands mr jones the computer mr jones puts it behind the desk randall follows joseph through the door which leads to a stairwell. The stairwell looks dirty, dusty, abandoned. It's in the second basement. This place has more than one basement?

Has three, actually. What's in the bottom one? None of your fucking business. Now let's go. Joseph heads down the steps. Randall follows. Cut to interior office day. Dana interview scene. Sparsely decorated office. A table with two chairs, a laptop on the table.

Dana sits with the enforcer. He holds her resume. He is a burly man dressed in a button-down shirt, slacks, and a poorly fitting tie. The back of the laptop is to Dana. She can't see the screen. A camera is mounted on the laptop, pointed at Dana. Well, it looks like you're the perfect candidate for the position. We want you.

Dana breaks into a huge, surprised smile. That's it? That's the shortest interview I've ever had. Well, you got here fast. It's kind of a pre-screening policy, you might say, to find real go-getters. Are you due back at your current job? No, I called in sick. Awesome. That's just perfect. And you drove here? I took the muni.

Someone coming to pick you up? Nope. Taking the muni right back. Huh. You didn't tell anyone at work? Hell no. Think I want people knowing I'm job hunting? Sweet. I have to start your HR file. Smile for the camera. Angle on Enforcer's laptop. The screen shows a file with some information from the interview. It is titled The Dyke.

Enforcer adjusts the angle on his computer cam, centering it on Dana's face. Dana smiles. Enforcer clicks the keyboard. A snapshot sound is heard, then Dana's smiling face appears on the screen in the computer file. Fantastic. Just one more question. Can you fight? What?

Karate, taekwondo, bar brawls. What is that supposed to mean? Can you fight or not? It's a simple question, you stupid bitch. Hey, what the hell is this? I'm going to slap you now. What? Here it comes.

Three, two, one. Enforcer slaps Dana hard across the face. She is shocked, doesn't know what to say. Come on, hit me back. Here comes another one. Ready? Three, two, one. Then don't, don't hit me again.

Enforcer slaps her again even harder. Dana covers up but makes no offensive move. Yes, you're perfect. Dana grabs her portfolio, stuffs her resume back inside. I'm getting the hell out of here. You can leave in four hours, if you got what it takes.

Enforcer pulls out a taser and shocks Dana. She falls in a lump on the floor, groggy and stunned. Her portfolio falls, her resume scatters onto the floor. Enforcer pulls out chloroform, pours some into a handkerchief, and puts it over Dana's mouth and nose.

Her eyes go wide with fear. She kicks and struggles, but she is too weak. She passes out. Enforcer pulls out a cell phone and hits the two-way button. She's bagged. A beat. Mr. Jones walks in. Awesome.

We're almost back on schedule. Let's get her in place. Enforcer effortlessly throws Dana over his shoulder. Cut to interior server room. Several racks of blade servers. Messy cables. The install looks hasty and sloppy. Just enough to get the job done.

Joseph and Randall enter, already talking. So the international transactions are gumming up the works? Yeah, it seems like it. Bets are coming in, but not hitting clients' accounts. This is a credit card thing? No credit cards. Direct transfers into a Cayman Islands account. Wow. You doing some work for the mob, Mr. Cameronelli? Joseph stares. Stares hard.

Sorry, sir. Less talky talky, more fixy fixy. Got it? Randall nods. Joseph points to a small beat up desk with a computer on it. Like the server set up, everything seems sloppy, temporary. Fix the problem in the next 30 minutes,

and there's a big bonus in it for you. I'll see what I can do. No, you will fix it and fix it in the next 30 minutes and there's a big bonus in it for you. I'll see what I can do. No, you will fix it and fix it in the next 30 minutes. You got that, programmer? Y-yes, I got it. Joseph checks his watch. He looks nervous. Listen, I have a plane to catch and I have to get out of here. Tell me that you understand what I'm saying when I say fix it and do not fuck around.

I understand. These are serious people, buddy. My name is Randall, sir, and I understand. Good. I'm headed to the airport. I'll check in with you when I land in Topeka. You won't let me down? No, sir. I'll fixie fixie. I'll tell Mr. Smith to come get you in 30 minutes, then.

Joseph smacks Randall on the shoulder, then turns and leaves. Randall starts typing. His fingers fly. Screens appear and vanish on the screen almost faster than we can track. He's very good at what he does. Cut to interior server room. Randall is still at his desk.

I think I see it. He types some more, corrects a line of code. A beat, then a loud beep from the computer. Ah, gotcha. He starts packing up his stuff, trying to ignore the screen, but it keeps beeping. The beeps correspond with new line item transactions. Randall doesn't want to look, but he has to.

Each line shows a name, a bank account number, the word transaction verified, and then a sum. One million dollars. Holy shit. Beep after beep, line after line, the transactions come in. They finally stop, showing a total of 58 million dollars. Randall looks behind him. No one is there. He looks for a camera, but sees none.

The temptation is too strong. He pulls out his key chain and puts his flash drive into the computer. Randall types a few commands. A progress bar says, saving to key master. The bar fills up. Randall puts the keys and flash drive back in his pocket. Are you finished?

Randall turns around suddenly. Mr. Smith is standing in the door Did he see the copy process? He scared the crap out of me I said, are you finished? Yes, sir, I'm all set Mr. Smith looks at the computer screen and seems to relax Awesome Let's get you out of here

Mr. Smith looks at Randall, who has sweat on his forehead You feeling alright, programmer? Randall wipes his forehead, sees the sweat. Uh, just a little warm down here. It's 50 fucking degrees. Oh, well, I don't know, maybe I'm feeling a little under the weather. Great, so bring your cold in here to share, idiot. Seriously, we're on a schedule.

Back up the stairs, Mr. Jones is waiting for you. Randall starts to leave. Mr. Smith looks at the screen. Insert. Screen still reads $58 million. Randall leaves. Mr. Smith sits, types in a few commands. Insert. Computer window that reads log line report running at a progress bar. Angle on Mr. Smith, waiting. Cut to interior stairwell, morning. Randall walks quickly. He knows he did something stupid and wants out fast.

He climbs the stairs and re-enters the lobby. Only Mr. Jones and the enforcer are there. Mr. Jones is by the exit door. The enforcer is at his desk. Randall looks at them both. Do they know? Ready to go? Yeah, all set. Mr. Jones nods, walks toward the door to the garage.

Randall follows. Cut to interior garage. Mr. Jones walks toward the outer garage door as Randall walks quickly to his car. Randall starts his car. In his rearview mirror, he sees the Enforcer walk out of the interior door. Hey, wait. Randall thinks he's been caught.

He pretends not to hear and drives quickly toward the opening garage door. Wait. Enforcer runs after the car. Randall pulls up to the garage door. He's almost out, but has to stop and wait for the garage door to open wide enough. Mr. Jones' cell phone rings. Randall watches up to the garage door. He's almost out, but has to stop and wait for the garage door to open wide enough. Mr. Jones' cell phone rings.

Randall watches him answer it. The garage door is opening so slow. Hey! Randall jumps. The enforcer is right at his passenger window. Enforcer holds up Randall's computer bag. Forgot something? Randall blinks.

He hasn't been caught. It's okay. Oh man, thanks. Yeah, I'd have probably remembered a block from here. Well, you'd have been shit out of luck. We're shutting down for the day. No one gets in, man. Enforcer holds the bag inside the passenger window. Randall leans out, grabs it, sets it down. When he leans back, we see Mr. Jones standing right outside the driver's side window. Mr. Jones is holding a cell phone to his ear. In his other hand, a taser.

He calmly zaps Randall. Randall is out. Knock this dumbass out. Yeah, I got him. What? Keymaster? I'll check. And Forcer chloroforms Randall, who struggles briefly. Search this guy for a flash drive or something like that. What? Keymaster? I'll check. Enforcer chloroforms Randall, who struggles briefly. Search this guy for a flash drive or something like that. What? Just search him.

Mr. Jones looks into the car. Angle on keychain hanging from ignition. Mr. Jones reaches in, takes keys. He finds the flash drive. Yeah, I think I got it. Yeah, sure. I'll give the keys to the promoter. Enjoy your trip, sir. He hangs up, talks to Enforcer. That Camarinelli guy is a retard. You said it. I didn't.

Call the CEO guy and tell him not to bother coming in after all. Looks like we have our 16th. Tight shot. Randall's unconscious face. He slides out of the frame as the enforcer pulls him out of the car fade to black fade in expensive tv set the tv set is in an elegant entertainment center clearly a possession of a rich person the versus logo spins on the screen. A countdown timer clicks from 1031 to 1030 to 1029. Countdown matches exactly with actual movie running time from now until the first fight. The screen flashes to the white mask face of the promoter. The mask has a speaker in the mouth, which makes his voice sound mechanical,

almost Darth Vader-ish. Hello, fight fans, and welcome to Versus. We apologize for the delay in updating you on our final fighter. We will update information and give you time to place final first round bets. We'll let you monitor behind the scenes cameras, but sound off for now.

See you real soon. The screen shrinks to half size. Sound stops. Versus logo continues to spin. On screen, promoter turns to talk to the enforcer, now clad in an all-gray suit with a gray mask, and the engineer dressed in an all-green suit and a green mask. Cut to interior back room.

Same scene from new angle. Masks remain on. The promoter is dressed in an all-white suit. The enforcer is sitting there, very calm, playing with a handheld electronics panel with many buttons. He wears a pistol and a gray holster. The Engineer sits in front of an array of computer screens.

There are several web cameras pointed at them. Promoter checks his watch. He looks at Engineer. Sound off. Yes, sir. Don't like this. Pauly's late. Don't worry about it.

We're behind schedule. I'm sure everything is coolio, man. How are they? Engineer works a keyboard. Calls up images of people in chain-link cells on the computer screens. Most of the cages show someone standing near the door. One shows a prone person in a white shirt. It's Randall.

Programmer's still out. How long till he's up? Any second now. We didn't give him much. Executioner enters the room. He is dressed in an all-black suit, black mask, and black gloves. The outfit matches promoter and enforcer. Executioner's chin is always slightly raised.

He moves slowly and with perfect posture. Who are you? Executioner looks at his own outfit, as if to say, are you kidding me with this question? I'll give you one guess. But Paulie's always our executioner. Where's Paulie? Paulie's services are no longer required by our common employer. Promoter and Enforcer exchange looks. They know that means Pauly is dead.

But why? Enforcer's hand twitches, moves closer to his pistol. Executioner sees it, smiles at Enforcer, almost as if he's saying, Do you really think you're fast enough? How quaint. Enforcer hesitates, then moves his hand away. He is clearly intimidated. Are you here to kill us? Are you still breathing? Uh, yeah. Then no, I'm not here to kill you. Uh, so what do we do now? I would imagine that you do your job and get on with the show. I would imagine that you do your job and get on with the show.

Please, don't let me bother you. Executioner finds a chair. He reaches into his jacket pocket. Promoter and Enforcer freeze up, but he just pulls out a large handkerchief. He sets it on the chair, positions it so no part of the chair will touch him. Then he sits. I'll just be a fly on the wall until my services are required. Promoter is still very nervous.

He was not expecting anything like this. You know how we do things here? There are parts of the show that require my particular skills. I think I can handle such demands. Our employers showed me the earlier tournaments. They said I should watch very carefully. I have to say, I was very impressed. You are a clever man, Promoter.

My favorite fighter by far was the plumber. The flattery makes Promoter relax somewhat. The executioner does seem to know what's going on. Insert computer screen. Medium shot of Randall in a chain-link cage, just like the one we saw Dana in. He is in a fetal position but slowly staring. Back to scene. Hey, looks like nosy noserson is waking up. Nosy? Is there a problem? Promoter glares at the Enforcer, a clear message to shut the fuck up. No, no, no problem. We're not calling him nosy. We're calling him the programmer. A programmer? I wonder if he ever worked in a customer support call center.

If so, I'd love to kill him. But then again, who wouldn't? Let Programmer get his wits about him, then cue the announcers to get started. We're 12 minutes behind schedule. Get Programmer's picture on the site fast. People want the 16th contestant so they can place their bets. End of episode one.