Reporter’s Last Mistake: Lord Dread Interview
Clueless Reporter: Good evening, Lord Dread! Or should I say... Dr. Lyman Taggert? Quite a career change, I must say. From a scientist to, well, this! What prompted the...uh...transition to being half-man, half-machine? Midlife crisis, perhaps?
Lord Dread: (visibly tense, his mechanical hand tightening) Dr. Taggert is no more. That name belonged to a naive man, blinded by the limitations of human frailty. I transcended such weaknesses to become something greater: a harbinger of the Machine Age! A world of order, perfection, and precision—free from the chaos of human emotion and error. You, with your bumbling questions, embody everything I sought to eradicate.
Clueless Reporter: Oh, right. About this "Machine Age" of yours. Seems like a lot of work to turn the whole planet into some kind of giant motherboard. What’s wrong with humans anyway? Sure, we can be messy, but aren’t we at least a little charming? I mean, who else would think to invent disco?
Lord Dread: (his voice deepens ominously) Charming? Charming? Humanity is a plague—diseased, self-destructive, inefficient! Machines do not age, they do not err, and they do not falter. They are the apex of evolution, the answer to every failing of organic life. Your kind is obsolete.
Clueless Reporter: Uh-huh. But aren’t you still, you know, part human? Doesn’t that kind of undermine your whole "machines are better" sales pitch? I mean, if you still have hair and teeth, that’s got to count for something, right?
Lord Dread: (rising from his throne, his metal eye blazing red) Enough! Your insolence is intolerable! I have risen above the pathetic constraints of flesh, and yet you, a sniveling insect, dare question my purpose?!
Clueless Reporter: Whoa, whoa, no need to get upset! I’m just trying to understand the appeal of swapping out my morning coffee for motor oil. Maybe I can help with your PR?
Lord Dread: (roars) PR?! Foolish human! Your feeble mind cannot grasp the brilliance of my vision!
Clueless Reporter: (Suddenly realizing the gravity of his situation, backing away in panic) "W-wait! Hold on a second! You might think you’re all high and mighty with your Machine Age and whatnot, but Captain Power isn’t going to stand for this! He’ll stop you—like he always does! You think you’re invincible, but he’ll take you down! You hear me?!"
Lord Dread: (Pausing, his gaze icy and piercing) "Captain Power. A relic of a dying age. He clings to the broken ideals of humanity, a desperate fool attempting to delay the inevitable. I do not fear him, nor will he interfere with what is about to happen. You, insignificant human, are beneath even his pity."
Clueless Reporter: (Voice trembling) "Y-you’re making a big mistake. Power will find me. He’ll—he’ll make you pay for—!"
Lord Dread: (Interrupting, his enraged voice a terrifying blend of mockery and finality) "Power cannot save you now! He’s far away at his accursed Power Base. Your end, my weak and pathetic friend, serves a greater purpose: to demonstrate the futility of resistance against my will. Soaron! Blastarr! Teach this wretch the price of insolence!
(With a whirring of the digitization machinery on his limbs, Soaron descends from above, wings spread wide, his razor-sharp voice cutting through the air.)
Soaron: (gleefully) Ah, a fresh subject for digitization! How delightful! Let us begin... from the top!
(A beam of searing light strikes the reporter’s head, and he begins to dissolve downward, flailing and screaming.)
Clueless Reporter: Wait, wait! I haven’t even filed my expense report—Aaaaahhhhh!
(Before he can finish, Blastarr stomps in, towering and brutal, his booming laugh filling the air.)
Blastarr: Weak human! I shall finish what Soaron started. From the feet up!
(Another beam fires, and the reporter is swiftly digitized from his shoes upward until nothing remains.)
Lord Dread: (watching coldly) Pathetic. Did he truly believe his witless prattle could withstand the might of Lord Dread? Fools like him are why humanity is doomed. No match for my power... or my creations.
(Dread turns away, his mechanical form imposing in the dim light, as Soaron and Blastarr share a triumphant moment of mechanical chuckling)
This fictitious interview © Peter S. Murano
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