Tue, 10 Mar 2026 23:20:52 -0400WeeblySat, 07 Mar 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e10-perhaps-the-show-doesnt-go-onSeason 4 Finale

\ Monday, April 28th, 2008 /
\ 12:10 pm est. - 9:10 am pst. /

“Well, we haven’t been back to your cabin upstate in a couple of weeks” Taylor quips, dressed in a thin, long-sleeve shirt as she joins her fiance in the shaded sunlight of a New York spring on the deck of their inherited yacht. “It’s a villa or a lodge, and it’s been a couple of months” Grant corrects, wrapping his non-dominant arm around his lover’s waist and pulling her close, pecking her on the cheek.

“We’re on our yacht for the first time ever, and you’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt, dark grey slacks, and a pair of sneakers?” Grant queries, earning the sarcastic, furrowed brows that his lover’s face takes back to him with. “The only reason we’re out here is because the water’s finally not covered in ice. That doesn’t mean it’s not still cold out here” Taylor replies, looking him in the eyes with a hand gently resting against his chest, “besides, look at what you’re wearing.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Grant questions back, taking a small step away to display his attire properly, “it’s a white t-shirt, a pair of board shorts, and sandals.” Gently grazing the skin of the man’s arm with the tips of her index and middle finger, Taylor feels the small bumps that rise through his flesh and points them out as her proof.

“And as tough as you’re trying to appear, this beach day wear that you’ve got going on doesn’t change the fact that you’re cold” Taylor rebuttals, only for the man who takes her back into his arms to scoff at this notion. “It’s a bit chilly, but I live in upstate New York- what do you expect me to wear?” Grant questions back, “Manhattan winters aren’t as unrelenting as upstate winters, and Manhattan summers are just more of the same.”

“Oh, honey. Go back to college and retake geography... We’re in Long Island, not Manhattan” Taylor prods back, receiving a playful jab at her shoulder from the man’s free hand. Responding back with light laughter, the couple continue to stare out at the daylight as it burns overhead, their paid vacation continuing on with no end in sight. “Hey, have you seen the news?” Grant questions aloud, only for his significant other’s head to shake in refusal.

“Not since I stopped covering it, why?” Taylor wonders back, resting her head against the man’s chest as a slight breeze rolls in, much warmer than the ones they’d grown accustomed to. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping too much of an eye on it myself; this just felt like the perfect moment to ask that question” Grant jokes, feeling his fiance’s hand swat at his chest as she chuckles, walking back into their newly signed-for vessel.

“You’ve really not been watching the news?” Grant wonders aloud, following the woman into the shade that their boat’s overhang affords, tucking his hands into the pockets that his board shorts had been graciously fitted with. “I get updates every now and then when someone from the office calls” Taylor corrects, taking a bottle of wine into her hand before pouring some into a glass that had been sitting empty atop the private bar, “but, no. I haven’t seen a news show properly since February.”

“Oh, no... Who do you think the governor of New York is?” Grant asks with wide eyes, feigning shock as he closes in on the woman. “Well, of course it’d be Eliot Spitzer, no?” Taylor whispers back, aware of the events that led to his resignation, but deciding to play along with her co-anchor nonetheless, “our beloved governor who would never fuck a prostitute and send the entire state into an uproar calling for his resignation... He must still be governor.”

“Honey, I’ve got some news for you” Grant jokingly replies whilst his fiance presses the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to pass out before filling her glass of wine to satisfaction. “So, it’s really been over two months since you turned on the news?” the man wonders once more, receiving the same answer on round number two that he did in the opening one.

“I don’t like many news programs anyway. Aiden and Carly’s isn’t exactly for me, but it’s better than what the other networks are putting on” Taylor re-establishes, resting against the bar with her drink in tow, shrugging at the unimportance she takes the confession with. “Besides, we’re on paid leave for a reason” she doubles down, watching as her fiance takes a seat upon one of the built in stools, “why would I want to see that man’s face when I’m literally paid to not compete against him?”

Staying quiet for a moment, Grant looks toward the countertop whilst his lover sips from the glass, their ears catching the sound of a brief breeze rolling through the air outside. “Probably because you’ll have to eventually?” he soon questions back, doing so reluctantly out of fear that he’d kill the good spirits they enjoy together. Glancing off to the side, Taylor licks the taste of red wine off of her top lip once more before coating them for a second time, taking another quick drink.

“Do I?” Taylor wonders aloud, looking back at her fiance with lifted eyebrows, not entirely convinced in the stance that her better half has decided to take. Humoured, Grant subdues a modest chuckle before shrugging, “eventually, you will” the man reiterates, nodding along with the answer that he pays to her, “once we’re back behind that desk, we’ll be pretty well aware of what’s going on in the tower a few miles away.”

Shifting to the side, Taylor’s lips pucker together as she looks into the distance, staring in the direction of the cloudy skies beyond their semi-indoors interior. “My contract runs up near the end of next year” she rejoinders, stepping away from the bar with her glass in hand, returning to the deck that New York’s early-spring weather takes its course on.

With a confused look in his eyes, Grant follows his fiance’s figure with his eyes as it wanders off, trying to figure out what the insinuation provided to him was meant to suggest. Climbing off of his seat, the man takes after the woman as she comes to a stop at the railing of her elevated deck, watching the American flag wave in the gentle, rolling wind.

“So, you’re thinking about not renewing?” Grant wonders aloud, letting his fingers wrap around the metal cylinders that make up the obstruction that prevents them from toppling over the edge. “No, I’m thinking about riding it out” Taylor answers, not wasting much time in coming clean with her significant other, puckering her lips together in a purposeful frown as she looks to the man’s direction, “there’s no time limit on our paid leave. I can ride it out until next September and just retire.”

“And let Barry push you off the air like that?” Grant follows up, feeling immediately guilty as he watches his lover’s expression instinctively sour at the mention of the man’s name. “I’m sorry. But honey, nonetheless, you can’t let him be the reason that you take a bow from the desk!” the beach-dressed anchor reiterates calmly, standing firm in the stance that he takes on, “this has been your life’s work for almost a decade; you can’t let him take that away from you.”

“I don’t have to be caught in this mess between Russo and LMC, Grant” Taylor quickly restates, looking to her lover with a slight lift in her eyebrows, “the only reason he’s even on the air right now is because of that fight. And I understand that Russo only brought him onto the air to get at me, but I’m willing to accept that it worked.”

“You can’t leave nine o’clock, honey” Grant hastily responds, earning a wide smile from his fiance’s face as it falls to the ground. “At the very least, you can’t let them be the reason that you leave all of that behind” the man doubles down, speaking to internal strings that his beloved has already plucked at.

“I’ve spent so long just forgetting that he ever existed. After the first year, I’d gotten so busy with nine o’clock that I’d just shut it all out” Taylor confesses, looking back toward the waters that their vessel sits atop with a look of semi-peace in her visage. “When he got back, it felt like it was 1998 all over again” she continues, being caught in a break of the clouds, her blonde hair reflecting the sunlight that spills upon her like a charm.

Downcast, Grant follows the line of sight that his significant other carries toward the calm waters, his side directed toward them whilst his co-anchor’s full front faces the sea. “I was just a dumb intern at the time. I didn’t have any power, I didn’t have a portrait outside of Sam’s office, I didn’t have any of it” Taylor continues to speak, shaking her head in disbelief at the time that has passed, “I didn’t have a home to grow old in, or a legacy that I’d left behind, or someone that I love so greatly that I’d be willing to spend the rest of my life with them.”

Gradually turning to face the waters, the male anchor’s unchanged demeanour carries his free hand to the same place as the one opposite it, fingers wrapping around the railing near their vessel’s stern. “When I saw him on that screen, I felt like a terrified little intern all over again. None of the things that I’d done since then- none of them- changed how powerless I was...” Taylor mutters, lifting the drink to her face before pausing, wanting to finish her statement before sipping again, “...I never want to feel like that again.”

Pressing the lids of his eyes together, Grant simmers with his disappointment as he lets out a long breath, hearing his fiance’s concerns without the ability to feel what it’s like to walk in her shoes. Satisfied with the way in which she’d explained herself, Taylor takes relief in the taste of her alcoholic treat, much more composed and quietly reserved than her lover is, trying to prevent such a truth from muddying the tranquillity that the calming scene surrounds her with.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Friday, May 2nd, 2008 /
\ 2:48 pm est. - 11:48 am pst. /

“How did the meeting go?” Aiden inquires, stepping into his girlfriend’s office just as she takes off her light jacket, tossing it onto one of the empty visitor’s chairs as she makes for her desk. “We’re still nearly a million dollars apart” Carly answers, visibly displeased with the conclusion that her latest round of negotiations has taken. “How much is nearly a million dollars in this scenario?” the executive producer wonders aloud, picking up her jacket and carrying it to the nearby coat rack on her behalf.

“We’re about eight hundred thousand dollars apart” Carly answers, quickly swaying her head from one side to the other as she takes an elastic from around her wrist, using it to tie her long, brunette locks into a ponytail. “And where did we open up negotiations?” Aiden queries, returning to the open seats before taking up one of them, noticing his girlfriend’s fast attempt at fixing her hair to be a sign of more dissatisfaction than she’s letting on.

“We opened a million and a half apart. We’ve cut the divide down just around half” Carly responds, quickly taking her hands from the locks of hair and to the keyboard just before her. “Alright, that’s not bad progress in only a couple of months” Aiden replies, trying to take the optimistic route without much success.

“My agent is already hassling me about meeting with other networks to see what I can get offered there, and that’s not going to slow down until we start really making progress” Carly rebuttals, shaking her head from one side to the other at any positive notion. “That’s negotiation 101, right? Use the numbers the other networks offer you, take it to LMC, and use it to cut the divide down even further” Aiden replies, only to receive a sigh from his significant other.

“The only issue with that is the fact that LMC doesn’t really like to counter-offer that way. They just replace the anchor with someone less expensive as long as the ratings aren’t through the roof” Carly replies, skimming the laundry list of emails that her account has been sent in just the last few hours. “I may have an advantage if we can show consistent growth in the demographic. Having fantastic tits might also serve me well” she honestly proceeds, “but that might not be enough to cut down the last eight hundred.”

“Would you really not be willing to take a lesser salary or a shorter contract in the short-term like Vickers said?” Aiden questions back, trying to find room to manoeuvre around the conclusions drawn. “It goes against my laurels, and I’m not willing to go against my laurels” Carly replies, opening one email in specific before skimming it, quickly pressing the tips of her fingers to her keys in an effort to reply.

“As much as I understand that, allow me to ask you a hypothetical question” Aiden wonders back, listening to each key being tapped along as the woman plays the role of a two-birds, one-stone shooter. “Let’s say LMC decides that this offer- the one that you just got- is their final offer, and a company like the Finley Network offers you three million dollars more to host a late night talk show” the executive producer puts forward, “which one would you rather take?”

“Finley comes with a lot more baggage than I’m willing to take on” Carly passively replies, refusing the offer without even a moment of consideration. “So it’s safe to say that you’re willing to accept less pay for a better working environment?” Aiden questions back, watching the woman finish off her reply before setting full attention upon him.

“I wouldn’t accept an offer from Finley, but I wouldn’t necessarily rule out taking an offer from ACN or CSN for the same price” Carly replies, standing firm in her belief, “as much as I love working here, LMC isn’t the only place with a decent work environment.”

“You do realise that CSN is the place Grant came from before he’d become the morally-redeemed anchor that covered up his former co-host’s rape, right?” Aiden double-checks, only to receive a shrug from the eight o’clock host. “The people that let Nalty get away with what he did for so long were forced to resign after Grant went on the air with his story” Carly responds, taking a momentary glance back toward her computer screen, “their feet have been held to the fire to improve their internal working environment ever since. I’d benefit from that.”

“What exactly do you expect to go to one of those networks and do? A morning show? A talk show?” Aiden questions back, quickly bringing up the side of the conversation that his girlfriend has yet to take into account, “because I’m pretty sure you won’t be allowed to take the show we’re doing here over there.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t gotten any of their offers yet” Carly responds, directing her mouse’s cursor toward another unopened email as she finishes the thought, “but their offers would likely be for the show that we’re doing. I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able to do our show over there.” Parting his lips to reply, Aiden falls silent for a moment as he listens to his better half’s fingers begin tapping along the keys once more, replying to the next message amongst her laundry list of others.

Having wanted to say something completely different, Aiden’s mind fails to let go of the woman’s latest response. Pressing his teeth together whilst Carly remains preoccupied with other business, the executive producer allows the air to remain without a voice occupying it, the silence having yet to be noticed by the eight o’clock anchor.

“We?” he questions back with a slight dip in his chin, both eyebrows raised on the producer’s face as the woman continues to type, hearing the clarification be raised before instinctively answering it in kind. “Yeah, they’d probably be making us an offer to take our show over to their-” Carly replies, only for the click of her mouse on the ‘send’ button to trigger a moment of consideration, her confused expression taking itself to her boyfriend’s face as she asks for further emphasis, interrupting herself to do so, “-wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

|

\ Sunday, May 4th, 2008 /
\ 12:51 pm est. - 9:51 am pst. /

“Sorry for the clouds, I wish it was sunnier out” Grant remarks, approaching the company’s chair woman with a glass of red wine in tow, her appreciative smile paid to him. “I didn’t know you could control the weather, Mr. Haste” Robin jokes, earning an amused chuckle out of the anchor as they take in the sights of the water from the front of the boat. “I’ve been on a boat in far worse conditions; cloudy skies are merely a mood-dampener” she reiterates.

“One of these days, we’ll get this thing out on the water when the conditions actually do it justice” Grant vows, nodding his head as the boat is guided further through the Long Island Sound, “until then, we’ll just have to deal with New York’s nonsense.” With a smirk, Robin bobs her head to the side in agreement, “I made the same choice when I chose to renew LMC’s lease on 44th street for the first time” she confesses, “in that moment, I dared the snow to do its worst. I paid the price sometimes.”

“There’s a cyclone hitting Myanmar right about now, so I suppose we could have it worse” Grant responds to a humoured grin, extending his own beverage toward the woman. Clinking the glasses together, Robin quietly presents her agreement as the waters being torn through by the steel reinforcement of the boat’s front make for wonderful viewing.

“How have you and Taylor been? We haven’t had any major shakeups back in LMC to clue you in on, so I haven’t gotten much of an opportunity to check in” Robin explains, keeping her eyes glued to the waters ahead. “Do you know how many CEO’s or chair people check in on the daily lives of their employees? You’ve gone out of your way more times in the last year alone than any of them will” Grant assures, “I just hope you realise how much that’s appreciated.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to get attached to many people in this industry. But then again, I don’t think many people can properly predict the future” Robin responds, only to have her stance reaffirmed by the third party that approaches. “You say that to someone who’s had his life changed for that very same reason” Vickers remarks, smiling as he walks up between the vessel’s passengers, “do you know how reluctant Taylor was to bring Grant into LMC in the first place?”

“The only reason that she agreed was because she owed you one” the anchor in question responds, flattering the president as he closes in. “I expected her to have given you the rundown by now. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t like pulling teeth” Vickers responds, pulling in a deep breath as he slides his hands past the flaps of his suit jacket, tucking them into his pockets, “I knew what kind of man Grant was. He did walk into New York with a big head, but Taylor popped it with haste... no pun intended.”

“We really were made for each other, weren’t we?” Grant quips, sparking laughter out of the pair beside him, genuinely believing such in a way that leaves him capable of using it for the sake of humour. “We took a chance creatively doing that too, you know?” Robin questions aloud, passing a look toward the still on-leave anchor of nine o’clock, “most networks just have their flagship broadcast hosted by one person. Hell, even Ms. Carpenter flies solo on her show.”

“I knew the Taylor English-Grant Haste duo would work like magic within a short while. I didn’t expect it to be as quick as it was, but I did expect it to work” Vickers remarks, pleased with the conclusion that’s become of it. “Look no further than our competitors- and I use that word loosely- as evidence of that” Robin doubles down, “aside from being entirely sour on the Nalty hiring, people don’t believe either man is gelling with the other. No one likes their version of the two-man broadcast.”

“As pleased as I am to hear that, what does it have to do with Taylor and I? Aside from the obvious, of course” Grant questions aloud, turning his full attention away from the sound and toward his colleagues. “The fact that every publication is just jotting them down as a rip-off of you two” Robin answers, earning a nod over the face of her company’s president, “besides, people have been clamouring to get the two of you back. That’s how well your show does.”

Appreciating the woman’s praise, Grant smiles before locking his eyes with the patio that they stand upon, trying his best to conceal the information he knows out of respect for his fiance’s private comments. Nonetheless displeased with the comments that Taylor had left him with just days prior, the nine o’clock news man stands in silence and embraces the beauty of the water that’s afforded to him whilst Robin and Vickers keep the conversation going- playing a spectator.

|

\ Wednesday, May 7th, 2008 /
\ 9:08 am est. - 6:08 am pst. /

“Nevertheless, the lack of comfort behind Clinton’s primary win in Indiana just further solidifies the idea that she’s lost what little remnants of being the frontrunner for the party nomination that she had entering the month” Carly carries onward, seated in her usual chair for eight o’clock in a tank top, a pair of black, denim shorts and a pair of running shoes, “we inch closer and closer to the McCain-versus-Obama election in November that experts have been predicting.”

“Hold on, we’re going to have to retake that last part” Aiden interrupts, holding up a hand to the woman as he looks into a monitor just beside the camera, “the thing went out of focus for some reason right near the end of that.” Letting out a sigh, the woman crosses one leg over the other and rests her forearm against one of them, staring into the lens with a playful face whilst patiently waiting to resume filming.

“The camera may be out of focus, but it is still recording” Aiden remarks, putting an immediate pause to the woman’s mannerisms as she laughs at herself. “It was adorable nonetheless, darling” the executive producer adds on, keeping the nature of light-hearted banter going as he shakes his head disapprovingly at the equipment. “Hey, Joey. Do me a favour and get one of the guys from the control room out here, please... I can’t-” he carries onward, “-I can’t get this thing to focus properly.”

“It’s Wednesday, Aiden” Colin interjects, answering on his friend’s behalf before watching the executive producer’s eyes roll as his face lifts toward the heavens. “Shit, they run late Wednesday’s because of the fucking train” the man sighs, throwing his hands out toward either side as he raises his voice just slightly, “alright, we’ll pause this segment and pick it back up when the rest of the crew gets in.”

Wearing a frown as she lets out a purposefully-exaggerated groan, Carly steps off of the seat and shakes her head at the executive producer, wagging her finger at him playfully as if it were her fault. “Listen, I suggested that we just zoom in on your boobs for the whole broadcast before we started it, but you’re the one that had the problem with that” Aiden jokes, sparking a smile over the anchor’s face as she flips him off, retreating to her office as the entrance to their level is pushed in.

“Well colour me shocked” Aiden proclaims, watching the approaching of the grinning face of his visitor take toward his direction. “As infrequent as my trips upstairs are, I believe the ones I make to the eight o’clock office are even more rare” Vickers responds, extending arms out at each side whilst taking an amused glance around the earlier-hour panopticon.

“Well, you did have a heart attack in the doorway to my office... So I can’t exactly say I blame you for the rarity in your trips” Aiden comments back to a chuckle. “Geez, it's bigger up at nine o’clock” Vickers comments, pointing out the difference in bureaus depending on the show.

“We like to run a more modest ship down here at the professional level” Aiden chirps back to an even deeper chuckle, the space that had remained between the executive producer and his immediate superior now cut entirely. “With the decreasing-height of the collars on your girlfriend’s shirts over the last few episodes of your online show, I’d say that you and I have different understandings of the word ‘modest’” Vickers rebuttals to a quick chuckle.

“Wait, you’ve been watching our online shows?” Aiden questions back, only to watch the expression in the president’s face take on the look of surprise that he’d be expected not to. “I employ you, I employ your girlfriend, I employ your crew, and I signed off on your show after you pitched it to me” Vickers comments back, shrugging to the man opposite himself, “of course I watch your show.”

Pleased, Aiden’s ability to take appreciation in the man’s viewership fails to be given the time to make itself clear, his shoulder being graced by the palm of the president’s hand. “I wanted to come up here and let you know two things. First one of them is that Robin called me to let you know that the improvement in your proper eight o’clock audience is beginning to sell ads for the right demographic” Vickers explains with a smile on his face, even further making the day of the eight o’clock producer.

“Second thing is that I wanted to remind you to start working on a new deal with the network” Vickers explains, letting his hand fall back into the pocket of his slacks, “I understand that your current deal expires in April next year?”

“That is correct, but I am waiting to see what Carly’s deal ends up looking like” Aiden responds, tucking a single hand into his pocket whilst the other guides itself toward the woman’s office. “The show that I’d be getting paid to do would be the show that she hosts” the man carries onward, offering a look into his mindset to the man whom he answers to, “I don’t want to sign a deal without knowing whether or not I’m going to have my lead anchor in the chair.”

“Yeah, I understand that. But, aside from it expiring, I do want to make it a point that Carly’s contract is only in such financial limbo because of the salary” Vickers clarifies, making it a mission to point out the difference, “she’s the person who hosts the show, but you’re the one that put the layout together. In finance’s eyes, they’re more likely to see you as the irreplaceable part of this project than they are her.”

“But I’m not the person presenting the show, I’m just the guy putting it together. People don’t know me” Aiden responds, earning a nod of agreement from the man opposite himself. “That’s true, which is why you won’t be able to get them to back up the brinks truck for you the way they would for Carly” Vickers explains, just wanting to ensure the executive producer has a clear idea of the situation at hand.

“When negotiating deals, the people in a position to decide who is worth what will be left asking whether or not they can lose either of you” the president continues to explain, “to them, it’s less likely that Carly could carry on the success of this project without you than it would be that you could keep the success going with someone else.”

“And they’d be more willing to let Carly go and bring in some other attractive girl because they wouldn’t have to spend so much?” Aiden queries, successfully finding the same line of thought that Vickers presents him with. “I’m not trying to tell you what to- or not to- do, I just want to make sure that you understand what your role in all of this is” the president concludes, “I know it might be tough to separate yourself from her internally, but I don’t want you to miss up on an opportunity for a strong, long-term deal with wonderful financial security just because you’re not clued into any of that.”

“I got it” Aiden assures, earning a smile across Vickers’ face as he pats the producer on the shoulder, nodding to him with satisfaction that the opportunities presented have been made properly clear. Not wanting his employees to leave money on the table if they can’t afford to or weren’t equipped to see it, the president carries on with his day by retreating the way he’d come. “Congratulate Carly for me, alright?” he concludes, leaving the eight o’clock producer with an interesting dilemma to consider.

Doing his good, charitable deed for the day, Vickers returns to the lift and descends the multiple levels to his office before passing a nod to his secretary and turning the corner for his office. “Taylor English is waiting for you in your office, sir” Nicole informs, capturing a smile from the president as he carries forward, stepping through the door that he’d left open to find the longer-tenured anchor of nine o’clock waiting for him in the centre of the room, alone and dressed like she’d gone out to run a couple of errands.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise” Vickers greets, finding the appreciative, curved-lip smile that sits atop his anchor’s face as he remains standing just in front of the door. “Is there something I can do for you?” the president queries, lifting both eyebrows as he draws interest to her unexpected arrival, having suspicions of his own as to the point of her presence that he keeps to himself.

“Yeah” Taylor replies with a nod, standing in the middle of the room with both hands held to her sides, the bottoms of her black jeans tucked into a pair of calf-high boots to go with the blue t-shirt she wears beneath a white sweater. Nodding for her to continue along, Vickers adjusts his stance adequately, crossing his arms as he watches the woman’s mouth part to speak, her figure outlined against the window that she stands just a few feet away from, her silhouette outlined by the skies of New York that finally find room to present some sunlight.

“I’m here to resign from Tonight at Nine” she answers, leaving no room for doubt as she assures her stance, bowing out of the business having prepared to say goodbye to it.

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 28 Feb 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e9-extending-power-to-thee-of-worthy-hand\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 10:56 pm est. - 7:56 pm pst. /

“What the fuck is going on!?” Grant shouts as he storms through the doors of the lift that bring him into the chair woman’s loft, the detail of his veins showing through the skin on his neck. “Grant, give me a second” Vickers calmly pleads, standing a few feet away from his superior with one hand on his hip and the other pressing against his forehead, speaking politely, but clearly harbouring a great deal of exhaustion from yelling himself.

“I’ll give you a second after you tell me why-!” Grant battles back, only to fall silent at the raised voice of his immediate superior. “Grant, for the love all things- fuck!” Vickers exclaims, spouting the same aggravated yell that his anchor had offered him, “shut your fucking mouth and give me a second!”

Punching the air in a pure rage, the company president finishes his declaration before venturing away, stepping toward the large windows of his boss’ flat whilst the male anchor of nine o’clock watches on, doing as demanded out of respect for the president. Controlling his breaths, Vickers places his second hand at his hip whilst he stares out at the city and the bright lights that keep it awake, his face bathed in the glow of distant illumination as he stares into the darkness of the northeastern night.

Watching the man’s distance-creating stroll come to a stop at the end of the room, Grant turns his attention toward his boss’ employer with as much of a scowl as he’d entered the flat with. Clearly pissed off by the same display that has found the ire of those in her company, Robin sits on her pure white chesterfield without a drink in hand, one hand pressing against her chin whilst the other rests across her chest, the hand of it sitting in the nook of her arm as the president rejoins the discourse.

“Alright. You’re clearly not telling me the whole truth” Vickers calmly states, letting go of a deep breath before turning back for those in the living room’s centre, “did we enact a lifetime ban from broadcasting in Barry’s clause or did we not?” Visibly invested in hearing an answer, Grant crosses his arms in an effort of containing his anger before turning toward the seated woman a short distance away.

Wearing a disgruntled demeanour, Robin looks toward the floor of her luxury living space whilst Vickers draws nearer, staying quiet for a moment as she settles her frustration. “We did not” the woman confesses, shocking the anchor who’d only joined on with their company less than two years prior whilst the president looks toward the heavens with an irritated grin.

“I tried to establish a lifetime ban in our settlement deal, but he promised to not sign it and sue if it was included” Robin doubles down, recalling the moment in which both sides met at the negotiating table for the final time. “We settled on a ten calendar-year deal for him to remain off the air. We had Taylor take a rape kit in secret and paid the police to keep in on the low like she asked” the chair woman carries along, “at the time, spending ten years off the air might as well have been a lifetime ban.”

‘Yes, but it’s not... is it?” Vickers questions back, speaking calmly in a way that makes the LMC owner feel more guilty than she already does. “No, it was not” Robin answers, again staring at the ground out of utter horror at seeing the disgraced anchor’s face on the television this evening. “And yet, you told me...?” the president continues along, stepping back as the shorter woman fires off of her couch with a fever-pitch yell.

“I told you it was a lifetime ban, goddamnit!” the chair woman howls back, stepping up to her subordinate with a face of outright anger, “I told you it was a lifetime ban so neither you or the girl would have to worry that he’d break the mould and show back up on someone else’s air! Are you happy!?”

“No, because now he’s back on the air” Grant calmly answers on the president’s behalf, re-earning the attention of the woman who owns forty-one percent of the company he’s employed by. “And had I known that there’d be a reason to worry that he’d show back up in 1998, I would have pretty much pushed Taylor into the courtroom myself!” Robin shouts, approaching the anchor’s much calmer figure as it remains standing in place, “what do you want me to tell you!?”

Having replaced the outrage that had fueled his expression with a glum and depressed sorrow, Grant keeps firm in his stance with his arms crossed, looking the company’s shot-caller in the eyes and speaking with more composure than anyone in the room had carried up to that point. “I’d like you to tell me something that I can take back to the newsroom...” the anchor answers through great pain, tears forming in his eyes, “...something that can help me convince my fiance to stop crying in the corner of my office with her arms wrapped around her legs.”

Unable to say anything in response, Robin looks the much younger gentleman in the face before letting her eyes fall with the rest of her head, the direction of her face carrying her away in even greater shame now. “Please tell me she didn’t have to go on air tonight” Vickers wonders aloud, trying to look past the flat’s primary tenant in favour of asking over the state of the victim to their issue.

“Aiden stormed upstairs during the broadcast and demanded a typed script from us about five minutes after Arnold showed up” Grant answers, shaking his head in refusal, “I refused to let Taylor go on the air and Aiden refused to let me all the same. He just did our nine o’clock script downstairs.”

“That’s fine. No one mentioned Barry or Nalty on our air, correct?” Vickers questions back, only to receive an uncertain shake of the head from his trusted anchor. “I wouldn’t assume that Aiden would allow that, but I don’t know for sure” Grant replies whilst Robin paces around the room with her hands on her hips, “I was too busy consoling Taylor until Aiden and Carly were down at ten. I told them to look after her while I ran over here for answers.”

“Well, it seems you and I both just got them” Vickers responds, nodding his head with great displeasure as he looks toward his superior, “what do we do now?” Pressing the tip of her tongue against her top teeth, Robin stares at the ceiling and gingerly shakes her head, the lids of her eyes tense in their slight squint closer toward each other. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do now” the chair woman confesses beneath her breath through a sigh.

“We can go on air and out him” Grant suggests, finding the lack of a reasonable reply unacceptable, proposing whatever he can think of. “We have fine lawyers, but those are the ones that put this arrangement in place to begin with” Vickers answers, shaking his head in refusal, “in all technicality, his punishment was the agreement that he signed. As far as legality is concerned, he’s a rotten bastard who did the crime and the time.”

“Well I’m not sure how you expect Taylor to go on the air each night and compete with that asshole for an hour with a straight face” Grant retorts, seeing the sideways nod that the president reacts to his claim with, “she’s the strongest woman I know, but no one is that strong.”

“I’m going to put the two of you on a paid leave of absence” Robin answers, turning her front back to the men that share the flat with her. “I’m fine with going against Nalty. There’s nothing that bastard-” Grant begins to rebuke, only for his response to fall silent at the behest of his superior’s voice. “She’s putting you on paid leave to look after Taylor” Vickers corrects, seeing where his anchor’s misunderstanding comes into play, “think of this as how we reacted to what happened with Kelsi, just with the roles reversed.”

“You can’t seriously expect Aiden to go another couple of weeks without Carly, can you?” Grant questions back, earning a warm smile across his boss’ face, “he just got her back. They’re finding their groove, you can’t take that away from them.”

“Grant, I have deep respect for your consideration of the company’s situation even in the face of this adversity” Vickers clarifies, lifting the ends of his suit jacket up to place his hands within his pockets, “nevertheless, this is not a matter you can talk either one of us out of.” Hanging his head, the anchor lets out a deep breath as the president turns toward his superior, calmed enough to be able to think relatively clearly.

“He is right about one thing, however. Aiden can’t afford to lose Carly for that long again. They’re finally finding their stride” Vickers explains, looking at Robin as she stands with shaky confidence. “We’ll find temporary anchors for nine o’clock and tell the audience that personal matters have taken both Grant and Taylor off the air for a prolonged period of time” the president remarks, calling their immediate shots, “Carly and Aiden will continue as is and we will not release any statement regarding Nalty or Barry.”

“Well we’re going to have to say something” Robin replies, only for the man opposite her to shake his head and fight against the statement. “No, we do not. And I’m sorry, Robin. I don’t care if you’re the person who signs my paychecks, allows me to keep working past the age of retirement, or hell- I don’t care if you’re the right-hand woman to God himself...” Vickers doubles down, standing firm in his stance, “...as far as how we handle ourselves in this war- I’m in charge of it now.”

Parting her lips with the tip of her tongue pressing into the corner of her mouth, Robin looks off to the side and reserves her counter-argument to the man’s claims, holding back in the name of admitting that he might be better suited for what’s next to come than she is. “I love you, I care about you, and you are my closest friend. But, Ms. Lloyd- this can’t be your battle to wage” Vickers reassures, “I’ll run our calls past you before we make them, but they will be my calls.”

Resting her upper and lower jaws closer together, Robin settles into the man’s explanation with a slight defeat carried in her heart, eyes taking to the ground. “I need you to tell me that you understand that” Vickers clarifies, earning a slight chuckle out of the woman as she begins giving into the good-faith release of power she’s asked to place in other hands, “if I’m going to be the general of this counterattack, I’m going to need to know that you have my back when it counts.”

Looking back to the president, Robin finds both sets of eyes that stand before her planting their focus in her direction, waiting for whichever reply she’s bound to give. Finally closing her mouth fully, the chair woman stares past the men and to the barely-decorated wall that resides behind them. Letting his arms fall from the cross that they’d rested within, Grant takes on a similar posture to Vickers as they await their conclusive remark, watching as the superior’s lips part as she presents them with her answer.

“I understand.”

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:15 am est. - 6:15 am pst. /

“So, we now know for certain that John McCain will be the Republican nominee for president this November, leaving just Obama and Clinton to duke it out over who gets to represent the Democrats” Carly comments, dressed in a Nike sweatshirt and a pair of grey slacks, “as always, we’ll be keeping you up to date with that.”

Offering her closing remarks, the eight o’clock anchor wraps up this online show’s recording and has it sent over to be edited, earning a quiet applause from her boyfriend. “Great show as always” Aiden remarks, kissing the woman before joining her in venturing toward the office she can hear her phone ringing from inside.

“Hello?” she quickly greets, having reached her desk just in time to pick up the phone before taking a seat, her boyfriend’s hands coupling at his lap as he waits for the call to wrap up. “Yeah, this is her” Carly reassures, entering the leathery embrace of her seat as she listens to the masculine tone that replies to her from the other end of the line.

“Why not?” she asks back, unable to fill in her out-of-the-loop boyfriend into the remark that draws her curiosity more than any others. Scoffing at the reply that she receives, Carly rolls her eyes and looks toward the office’s window at a loss for words, wearing the bemused grin on her face as the other party continues to speak.

“Well, what more do they want me to do? Strip to my underwear and do an exotic dance while I break down the weather report?” she questions back, instinctively lifting her finger in the direction of the man she knows heard the reply without context. Letting his pleased smile descend back into a resting face, Aiden takes a seat in one of the chairs opposite his anchor and awaits the conclusion of her conversation.

“They’re just trying to save pennies. They’re buying low so they don’t need to pay the market value” Carly responds, shaking her head in disapproval of the conclusion that’s been brought on by the call. “I’m not going to threaten to take an offer somewhere else. I like what I have here, I like what we’re building, and-” she carries forward, only for the muffled voice on the other end to kickstart once more, interrupting Aiden’s girlfriend as he tries his best to make out what’s being said.

“No, don’t send a counter offer yet. I’m going to go talk to someone” Carly rebukes, leaning closer to the phone in the name of ending the call, refusing the claim that the other party makes to her. “I don’t know who I’m going to talk to, but I’m going to go talk to someone” the eight o’clock anchor rebuttals, pulling the handset from her head before finishing her defiant proclamation as she goes to hang up, “I mean it... don’t send a counter offer yet.”

Without another utterance, Carly returns the handset to the receiver and pushes her chair out, leaving it with eyes set on the office’s exit. “What was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud, squinting out a genuine uncertainty as to whether or not he should be concerned or amused.

“I’ll tell you later. Go do whatever you have to do, I want to handle this myself” Carly explains, leaving her office in the same breath as her delivery whilst the man she ditches watches on. “What on earth was that about?” Aiden wonders aloud after a brief few seconds in the quiet, shaking his head at a loss as he sinks further into the guest’s chair.

|

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:22 am est. - 6:22 am pst. /

Staring at the cloudy sky from the comfort of a lawn chair, Grant occupies the end of the pier to he and his fiance’s recently-inherited beachfront property. With a pair of sunglasses draped over his face and an unzipped sweatshirt that continues to be pushed by the breeze, the anchor turns to his side without much emotion in his face. “We should be able to use the beach as a beach in a few weeks” the man murmurs aloud, prompting his lover to turn and face him, “are you excited?”

Wearing a similar set of clothes, Taylor sets her sights back upon the glum heavens above with a slight squint, having chosen not to join her fiance in adorning tinted shades. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually used a private beach before” she confesses, shrugging her shoulders with a shake of her head, “I’d never even owned a home until we got this place.”

“Yeah, there isn’t really much room for a private beach within a residential tower in the middle of Manhattan, is there?” Grant queries, earning an amused laugh out of the woman beside him, seeing a lift in her spirits that had been hard to come by over the last few weeks. “If there was, I’m sure every stockbroker on Wall Street would be wearing a swimsuit to work” Taylor replies, matching her fiance’s amusement with some of her own, mustering a chuckle all the same.

“It’s probably for the best. Those September 11th conspiracies would be a lot tougher to sell otherwise” Grant quips, sending the humour directly back to his co-anchor, “imagine if, instead of complaining about jet fuel and steel beams, they just started spouting off that the death toll was too high to be realistic because people could’ve just cannon-balled into the harbour instead of aiming for the ground.”

Laughing quietly, but hard enough to press the lids of her eyes together, Taylor shakes her head at a loss for words as she lifts a travel cup of coffee to her lips, taking a sip as the amusement settles into good spirits. “Hey...” Grant mutters, prompting the woman to lean her head against the back of her seat and roll her face into the direction of her fiance, staying quiet as he speaks.

“...I really love you” the man remarks, watching his lover’s eyes close again as her face wears a genuine smile, the space between them remaining quiet for nearly another minute after the woman’s eyes reopen. To the sound of dull winds whipping by at the pace mother nature dictates for them to, the couple glue their faces toward each other’s as their breaths steady, foggy breath leaving through their noses with each exhale.

“I’m so sorry about everything that’s happening” Grant confesses, prompting a slight regression of the woman’s grin, her face beginning to wear the recollection of the circumstances that surround them in a way that she knows is necessary. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sorry that I didn’t see it coming” Taylor admits, lifting her eyebrows as she wraps both hands around the exterior of her travel container, “after all these years, I’d ignored any mention of him so much that I never asked whether or not he’d show up again.”

Remaining silent, Grant keeps his eyes held upon the woman as she takes another sip of her drink, singular strands of loose hair flailing in the breeze as she stares ahead. “I never even really thought it was a possibility that he’d show up again” Taylor carries on, feeling comfortable enough to speak mainly because of the company she shares the moment with, “in hindsight, it feels so obvious. Even Russo’s email specifically pointed out you and I.”

“He’s going to pay for this shit, you know that right?” Grant interjects, offering a reassurance that his fiance can only silently turn her face back toward his own in reaction to. “Barry’s going to pay for showing his face again- that much is for certain” the male anchor doubles down, pointing toward the ground with confidence, “but it’s Russo that gave him the platform to show back up on in the first place. And for that, it’s Russo that’s going to feel the worst of it.”

Though her teeth hide behind her pressed-together lips, the corners of the woman’s lips rise at either side of her face, forming a smile that only Grant and very few others can muster out of her. Letting a long breath leave through her nose, Taylor reclaims the sky into her field of view, the redirection of her gaze not convincing her fiance’s eyes to do anything other than keep upon her.

“That sounds very optimistic” she admits, presenting the returned comment with a modest amount of scepticism in her tone, “it’s almost like suggesting that good always beats evil. You think that when you watch superheros in cartoons as a kid, but then you grow up.” Falling, Grant’s eyes spend only a moment being carried away from his significant other, returning them to focus just as she begins speaking again.

“If good always beat evil, then Russo wouldn’t have a network, Barry would’ve died years ago like I’d thought he would’ve, and Nalty wouldn’t have been able to get away with what he did for as long as he did” Taylor proceeds, earning a scoff-like chuckle out of the man beside her. “Russo’s going to get his ass kicked, Barry is going to get what’s coming to him, and Nalty only got away with it for- as shameful as it sounds- as long as I let him get away with it” Grant argues.

“We’re not on the air and this isn’t a back and forth, honey” Taylor politely rebuttals in a way that fails to resemble a rebuttal, locking eyes with the man beside her whilst wearing a sorry expression. “Good people lose more than they should, and bad people win more than they should” the longer-tenured nine o’clock anchor remarks, holding back a displeasure in that confession that her fiance takes notice of despite her efforts, “in our line of work, the bad guys win a lot more.”

“I don’t believe that” Grant refutes, only for his better half’s face to sway from one side to the other with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. We might be the only moral company in all of New York, and even we have skeletons in our closet” Taylor confesses, again presenting a truth that her fiance struggles to cope with, “Barry should be behind bars, but he’s not because the company needed to protect its brand. Robin and Sam signed off on that, and so did I.”

Turning his sights toward the sky, Grant parts his lips with hopes of offering something worth replying with, only to continuously fail to find anything of value in quick succession. Watching this hassle unfold in real time and knowing that it hurts her fiance’s heart to fall so silent on offering a retort, Taylor begins to wear the weight of the struggle she’d caused, not wanting to be a burden to one of the few people she cares more for than herself.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset” the woman sighs, apologising to the sound of her fiance’s laughter, purposefully meant to argue anything other than that. “I’m not upset, honey” Grant refutes, continuing to find reluctance to believe such a response from the woman beside him, “I’m not upset. I just don’t know what I can say to convince you that...”

Leaving no possibility to not take notice of his pause, Grant comes up short of what he’d wished to say before seemingly deciding to wipe the train of thought from his mind. “Say it” Taylor demands, watching the direction of her lover’s face collide with her own, nodding as she stands by her request, “I’m not a fragile little girl that you need to walk around eggshells to please. I know what you were going to say, so please... say it.”

Pressing his lips together in a slight frown, Grant keeps his line of sight firmly upon that of the woman’s own, unable to pull his face away from hers as she remains silent, not wanting to prevent her fiance from finishing his thought. Begrudgingly, the man carries out with his declaration to the reception of a genuine smile, knowing it’d be more disrespectful to pretend like she couldn’t handle criticism than to actually offer it.

“I don’t know what I can say to convince you that you’re wrong” Grant confesses, watching the pearly whites that his fiance offers back to him as an invitation to continue speaking. “Bad people win a lot. I can’t argue against that, but what can be argued is what we’re supposed to call ‘winning’, is it not?” he doubles down, watching Taylor’s less-enthused and more-intrigued visage return to him.

“Nalty has a fortune. He had a legacy. He had luxury cars, and properties in different countries, and a yacht for fuck’s sake...” Grant carries forward, using his own past as an example, “...but you know what? I won.” Slightly furrowing her eyebrows further, Taylor watches the eagerness in her fiance’s face carry on before changing her invested expression into a joyful visage.

“Nalty knows that he doesn’t hold any power over me now. No matter what we have to our names- the luxury, or the legacy, or the reputation... I won” Grant declares, watching the shift take shape in his fiance’s face in real time, “I looked him in the eyes and I took every last belief that he won that war away. I kept that power from him, I kept that control from him... and he knows it.”

Looking toward the heavens, Taylor feels the embrace of its warmth come over the skin of her face as her fiance continues, disregarding the slight bite of the winter wind in favour of the pleasant kiss of the sky’s subdued sunlight. “One day, Barry’s going to see the exact same thing. He’s going to see that he doesn’t have the power or the control...” Grant doubles down, watching his lover’s eyelids press together, “...and he’s going to know it.”

With nothing more than the look of bright red brought on by the cloudy sky, Taylor parts her lips with both rows of teeth gently pressing against each other. As her fiance falls silent, she begins slowly lowering her bottom jaw and pulling her teeth away from each other, shrugging with a slight lift in her eyebrows as she finally responds.

“Agree to disagree.”

|

\ Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 /
\ 9:34 am est. - 6:34 am pst. /

“Why am I being low-balled?” Carly questions, entering the office of her immediate superior with a genuine inquisition carried through her eyes. “I beg your pardon?” Vickers genuinely retorts, leaning slightly with a squint in his eyes, unsure as to what’s being insinuated through this visit. “My agent says LMC is low-balling me in their renewal offer” the eight o’clock anchor replies, “it’s not even less than what I’m asking for, it’s less than what I’m already getting.”

“Well, I just sign off on whatever deal finance puts on my desk once they’ve crunched the numbers into something more favourable for them” Vickers replies, pulling the pair of cheaters away from his face whilst he does, “but, if I had to imagine why you’d be getting low-balled, I’d assume it’d have something to do with the shift in your viewership. And by viewership... I mean the decrease of it.”

“It’s only dropped in one demographic because it’s steadily growing in the opposite direction- the one that’s more favourable to advertisers” Carly responds, only to receive little more than a shrug. “Sure, but it’s not there yet” Vickers rebuttals with his hands coupled over his chest, leaning back in his seat with each elbow pressing against the sides of his chair.

“I want more money than what they’re offering” Carly restates, only for the president to roll his eyes and look toward the windows at the end of his office. “We’d all like more money than what we get, but the fact of the matter is... there’s a reason not many of us get our way” Vickers rejoinders, uncoupling his hands for only a moment as he directs them toward her, “your reason is that you sacrificed the ability to negotiate a higher pay when you and Aiden took on the risk of completely restructuring your broadcast.”

“And again... it’s working” Carly reiterates, only for the president to shake his head in a slight lean forward. “But it’s not working fast enough” Vickers argues back, watching the woman let out a sigh as she begins pacing in the opposite direction, “I mean seriously, Carly. Did you really think you’d be able to put on a currently less-successful show than what you used to put on and still be able to negotiate a bigger deal?”

“You can see the growth in the audience. You know there’s no reason to believe that it’ll stop any time soon” Carly counters, doing little to convince the president to switch sides into her corner. “And you have no certainty to argue that it won’t stagnate” Vickers replies with an equally-solid argument, “I’ve been in this business for multiple decades, Carly. You’re not the first person to walk in here thinking she can change the way we do the news.”

Displeased with the conclusion reached, Carly hangs her head in disappointment with both hands pressing against the sides of her hips. “The deal you’re on now pays you for the show that you used to do. The one that you’re doing right now isn’t as valuable as that one was” Vickers explains, again coupling his hands over his chest, “but in that same breath, the one that you can do in three years time could also be more valuable than both put together.”

“I’m not signing another three year deal at the figure that they’re giving me, sir” Carly rejoinders, only to find both hands being held out at either side of the company’s president. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Ms. Carpenter. Sign a one-year deal at a lower figure in the meantime so you can negotiate a stronger one when the key demographic actually does kick in” Vickers offers instead, hard-pressed to find much of an alternative.

“I know what I’m worth, sir. I know what Aiden is worth, too. And- with that- I know what our show is worth” Carly argues back with confidence and civility, only to receive just as much push-back from the president as she’s received since entering his office. “Ms. Carpenter, you wouldn’t be the first anchor to think she’s worth more than she is and then take that value to some other network” Vickers explains, “present that argument to finance, and they’ll have no problem letting you walk and going out to find someone to do the news they’d rather pay for.”

“I don’t want to leave, but I guess that leaves us at a stalemate” Carly concedes, disappointedly doing so, “because I know what we’re worth, and I am not willing to play ball with people that aren’t smart enough to see the same thing.” Letting out a displeased sigh of his own, Vickers adjusts his posture in his seat and folds his hands atop his desk, looking toward the attractive woman opposite him without much certainty in her stubbornness for a specific figure.

“Intelligent people would see the concession for a one-year deal, or even a two-year deal, as being representative of the means to an end” Vickers clarifies with a raised eyebrow, paying the woman the respect she’s owed by placing his full attention upon her. “You can sacrifice lesser pay for a shorter period of time in the name of earning yourself a blockbuster deal when finance can’t hide behind a previous deal” the president furthers, “why not bite your tongue and make the stupidly-high wealth that you’ll get then by just biting the bullet now.”

“Because no one should ever hold themselves to less than what they’re worth” Carly argues back, staring directly into the unmoved expression of her immediate superior. “Let me ask you something...” the woman changes course, crossing her arms as she stands before the man’s desk, “do you believe that Aiden and I will actually succeed in fully making this work?”

With the ball in his court, Vickers turns his glance toward the carpeted floor of his office and thinks quietly to himself for a moment, weighing his options with all the time in the world that his eight o’clock anchor will afford him. “I may stupid for it, but yes, I do” the president answers honestly, giving the attractive and mostly-affable face of their lead-in to ‘Tonight at Nine’ all the ammunition that she needs.

“Good. That means you believe we will, and so do I, and so does Aiden, and so does finance for that matter. That’s why they’re offering me a lesser deal” Carly fights forward, one foot resting further than the other, “they want to pay less for a superior product than what they were getting before.”

“What is your point, Ms. Carpenter?” Vickers questions, seeing the line of dialogue approaching like a train at the end of a tunnel and wanting it to just reach its next stop. “It’s that everyone knows what Aiden, and the show, and myself are worth. Everyone knows that I’m right about how much I’m worth...” Carly answers back, stepping directly up to the front of the president’s desk, “...and the problem here is that- even though we’re all sure that I’m right- everyone is trying to convince me that I’m wrong.”

Keeping to himself for a moment, the spectator to the eight o’clock anchor’s pitch sits with the rebuttal for a moment before looking away. “Everyone wants to convince me that I’m worth less than what I am. And that precedent is a very dangerous one” Carly continues to argue, re-earning the president’s line of sight, “and then, when everyone knows what I can be except for me, how the hell does that not incentivise me to just inherently think less of myself than I should?”

“It does” Vickers answers with a slightly-convinced tone of voice, nodding in agreement as Carly lets her arms fall by each side. “That’s why I can’t stand to take a lesser deal. I have to hold myself to a standard, otherwise I waste what I’m truly capable of” the woman concludes, stepping further back from the desk to appear less-confrontational than she’d eventually become, “LMC saw that when I first negotiated, and that was why I signed on to work here instead of Los Angeles. I can’t go back on those laurels now.”

Sitting in silence for a moment, Vickers pulls back in his seat slowly and stares at an unimportant corner of the room, nodding along with the conclusion that has been raised. “I’ll make a couple of calls, but I can’t guarantee it’ll amount to much more than what you’d consider peanuts” the president concludes, addressing the woman with as much reassurance as he can muster, “but- hopefully- it’ll be a start.”

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 21 Feb 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e8-white-as-a-ghost-dark-as-the-skin-of-her-assailant\ Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 /
\ 8:17 am est. - 5:17 am pst. /

“He might even win Virginia tonight” Vickers remarks, walking through the frosty, snow-covered streets of New York City dressed in a long, heavy trench coat with a coffee in hand. “That would have him leading past Clinton” Taylor responds, dressed in a similar manner and carrying her coffee in a similar way, with the only difference being a fuzzy, grey hat she wears atop her head, “I’m not saying he’ll win the presidency, but it seems more likely than ever that he’ll win the nomination.”

“I’ve been calling it since late December. I don’t think she’s got the charisma that he does... It connects with people” Vickers doubles down, approaching their company’s home base and opening the door for the young woman walking alongside him. Continuing their conversation all the way into the lifts and onto the level in which the president’s office resides, their casual stroll into a much warmer climate brings their journey to the destination they’d wished to arrive at sooner when struck by the northeastern winter.

“That’s why you’ve been focusing on the main trio” Vickers comments, assisting the younger anchor in shedding her trench coat before freeing his shoulders from that of his own. “No, we’ve been focusing on the main trio because no one else stands a chance” Taylor corrects, setting her beverage atop the wooden desktop that her father figure soon steps behind, “since Romney suspended his campaign last Thursday, the only guy on the right to concern ourselves with is McCain.”

“I would argue that Romney never really stood a chance since, to put it bluntly, he’s not within eight hundred delegates of McCain” Vickers doubles down, lowering himself into the swivel chair whilst his guest crosses one leg over the other. “Romney and Paul are only being focused on because it feels like they’d be the ones bred to run for a meaningful nomination in 2012” Taylor replies, leaving a pink stain of lipgloss on the lid of her coffee, “we all know that no Republican is winning the presidency after the last eight years of Bush.”

“How does our fellow Republican upstairs feel about that?” Vickers queries, only to be immediately met with a slight squint. “Who says I’m a Republican?” Taylor questions aloud, playfully tightening the crossing of her arms and the downward-lean of her chin. “I never said you were, I just alluded to your fiance being one” the president retorts, taking a gradual lean to the side of his seat before switching the conversation in the woman’s favour, “are you a Republican?”

“People who like to consider non-traditional conservatives as not ‘fully-Republican’ would certainly argue that I’m not” Taylor rebuttals, earning a smile that quickly takes from one side of Vickers’ face to the other. “That doesn’t answer my question, it just takes one option off the table” the president carries on, the reply doing enough to earn a stretching grin across the anchor’s visage.

“I’m a libertarian” Taylor concedes, tucking one hand into her inner elbow whilst the other holds her coffee a short distance from her chin, “I believe in smaller government, fewer taxes, more responsible use of taxpayer money, and accountability in Washington.” Staying quiet, Vickers continues to look the woman in the eyes despite saying nothing, drawing the interest of the lady across from him.

“What?” the female anchor queries, waiting for the zinger that she knows the man opposite her awaits permission to throw out. “You’re a libertarian?” Vickers questions aloud, seeing the humoured nod of his good friend’s head respond to him without a word, “isn’t that just a synonym for ‘loser’?”

“How original” Taylor jokes, nodding along from a place of amusement as Vickers returns his cup to his face, “I take it you’re a genuine Republican?” Licking his lips, “close...” the man replies, lifting the lid of his beverage before sliding a tiny bottle of bourbon from the inside of his suit jacket and pouring it in, “...I’m a Democrat.”

“That’s not close at all” Taylor corrects, only to see the man opposite her scoff, pulling back in his seat as he re-attaches the lid to his foam cup. “Is it not? We both support the death penalty, we both agree that the government’s ineptitude is the reason our programs don’t work- we just disagree on what those programs are” Vickers carries on, “we both support military spending, we both support stronger border defence, and neither of us want independents or other parties playing in our sandbox... I mean, our congress.”

“And they disagree on more things than they agree on” Taylor rejoinders, only receiving a modest shrug from the man in response. “Yeah, but the more crucial elements that we have the power to change through legislation are universal, even if some candidates say they’re not” Vickers responds, turning his face toward the door as he leans in his seat, “we’re the same party where it counts, though.”

“I take it that means you’re voting for whoever leaves the primaries as the nominee?” Taylor wonders aloud, lifting the cup to her lips once more. “As I stated earlier, I have my suspicions that there will be people over the moon about voting for a Republican in the wake of Bush’s terms” Vickers answers, extending his hand toward the woman, “what about you, Madam Loser? I take it you’re filling your ballot in favour of Bob Barr?”

“I said I’m a Libertarian, not that I vote for the Libertarian Party” Taylor replies, resting the bottom of her drink against her thigh, “in order, my most-preferred candidate is Obama, then McCain, then Clinton.”

“I’m going to assume Grant doesn’t agree with you?” Vickers questions, watching as the woman opposite him stretches her hand to the back of her head, leaning in her seat with as relaxed of a position as she can muster in the chair she resides in. “He’ll consider Obama if the man wins the nomination” Taylor responds, lifting the cup back toward her face, “if Clinton gets it, he’s voting for McCain without reservation.”

Wearing his grin, the president nods along with the conversation as it brings itself to a natural close, staring into the distance for a few seconds as his mind wanders toward a less-boring line of dialogue. “I’m very happy to see you two together” the man speaks aloud, watching the warm look of pleasure that spreads across his anchor’s face like a welcomed infection, “how’s he been?”

“He’s coming into work, isn’t he?” Taylor responds, allowing the question to answer that of her legal superior’s own, “he ran Nalty out of this building, he called our shot on the Finley Network, and he’s not missing a beat when the camera’s on.”

“That is correct, but I’m not around him all day long like you are” Vickers reiterates, lifting his elbow onto the desk that he leans against, “there’s a better chance of you catching him not acting like himself than I do.” Shaking her head before the man can even finish his point, Taylor denies anything of the sort, staying adamant by the side of her fiance.

“If he’s not as alright as he lets on, then he’s even got me fooled” the anchor replies, bouncing her leg atop the one it’s crossed over, “he genuinely believes we’re going to throttle them in the ratings, and I believe we will too.” Nodding, the president allows the conversation to go quiet again, taking a sip of his spiked beverage.

“I’m proud of you, kid” Vickers remarks, again bringing about a warm expression over the anchor opposite him, “you’ve faced a long road and you’ve made the most of it. You’ve found someone who makes you happy and that... That makes me happy.”

Smiling even deeper than at any point in their discourse prior, Taylor holds off her ‘thanks’ in favour of keeping the gesture of silence, aware that the display of her white teeth is all that the man needs to see her appreciation. Carrying on with silence, the professionals remain in each other’s company, appreciating the presence of each other as the day carries on, counting down to showtime just as every other one.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 /
\ 10:16 am est. - 7:16 am pst. /

“...So start pinching pennies, because shit is going to get much better from here” Carly remarks, seated in front of a camera without a desk in front of her. Dressed in a dark blue blouse and a pair of navy blue jeans, the woman sits casually in her seat with one leg over the other, one free arm resting over the back of her chair whilst the other sits atop her lap.

“This isn’t something that was impossible to predict. The market cratered and I think we’ve quietly- and with our fingers crossed- been expecting this to come” the attractive anchor continues, watched on by her boyfriend as he assumes his usual place beside the camera. “Nevertheless, Washington will hand over bailouts and further economic aid will be presented by the president as per usual” Carly carries forward with a grin, “if there’s anything D.C hates, it’s the ‘a’ word... accountability.”

Slapping her thighs with both hands as her relaxed posture shifts to something more prepared to depart the stage, the anchor lets out a sigh and regains her fixed smile. “I’m on the air properly at eight o’clock, so tune into LMC if you want something more in-depth than the surface level you get here” Carly concludes whilst Aiden begins stepping away from the hard camera, “until then, thanks for continuing to watch and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Casually ending the recording, the primetime anchor receives a subdued applause from her executive producer, his desire to keep the clapping from interrupting those at work made clear. “Are we any closer to being able to just release the show at a fixed time?” she wonders aloud, standing out from her seat before joining alongside her significant other, marching toward their offices at the other end of the panopticon.

“Not that I know of, but that’s alright. Our crew needs a bit more time to really gauge the feel of the show and get it properly set in the first place” Aiden replies, taking immediate notice of the disappointment that’s provided from his girlfriend at this comment. “Relax. We’re still in the early stages and working through our growing pains” the executive producer assures with a smile, “at the end of the day, what’s important is that our audience is watching.”

“I know that’s really all that matters, but I’d still like some consistency. It’s the easiest way to maximise our potential audience” Carly confesses, entering her workspace with a hand placed upon her hip. “It’d be nice to have a scheduled recording time, a clear type of broadcast, and a backup plan in case you or I aren’t here some days” the woman furthers, bringing collectively valid points to the forefront.

“Scheduled time and a backup plan are fine, but specify what you mean by ‘type of broadcast’” Aiden requests, confidently taking a seat in the chair his lover would frequently occupy. “We do domestic and international stories that the American people need to hear at eight and nine o’clock” the woman carries on, “aside from shows where we bring in people via satellite or have guests in the studio, the only variety in either hour is when Grant and Taylor cover stories of economic interest upstairs.”

“And you want our show to differentiate a little bit more from theirs?” Aiden queries, not understanding what the lady that leans over the front of her own desk is getting at. “No, I want our online show to differentiate a little bit more from our primetime one” Carly explains, the lone button undone at the top of her shirt affording her producer with a pleasant view of her cleavage, “I want a structure that we can consistently rely on like the eight o’clock hour, but a different focus on the actual type of news we produce.”

“So you want to cover stories that teenagers and young adults are interested in?” Aiden questions, earning his answer through the woman’s nod before following up, “wouldn’t that just be celebrity gossip and paparazzi shots?”

“No, it’d be stories that- since we need the online show to tie into the eight o’clock hour- we can cover from a more youth-specific point of view” Carly responds, lowering herself into one of the chairs opposite her desk upon noticing her boyfriend’s continued glances beyond her shirt. “For example, if the governor of some state signs a bill that proposes private educational institutions are no longer allowed to adhere to their own curriculum and must follow their state’s own, we’d cover it from two different sets of eyes” the anchor furthers.

“At eight o’clock, we’d go into detail about how the curriculum would change, what adverse effects this would have comparative to public school such as a possible drop in graduation or literacy rates, and the possible shift in what this would financially leave these private educations to deal with” she compares, “with our online version, we’d explain how this would change scheduling, what classes would now be deemed mandatory, what their expected passing grade would be considered and so on.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong. You’re suggesting we cover the same stories, but use the eight o’clock hour to cover the news for adults and the online show to cover it for high schoolers?” Aiden queries, making some sort of in-roads with the woman. “Not just high schoolers, but anyone up to their mid-thirties or so” Carly clarifies, “those people don’t want this drawn-out information with big words. They want to be told how this will affect them and their ability to afford basic necessities.”

“I see your point, but how are we supposed to cover the news from the perspective of a broke, paycheck-to-paycheck college undergraduate?” Aiden questions back with narrowed eyelids, “we’re wealthy figureheads of a primetime newsroom at a publicly-traded company. I just so happened to keep living in my stingy, starter apartment after I started making good money. That’s about as much of an understanding as I have to them, and it’s far more of one than you have. No offence.”

“None taken, but we don’t need to know what they’re going through in order to know how these changes are going to affect them” Carly doubles down, “I think they’d be much more receptive if someone bypassed the legal-speak gobbledy-gook and just said, ‘look, your rent is going to go up and you’re going to fucking hate this’ without holding back.”

“You do realise you’d be turning everyone under the age of thirty five against the Democratic Party, right?” Aiden quips back, only to receive a sarcastic frown from the woman. “If we’re doing the news for a younger audience, we can’t do it half-assedly” Carly assures, firm in her stance as she pulls back in her chair, “we have to let them know what they need to know. We have to earn their respect and treat them like adults, but do so from a place that doesn’t try to pretend like it understands them, but it understands what they should know.”

Pressing the back of his head against the woman’s chair, Aiden groggily turns his head toward the frosted glass wall of the woman’s office before letting free a deep sigh. “We’ll see what we can do in that case” he concedes, tapping the surface of the desk with the palms of his hands, “if worse comes to worse, we can hire someone younger to write the scripts and break them down in a way we can better present.”

|

\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 11:11 am est. - 8:11 am pst. /

“It’s Serbia and Kosovo... Canada is nowhere near Europe” Keith corrects, looking across the table at Abby, who rolls her eyes in an amused manner. “Actually, it is on technicality” Vince interjects, re-earning the eyes that line the table from top to bottom, “Denmark owns Greenland, which is directly to the Atlantic coast of Canada. Which means that technically Canada borders Denmark, which is a European country.”

“If we can get back to the Serbian’s breaking into and lighting the American embassy on fire part of this, that would be great” Taylor interrupts, returning the conversation to their original point. “I’m more interested in the United States shooting its own satellite out of orbit” Olivia responds, bringing a chuckle out of Marcus, who sets his own writing pad upon the conference table.

“We can get to that in a second, I want the numbers on the Serbia riots first” Taylor redirects, pointing the cap of her pen toward the man who’d initially brought the point forward. “Well, the British, German, Croatian, Belgian and Turkish embassies were also attacked, but more specifically- they’re not calling them riots” Vince corrects, “some national media is referring to them as ‘protests’ to spare the Serbians from being considered aggressors and getting singled out as the issues here.”

“Which national media? Or should I even bother asking?” Taylor queries whilst her fiance keeps to himself one seat beside her, more interested in playing spectator to the back and forth unfolding before him. “Russian and Chinese media” Vince answers, earning an eye roll from the female anchor that proceeds to fall back into the restraint of her chair.

“So I shouldn’t have bothered asking... good to know” Taylor replies, waving her hand in the man’s direction as a gesture for his continuation. “In all, about half a million Serbs protested in the capital, Belgrade, against the Kosovo declaration” Vince explains, pulling back in his chair as his eyes wander to the rest of the crew that surrounds him, “the only real discovery of note is that a protestor’s remains were found burned inside the American embassy.”

“Not necessarily. The Russian president essentially used the declaration as a masqueraded threat to the west” Keith interjects, “he said it’s a terrible precedent that breaks up the entire system of international relations, which has taken centuries to evolve and that undoubtedly, it may entail a whole chain of unpredictable consequences to other regions in the world, and that will come back to hit the West in the face.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t-” Taylor begins to reply, only for the sound of knocking at the transparent room’s entrance to catch her attention, cutting her off before she can offer her sarcastic reply. “I’d like to see the two of you in private now” Vickers remarks, poking his head inside the conference room before pulling it free just as quickly. Beckoned for, the primetime anchors take a glance toward each other before climbing out of their seats, quietly gesturing for Shane to continue the meeting.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t make us wait an entire walk to your office to tell us something?” Grant questions aloud, following the lead of the mostly-silent president as they venture toward a far-lower level than their newsroom. Begrudgingly accepting the lack of a response he continues to receive, one half of the anchors falls silent in favour of waiting out their journey’s conclusion, its finale being brought into the man’s office.

“Finley’s thrown everything they were doing out the window. They’re debuting their new anchors tonight” Robin remarks, having awaited the trio’s arrival from the comfort of her immediate subordinate’s desk. Unsure of why they’re meant to care, the recent arrivals turn their focus toward each other without uttering a word. “Okay?” Taylor queries back, watching her father figure step toward his desk and retrieve his cheaters.

“From the desk of Alburt Russo” Vickers begins to read, staring at the email that his computer screen allows him a clear picture of. “When I said I would make your lives a living hell, this is what I meant” the next line carries forward, both anchors crossing their arms and quietly bypassing the voice of their superior who reads along, trying to picture Russo’s voice speaking each read-through word aloud instead.

“This is war for all of you. Your company has a past, and all of your employees are no different. Grant Haste and Taylor English will bear the biggest brunt of this war. And from what it sounds like, Mr. Haste is more than welcoming of it” Russo’s letter carries forward, leaving a sour expression across the male anchor’s visage.

“I had initially intended to move one of my weekend anchors into the slot beside Howard Nalty, but I have no made an executive decision to go after an even bigger fish than that” Russo’s declaration proceeds to explain, “I hadn’t set my eye out for this bigger fish until Grant’s expletive-filled rant on your show a few weeks prior. So, I just wanted to you know that- when I introduce the new team of my nightly broadcast- one half of them is on air once more strictly because of Mr. Haste’s comments.”

Unmoved by the threats levied toward him, Grant’s unenthused face is carried toward the seat that he begins to occupy, feeling no emotion to what he supposes was meant to concern him. “At eight o’clock- on the dot- Thompson and Olbermann will officially depart their roles at Finley and allow my new anchors to begin their first show under the new format” Russo continues to divulge, “I wanted to surprise all of you with a blast from the past that will leave no room for misunderstanding.”

“Stop reading” Grant remarks, scoffing at the comments being made with a roll of his eyes, “I’m tired of these idle threats and cheap little potshots. If the fat cunt wants to spark some kind of worry, he’s not going to.”

“That was the end of the email anyway” Vickers confesses, guiding his face away from the screen and toward his visitors, “all he said after that was ‘this is a war’ and signed off on it.”

“Are we supposed to be concerned by this? So we’ll get a good look at who’s manning the second hour that we’ll be competing with. No big deal” Taylor carries onward, her arms falling from their cross as she steps past her fiance, approaching the president’s desk. “I just wanted the two of you to know what’s going on. I don’t put it past Russo to try and fuck with our show somehow” Vickers explains, tucking his hands into each pocket, “I just wanted to let you know about the change in plans.”

|

\ Friday, February 22nd, 2008 /
\ 7:58 pm est. - 4:58 pm pst. /

Preparing her makeup for tonight’s broadcast whilst her fiance stands by watching, Taylor pats her face with a brush and a pad whilst eying the mirror. “Most of the show’s going to be on Serbia anyway, we won’t need to worry about Olivia’s satellite” Grant assures, approaching his significant other with outstretched arms, taking her gently by the waist and kissing the back of her neck.

A few levels below, Carly- dressed for the air- taps her pen on the table twice at the behest of her executive producer in the same moment, seated behind the news desk and ready for a similar broadcast from the quicker version she’d filmed earlier in the day. “Do we have the Finley feed on any of the screens?” she wonders aloud, staring at her script with a red pen in tow.

“On your right, it’ll be- fittingly enough- the farthest screen to the right” Aiden giggles, playing with the buttons at his disposal for a quick moment before stepping back, inspecting the live feeds that he receives of his modernising anchor. “I’m looking into the camera and giving you a level check” Carly mutters in response, staring directly into the lens ahead of her to ensure the control centre has an adequate reading to sync her audio with.

“Should we get to the bureau with the others?” Grant whispers, cradling his smiling fiance in his arms as she nods, looking into his eyes before meeting him with a kiss. With a hand in each other’s own, the pair embark upon a journey away from their office, guiding themselves into the sea of desks that sit near the base of their news desk’s platform.

“They’ll be opening the show with the usual guys and then leaving the rest of it to the replacements, right?” Vince wonders aloud, looking toward the couple that approach in real time. “That’s what we were told, so we’ll go with that... sure” Taylor replies, staring at the pair of monitors purposefully set to rival networks, the final commercials that either Finley or LMC air prior to the top of the hour concluding.

“And we’re on air in five, four, three, two...” Aiden remarks, counting down with his fingers as he watches the broadcast’s intro roll on, passing glances toward the same opening credit package that the Finley Network broadcasts. “Good evening, this is On-Air with Carly Carpenter. Thank you for joining us” the brunette host remarks, her introduction seen in passing by those in the studio above, though the speaker system that operates within their walls voices the audio of her rival network.

“Thank you for joining us” the young, clean-shaven black anchor on the adversarial broadcast greets before throwing it to his co-anchor, who begins his service to the network an hour earlier than usual. “Tonight is a big step for this network as we introduce primetime, national news to a super-sized format” Olbermann explains, coupling his hands together atop the black desk he anchors from behind.

“Any predictions?” Grant whispers, waiting out the time between the show’s greeting and the introduction of the new hosts by watching the screen his colleague at eight o’clock takes up. “Some preppy blonde chick from the Giuliani campaign. Someone that reminds you of Kelsi or something along those lines” Taylor answers, shrugging her shoulders at a loss for anything further, “I literally don’t know anyone else that he’d legally be able to bring on with this quick turnaround.”

“If he can’t get the real girl, he’ll get one of her fellow staffers. Not a bad pick” Grant admits, conceding the point to his co-anchor, “I was going to assume it’d be someone that worked the eight o’clock show from when I was at CSN.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re going to take them to the cleaners any-” Taylor mutters, squinting at the sound of a third voice from the rival broadcast. Having been interrupted from off to the camera shot’s side, both Thompson and Olbermann take a modest amusement from the unintelligible quip their successors had made from offscreen. “That didn’t sound like Nalty” the female anchor of LMC’s nine o’clock hour murmurs, unable to fully get a register of the muffled voice from afar.

“As you can tell, we have the new anchors of the two-hour nightly broadcast here, in studio, and ready to bring us into a new era at the Finley Network” Thompson comments, placing his hands against the desk in preparation to wheel his chair out of the camera shot. “Without further adieu, we bid you farewell and wish you comfort as we transition over to the hands of your new hosts” the younger-appearing anchor comments, pushing himself to the side with a nod, “take it away, fellas.”

“With feet on the ground in Serbia, we now send it over to-” Carly explains, preparing to send the broadcast’s feed over to their European field reporter before falling silent, her eyes glued to the rival broadcast over to the side. Completely missing his girlfriend’s pause amidst one of his own shock, Aiden stares at the Finley Network display just as the rest of his colleagues in the control room do, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

With audible silence, Carly stares to the side of the stage with chills running down her spine, seeing the pair of smiling faces that take over the show opposite of her own. “Aiden! Where do we go!?” a member of the crew calls out from behind the eight o’clock producer, amongst the few to take notice of the show they’re still at the helm of producing as he forces the man to snap out of his trance.

“Cut to- cut-” Aiden stammers, trying to pull his attention back to his job at hand without success, forcingly his face to send itself back toward the direction of the rival network, “just send it to Serbia!” Without the assistance of the still-aghast eight o’clock anchor, the crew clues their field reporter into the troubles at home and sends the shot toward him, cutting the picture of Carly’s awe-stricken face in favour of the man with a mic in his hand and little clue what’s unfolding.

Collectively in awe to the sound of brief fits of gasps, the nine o’clock newsroom stands in complete silence, staring at the screen of the rival network as all but one on-duty colleagues look with utter stupor. “Mr. Thompson, I can say with absolute certainty that it is an honour and a privilege to take over for you” Nalty remarks, smiling toward the clean-shaven man that sits beside him, his light-skinned figure presenting equal joy to be back behind the desk.

Frozen in peril, Taylor stares at the man beside Grant’s ghost from her past with widened eyes and viciously trembling hands, unable to move from the night terror-like paralysation that grips her. “Good evening from the first-ever edition of National News Tonight. I’m Howard Nalty” the publicly disgraced anchor greets, turning to the right as he looks toward his privately-disgraced colleague.

“...and I’m Arnold Barry” the minority replies, prompting his direct replacement at LMC to stumble backward, unable to function with the breath that had been stolen from her lungs. Retreating from his daze, Grant quickly hurries to his fiance’s side as her legs begin to shake, struggling to keep her small body upright as he redirects his concerns away from the ghost of his own past in favour of the one from his fiance’s, catching his lover before she can hit the floor, supporting her as the only thing preventing the successful anchor from outright collapsing.

“It’s been almost a decade since I’ve been able to say these words, so let’s see if I’ve still got it...” Barry speaks aloud, looking directly into the camera with his television presenter-fitting grin, passing it a nod as he carries out his return to the national audience, “...this is the news.”

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 14 Feb 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e7-the-will-of-the-people\ Monday, January 14th, 2008 /
\ 12:02 pm est. - 9:02 am pst. /

“And we’ll call it ‘Online and Unfiltered with Carly Carpenter” Colin explains, standing beside Joey with an audience of both friendly superiors and unfamiliar superiors alike. “And you’re in favour of this?” Vickers questions, standing with his arms crossed beside his swivel chair, which hosts the company’s chair woman as it usually does when possible. “I think it makes sense for the demographic we’re working toward” Aiden answers, finding himself as the subject of the president’s interest.

“I’d be willing to bet a pretty penny out of my paycheck that the younger generation would be more willing to watch a bipartisan news broadcast if it broke free from the traditions that their parents’ news show stuck to” the eight o’clock producer explains, sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs whilst his girlfriend occupies the one beside him. “If you don’t catch the youth’s eye, you’re going to need every penny that you get” Robin interjects, turning her eyes toward the woman beside him.

“What’s your take on this?” the forty-one percent shareholder in the company questions, her hands coupled and left elbow pressing into her seat’s armrest. “I think you want us to get a move on with bringing in younger eyes and this might be the way to do it” Carly answers, passing a look toward the associate producers she sits to the right hand side of.

“I don’t see how this is supposed to bring in more eyes to our program” Vickers remarks, looking toward Doug whilst he stands behind the eight o’clock EP and his anchor girlfriend, “your show is an alternate, shorter, less-censored broadcast of the one that we put on. Even if it brings in more eyes to what you’re doing, it doesn’t bring in more eyes to our show.”

“Which can work out well for the company as a whole if you play your cards right” Joey retorts, recapturing the collective attention of the crowd he and Colin have at their disposal. “We can ease our younger-approach at the traditional eight o’clock show and do more of the stuff that the older generation watched for” the man explains, holding his hands parallel to each other before directing them toward the young, attractive anchor, “and online, we can have a similar show with fewer restrictions and the younger demographic that we’re looking for.”

“And absolutely no guarantee that the companies we’re targeting with this ‘younger approach’ will want to attach their name to a show that has no vetting process whatsoever” Robin rejoinders, bouncing her right leg up and down as it sits atop her left thigh. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t have a guarantee. These are companies, not religions. They’ll throw morality out the window as long as it turns a profit” Joey doubles down, “we make strong revenue out of the ad space we sell as is. This show is- for you- a way of having your cake and eating it too.”

“And what happens when uptight mothers with a stick up their asses begin boycotting our sponsors because they don’t like the program we’re peddling to their kids?” Vickers queries, watching Colin stare toward the trio occupying the space to his right with curiosity. “You say that as if Carly’s going to go on air and call Al-Qaeda a group of fags and start fighting for the return of slavery” the quieter of the two associate producers respond.

“They’ll certainly take issue with the bodacious brunette on the eight o’clock show spreading her unholy-ways to their youth” Vickers retorts, letting his arms fall from their cross as he places a hand against the corner of his desk. “The last thing we need is Robin swinging by because the family foundation for the foundation of families are threatening to boycott our advertisers unless Carly gets baptised on the air to expel the demon within her or something” he argues, earning the humour of the woman’s producer.

“At least the ratings for that show would go through the roof” Aiden murmurs, earning a sarcastic frown from the company president and a playful elbow in the side by his girlfriend. “The point is that we’d be tainting the image of the anchor that most wives across America already feel their husbands watch each night more than they need to” Robin interjects with a shrug, “we’d threaten to push the advertisers that have already bought into our plans away in the same breath.”

“And you’d be threatening to lose out on perhaps the biggest head start in business that any company’s had since the creation of the telephone” Joey argues back, watching Robin part her lips to speak before raising a finger in her direction, not uttering a word as he gestures for her not to interrupt. Widening her eyes at this motion out of surprise at the man’s gall, the company’s chair woman does as instructed and allows the man to continue speaking.

“We all know the internet is just going to get bigger. Most of the presidential candidates are already using these message boards to gain traction with the youth in their campaigns” Joey continues on, pointing out the direction in which their industry is headed. “Doug showed you a couple of months ago how fast these things can move if we play our cards right, and we’re playing our cards right” he continues to argue, “other agencies are going to be following our lead, so we might as well beat them to the punch.”

“At best, other agencies would just put the show they air on television on the internet instead. They wouldn’t go out of their way to create an entirely new show” Vickers rebuttals, only for the confident producer to fight the claim. “Exactly, which is why they’d lose to us” Joey rebukes, splitting his attention between the two superiors he holds less familiarity with than those who’d joined him in the office.

“If we don’t start this show, someone else will do the same thing with a rinky-dink camera and a shotty microphone in their bedrooms or basements and gain the audience that can be ours” Joey explains, watching the president step around his desk with an inquiry. “What reason do we have to believe that they’ll be able to collect the kind of audience that we already have on air?” Vickers queries, approaching the head-strong gentleman and locking eyes with him.

“Because our audience is shrinking and dying while their audience is growing and just needs to know where to find them” Joey counters, “and as long as these schmucks keep their little show going on long enough with inferior equipment to ours and far less attractive anchors than ours... people will find them.”

“And what do you suggest that we do in the event that we start losing sponsors because of this little stunt?” Robin questions aloud, regaining the attention of the men who’ve approached to present her this opportunity. “Carly and I have contract negotiations coming up within the next few months. If this doesn’t work, you’ll likely want an entirely new crew in at eight o’clock anyway” Aiden speaks aloud, throwing their hat into the ring with full support of his girlfriend, “there’s no reason for us not to put our jobs on the line for this.”

“You’re really that confident in this?” Vickers questions back, approaching the seated figures with both arms crossed over his chest. “There’s no other way to gain that kind of traction in the demographic as fast as you want us to” Aiden confesses, shrugging his shoulders whilst shaking his head, “as far as I’m concerned, I probably don’t have a strong enough case for renewal if we can’t get this show approved.”

“We’ve finally found a stable foothold in the key demo with consistency. But, as far as when our contracts are up, we won’t have done what you wanted us to by then. It’ll take longer than that” Carly remarks, completely buying into the proposition levied prior to the weekend, “as far as we’re concerned, you likely don’t have support of the board to renew our contracts without this.”

“As much as we like you, how would you argue that taking this risk to keep you two around is preferable to just cutting bait when the time comes and starting over again?” Vickers questions, failing to find a suitable answer. Shaking their heads at a loss, the pair of figureheads fail to come up with a satisfying reply as the air grows quiet for a moment, only to be filled with sound by the voices of those that the president now stands slightly ahead of.

“If this show runs sponsors off, you’ll have to restart anyway” Colin speaks up, regaining the focus of those that share the room with him. “The news needs to adapt and there’s no reason for us to let someone else beat us to the curve. We need to evolve with it if we’re going to maintain our place at the top” the shy and reserved producer explains, “if either option ends with you starting from scratch anyway, you might as well roll with the one that has the bigger upside.”

Staring at the men without offering an immediate response, Vickers presses the palms of his hands against his hips and inspects their figures, eyeing them from head to toe. Going along with his investigation of their persons, the associate producers at the centre of attention allow the man to continue with his internal thought, maintaining eye contact with differing levels of confidence before watching the man’s lips finally part.

“I guess I might as well” the company’s president responds with a faint nod.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Wednesday, January 30th, 2008 /
\ 1:17 pm est. - 10:17 am pst. /

“My sources are confirming the same thing!” Abby proclaims, pulling her head away from the desktop handset with her palm covering the receiver, staring in the direction of the casually-dressed anchors in the centre of the panopticon. “Who’s your source?” Taylor questions back, stepping ahead of her fiance as he balls his hand by his hip, ready to punch the air in celebration.

“A staffer with the McCain campaign” the associate producer responds, “she says they were told that Giuliani’s flying out to California to end his campaign and offer his endorsement.” To a handful of claps throughout the bureau, the male anchor of nine o’clock punches the air in front of him with a nod, pleased with the way in which the voters of his preferred party have chosen to take their nomination.

“Alright, we’ll run with Edwards and Giuliani’s campaign suspensions at the top of the hour” Taylor remarks to those on duty, “we’ll lead into the cutting of the federal funds rate and follow into the district council’s dismissal.” Accepting of these plans, the broadcast’s producers carry on with their business whilst Marcus remains manning the assignment desk.

“Taylor?” Keith questions aloud, prompting the woman to turn back for the man calling out for her. “I have Sam Vickers on the phone, he says he wants you and Grant in his office as soon as you can” the associate producer explains, watching the anchor approach with her hand held outward. Handing the phone over, Keith steps out of his chair to afford her the ability to sit within it.

“Hello?” the nine o’clock producer greets, her fiance approaching at the sound of his name being mentioned. “When you’re done putting tonight’s show together, I’d like the two of you to see me in my office” Vickers comments, refusing his anchor the opportunity to respond by hanging up the phone, returning an empty dial tone to her ear.

“What’s going on, Sam?” Taylor wonders aloud, walking into the man’s office with her fiance following closely behind. “We’ve got ourselves a little bit of an issue that I’m pretty certain was intentional” the president replies, slapping a newspaper down upon his desk and opening to the sixth page of the document.

“Finley Network appears to close a deal to name disgraced news anchor Howard Nalty one of two faces for new, two-hour flagship show” the older man reads aloud, voicing the headline that stains the most eye-catching space on the tall paper. “You think they leaked it?” Grant questions aloud, taking over the conversation with his ally whilst Taylor turns the published journal around, reading the article that resides beneath a photograph of a smiling Howard exiting the tower Finley is headquartered out of.

“I don’t see any other reason there’d be to just allow Howard Nalty of all people to walk out of the front door to your building” Vickers comments back, “even if he didn’t set it in motion, you wouldn’t want to have a ten foot pole of yourself seen within the vicinity of that man if you could help it.”

“We did have him escorted through the underground parking lot, so I can’t argue your point there” Grant responds, wearing a visage of disappointment as he locks eyes with the man’s printed photograph. “I called you two down here because, if this is purposeful as I suspect that it is, there might be more than just dirty tactics that Russo is willing to go to” Vickers explains, “I’d rather you find out that his name is about to take over the headlines from me than some vender shelling papers on the corner.”

“When did they say they were installing the change to the two-hour format?” Grant questions aloud, continuing the discourse whilst his fiance remains fixated on the column written. “Jack Thompson and Eddie Olberman have their last days at eight and nine o’clock respectively on February 22nd” Vickers answers, both hands tucked into his pockets whilst he speaks, “the idea is that they’ll have a fill-in for their shows for the week following and officially transition to the two-hour format on March 3rd.”

“When do they announce Nalty and the other one?” Taylor questions aloud, nearing the halfway point of the article as she ponders. “From what I’m hearing, that’ll also be the 22nd” Vickers answers, “Finley’s allowing an overrun for five minutes after ten to debut the new anchors. It’ll be Thomspon and Olberman’s contribution on their last show.”

“Do we have anybody looking into who the other anchor is supposed to be?” Grant inquires, only to receive a shake of the president’s head at first in reply. “Russo is keeping a tight lip and only a select few people know internally” Vickers answers, reaching into the liquor cabinet just to the side of his desk and retrieving a bottle of light brown alcohol, “from what I understand, the people that know are spreading rumours around in hoping that it’ll get to one of the other agencies and send them on the wrong track.”

“So we know the other anchor is either someone they don’t want people knowing about or a complete nobody that won’t make headlines. Got it” Grant replies as his fiance lowers the journal down, shrugging her shoulders at the lack of insight the catalogue had afforded her. “Should we make a comment about it on tonight’s show?” Taylor wonders aloud, watching her respected elder shake his head in refusal, “people are going to- understandably- expect Grant to have some kind of opinion on the matter.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it” Vickers rejoinders, unscrewing the clear cap to his glass bottle and pouring a modest ounce and a half of booze into his transparent cup. “Even if Grant doesn’t give a shit, there’s still no reason to give them more leverage than they’re worth” the president assures, “even Aiden and Carly aren’t considering any sort of counter-programming. They know it’s not worth it to let the pricks at Finley think this is a competition.”

“They don’t think this is a competition... They think this is a war” Grant rebuttals, earning a chuckle from the president as he’s amidst a sip of his beverage. “No, a fat troglodyte thinks this is a war” Vickers counters, smirking as he takes down the refreshing sip, “everyone else sees this for the cry for attention and hissy fit that it really is.”

|

\ Tuesday, February 5th, 2008 /
\ 11:18 am est. - 8:18 am pst. /

“Job well done, everyone” Aiden remarks, stepping out from the side of the camera that filmed his girlfriend from a tighter shot than usual, the format of their filming being adjusted slightly in the name of giving their online-exclusive broadcast a more intimate feel. “I feel like I came off needlessly edgy” Carly retorts, stepping out from behind a much smaller desk than the one she usually mans, one leg having been crossed atop the other as she’d leant further in her seat than usual.

“If it worked out for Nirvana, it can work out for you” Aiden replies, cracking a smirk as his significant other’s unamused expression carries itself back toward him. “Relax, we’re just ironing out the kinks. It happens with every broadcast and this one is no different” the executive producer responds, handing the woman a copy of the rough rundown for their proper broadcast much later in the day, “besides, your tits look even better today than they usually do. I’m sure no one will notice the edginess.”

Amusedly swatting the man’s chest, Carly takes the sheet of papers into one hand before grabbing a hold of the coffee that her boyfriend places into the other, their walk carrying them toward the transparent box off to the room’s side. “Polling places are closing early in the south, but none are being shut down as of right now” Aiden explains, walking with the woman toward the conference area, where most of their staff already resides.

“I’m a newswoman. I don’t cover tornadoes until they start infiltrating actual news” Carly responds, the first to enter the meeting room as she’s mid-conversation, “tell me when primaries start getting cancelled over it and then I’ll care about the tornado.”

“What does everyone have?” Aiden asks aloud, accepting the woman’s retort as conclusive before switching the conversation once in the presence of their colleagues. “A quick point to mention before we get to putting together tonight’s show, as a matter of fact” Joey quips, collecting the eyes of the host’s dictating figureheads.

“Does this have anything to do with yesterday’s premiere episode?” Aiden wonders aloud, watching the man’s head nod without any identifying features in his posture to insinuate what’s about to be brought up. “I do, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with you two” Joey assures, earning a confused look from the newly-arrived couple as they take their seats, “it’s actually got something to do with Grant and Taylor upstairs.”

“I thought that was your show, why are they talking about us?” Taylor responds, having been called into Grant’s office at the polite request of the eight o’clock anchor and executive producer. “Because people are trying to figure out what your take is on Nalty getting hired by Finley and most don’t seem to know how to get a hold of anyone close to you” Aiden explains, standing with his arms crossed as Vickers remains quietly reserved in the corner of the room.

“Our new show is part of a bigger message board online. People can comment on whatever it is they want either anonymously or with their actual credentials” Carly furthers, earning a nod of understanding from the similarly-young anchors. “Even though it’s our show, our younger audience knows that you guys have a history with Nalty- especially Grant- and they don’t know how else to tell you that they want to hear more” the woman confesses, “so they’re asking us to let you know that they’re hoping for a response.”

“I figured they might” Grant comments, turning his head in the direction of the onlooking president, though without receiving much of an initial reaction from the man. “They don’t like Nalty and seem to respect you for having taken the stance against him that you did” Aiden continues on, “they’re opposed to the idea of the Finley Network bringing him in and they’re hoping you can share some of your thoughts on the matter.”

“Are they expecting us to say something on your show?” Taylor inquires, only to watch either visitor shake their heads in refusal. “No, they’re just hoping you’ll say something somewhere” Carly explains, “they’re using our stuff online as a way to communicate with LMC as a whole from what it seems.”

“Be sure to have Robin send them a gift basket in that case” Grant comments toward the company president, who ventures back and forth at the room’s side, his lips puckered and head nodding. “I’m sure she will if this helps our bottom line or public perception in any way. Neither of those are of the issue at this moment, however” Vickers rebuttals, taking his face toward the man seated at his desk, “what is, from what I understand, is the fact that people want to hear from you.”

“And you don’t want them to” Grant concludes, only to receive a shrug of the man’s head initially. “Well, I didn’t want them to until I was confronted with the fact that I might not have a choice” Vickers corrects, pulling in a deep breath as his pace slows to a stop, his full attention planted upon the four figures that share the room with him. “I have to do what I can to ensure both of- well, all three now- of your shows are successful” the man concedes, “listening to the audience is a priority in doing that.”

“Then it seems like this should be Grant’s decision to make” Aiden responds, standing at the centre of the room with his hands coupled behind his back, eyes holding firmly upon his immediate superior. “It does certainly seem that way, doesn’t it?” Vickers reaffirms, looking at the eight o’clock producer before confidently swaying his face in the direction of the office’s primary tenant with a closed-lipped smile, “the call is yours to make, Grant.”

|

\ Friday, February 8th, 2008 /
\ 9:58 pm est. - 6:58 pm pst. /

“As we prepare to go off the air until Monday evening, we here at Tonight at Nine would like to send you into the weekend with a few words from yours truly” Taylor explains, passing a look toward her fiance as she lifts the paper script off of the news desk. Gently tapping the bottoms of each page against the glass surface, the female anchor levels her papers properly and steps out of her seat.

“I have been Taylor English, saying goodnight and wishing all of you a safe weekend” the woman signs off, passing the broadcast’s focus off to her co-anchor, “now, here is Grant Haste with closing remarks to offer you.”

“Hard camera, tighten the shot on Grant” Shane instructs, commanding the direction of the broadcast in its closing minutes whilst following with the results on the largest screen he stands before. “Good evening. It has come to our attention at the Leicester Media Corporation that members of our audience, mostly through our channels online, have taken interest in personal comments they believe I may be able to offer in the light of inner-industry information that has come to light in recent weeks” Grant explains, coupling his hands atop the small stack of papers before him.

“The belief of many within our field of work is that a rival network- namely the Finley Network- is prepared to bring on former CSN anchor Howard Nalty as one of two new leads for a competing show to that of Tonight at Nine, and our lead-in broadcast, On-Air with Carly Carpenter” he continues. Climbing down from the transparent stage, Taylor retreats to the left side of Vickers, who watches on from just beside the hard camera as his current-primary anchor closes their flagship broadcast.

“As many of you may know, I have a very detailed history with Mr. Nalty. It was on my first night in this chair that I shed light on a sexual assault involving my former co-anchor on the premises of my former employer” the male anchor recalls, speaking from a place of devoted professionalism. “As I stated then, I played a role in covering up that assault that I- even to this day- deeply regret taking part in” Grant confesses, parting his hands to lift a finger toward the camera.

“I, however, have made it a mission in my life to make good on that deeply unprofessional and immoral mistake ever since” the man continues, speaking with the newsroom- and the nation- watching on. “I’d like to thank Ms. Carpenter and her executive producer, Aiden Redwood, for bringing forward requests for my comments made through their online presence” Grant explains, his words catching the ear of those that he mentions, who watch his show from the levels below his panopticon’s floor.

“Howard Nalty is a deeply disturbed man that I wish to never associate myself with. He is someone who I believe has never truly paid for his actions in the way that so many others have” Grant confesses, shaking his head with outright disappointment in the results that have followed. “Nevertheless, he seems to be in line to take over a fledgling broadcast on an infinitely-inferior network opposite my own” the nine o’clock presenter concedes, “and that is something we are all going to have to make our peace with.”

Watching from the comfort of her luxury flat, Robin sits on her pure-white sofa with a glass of red wine in hand, watching the comments one half of her lucrative primetime team makes on the company’s behalf. “While I feel deeply troubled for those within Finley that will be forced to co-exist with such a deliberately-heinous presence within their workplace, I am not responsible for welcoming it into their building...” Grant furthers, pointing his steady finger toward the camera lens, “...Alburt Russo is.”

Squinting as he watches the broadcast breach the point of ten o’clock and carry on, Burt Russo watches his rival network’s broadcast with a semi-smirk, disregarding the comments made toward him. “As admittedly excellent Howard Nalty is as a newsman, he is one of disgraced integrity for a reason. That disgraced integrity is what the Finley Network is hitching their wagon toward” Grant carries on, watched with a smile from his fiance and immediate superior, “that wagon is one that stations like mine will send careening off course.”

Sipping from her glass of wine, Robin lets her free hand gently rest atop her leg, a pleased smile coming over her face as the man’s comments carry forward. Resting further back in his seat at the same time, Burt Russo lifts one hand toward his chin to support the weight of his head, eyes focusing firmly upon the broadcast he’d otherwise refuse to let show itself within his presence.

“Burt Russo made an attempt throughout last year to purchase a significant number of shares within LMC” Grant confesses, returning his hands to their coupled state atop his paper script. “That attempt failed numerous times, and now- Russo makes an attempt at trying to take down LMC since taking it over didn’t work” the premier anchor proceeds with a smirk, “unfortunately for him, this ploy will fail just as his broadcasts do at resembling anything even remotely close to journalism.”

Standing guard in their defiance toward the opposition, Taylor and Vickers watch on with grins as wide as what’s worn over their company chair woman’s own. “The Finley Network has failed to get under our skin. They have failed to set themselves up as direct competition, and they have failed to present themselves as anything worth being concerned over” Grant declares, shaking his head disapprovingly into the camera, “the Finley Network has sacrificed their flagship broadcast in the name of petty failure.”

Pulling back in his seat, Grant loosens his posture from the professional front that he’d taken on, assuming the mantle of someone speaking from the heart rather than the pages before him. “The Finley Network has decided that they want to make this- the beacon used by LMC to best leave the United States with a well-informed electorate- a competition” the man confirms, deepening the sway of his head from one side toward the other, “we here at LMC liken this ‘competition’ as being equivalent to Michael Jordan taking on a wheelchair-bound child in a dunk contest... There is no competition.”

Taking the paper script before him into each hand, Grant tosses the pages to the floor beside his desk and carries on with his stare into the camera. “Wipe off all other lower-thirds” Shane instructs from within the control room, clearing all graphics from the broadcast in an effort of leaving nothing between the audience and the man who addresses them, “leave him the screen.”

“The Finley Network has left us with no other choice than to ensure that- no matter who they place in that desk at eight and nine o’clock...” Grant commands, “...their flagship will be met with Carly Carpenter’s On-Air and our Tonight at Nine stopping at nothing short of delivering them total annihilation.”

Coupling his hands together atop the now-cleared desk once more, the lone anchor leans further toward the camera as it begins slowly zooming into his face. “We here at eight and nine o’clock don’t pull punches... We deliver knockout blows” he declares, shifting his face with a smile and a confident poise.

“So, on behalf of my fiance and co-anchor Taylor English, the president of our news division Samuel Vickers, chairwoman and CEO of Leicester Media Corporation Robin Lloyd, and everyone here at LMC...” he signs off, placing a slight lean against his left side as his closing remarks are provided, “goodnight, have a good weekend...”

With the camera as close to his face as it can get without breaching the boundaries of comfort Shane concerns himself with, the man closes his broadcast with the same utterance of defiance that those he works with wish to provide. “...and to those at the Finley Network...” Grant proclaims, giving a simple nod to the camera as it readies to outright cut to black, following through on his promise not to pull punches, 

“...go fuck yourselves.”

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 07 Feb 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e6-lets-make-it-a-mission-to-stay-current\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 1:37 pm est. - 10:37 am pst. /

Thrusting his hands forward, Aiden angrily throws the back entrance to the level in which the nine o’clock office is located outward, marching forward like a man on a mission with Carly following closely behind. “Where the hell is he!?” the eight o’clock producer shouts, rounding the corner from the rear of the newsroom in time for Shane to step in front of him, keeping an advancement toward Nalty from getting underway.

“I’ll handle this, Aiden” Grant calls out, stepping toward the transparent platform he hosts the show from, purposefully remaining a few feet ahead of his co-anchor as he does so. “Oh, you will?” the now-rival anchor questions back, humoured at the idea that his one-time ally has taken it upon himself to step up to the plate. “Look at how far you’ve come, Grant” Nalty quips aloud, his comment failing to phase his former ‘number two’ as the man continues forward.

“It feels like it wasn’t that long ago that you were the new guy in town not wanting to step on peoples’ toes” the besmirched anchor carries on, speaking from the stage in which his adversary proves his worth, “and now, you’ve gone on to conquer the national news.”

“What are you doing here?” Grant questions aloud, preventing his foe from continuing to wander down memory lane in the name of getting to the point of his arrival. Reacting with laughter at first, Nalty lets his eyes fall to the ground as the male anchor joins him upon the stage, watched on by the nine o’clock newsroom and the stars of the eight o’clock one.

“Relax, I didn’t come here to disrespect the sanctity of your turf” Nalty explains, holding his hands up in a show of surrender as his former friend stands before him, arms held at each side- but ready for a fight in the event that one were to come out of this interaction. “I only came here because I feel like there’s an apology that I should make for my actions” the man responsible for ending each of their time at CSN remarks, “now that I’m getting a second chance on television, I should make amends for my shortcomings from the first time.”

“Who the hell is letting you back on television?” Aiden questions from afar, having wanted to keep his nose clean now that Grant has the situation under control- something that hadn’t been true when Shane had phoned him about the uninvited guest minutes earlier. “The fat cunt at the Finley Network, who else do you think would take that kind of risk?” Taylor responds, answering on behalf of the man who she believes doesn’t deserve the respect of being able to answer it himself.

“They’re not giving you a second chance, they’re just using you to try and get at me” Grant corrects, refusing to carry his line of sight away from the eyes of the man he’d assumed had been put away for good less than a year prior. “True or not, I get the chance to make amends for my mistakes. Should I not?” Nalty queries, seeing little of an alternative, “I’ll be on television for two hours every night. Why should I not try to make amends for my wrong doings?”

“Because your sincerity isn't genuine” Grant answers, watching the masculine host-to-be of the rival broadcast roll his eyes and look away, his head slightly hanging as he takes in the response. “I had my career and reputation stolen from me. I’ve obviously seen the kind of thing that my actions have led to” Nalty remarks, unable to say much more than that before another voice interrupts him.

“You had nothing stolen from you” Taylor speaks out, re-earning Nalty’s attention whilst her fiance continues to stare daggers into the criminal’s eyes, “what you lost- you pissed it away.” Visibly displeased with the conclusion that’s been drawn, the former CSN anchor looks toward the ground before his former co-anchor adds onto the claim.

“And you know what you did was wrong. You made it a point the day after to make sure I wouldn’t squeal on you because you knew what you did was wrong” Grant tacks on, regaining the focus of the man that stands upon his home field, “if you weren’t sorry about it then, I’ve got no reason to believe that you’re sorry for any of it now.”

“If I don’t get to make good on my mistakes, why should you get to?” Nalty questions back, throwing defiance into the face of the nine o’clock anchor as he twists the metaphorical knife into his former partner-in-coverage’s past. “Why should I believe that you’re sorry for what you did? Why should anybody?” the new Finley newsman queries, his comments not sitting well within the man opposite him.

“Because I covered for you in a moment of weakness that I can never take back” Grant responds, earning a crossing of Nalty’s arms whilst he continues, “you raped a woman. After the fact, you ran around looking for people to cover it up, and when push came to shove- you married her so she wouldn’t testify against you if it came to that.”

“Well, I’ve allowed the two of us to amicably divorce since that happened. So, clearly I’ve made some sort of progress in coming to terms with what I did and accepting my faults” Nalty responds, swaying his head with no passing concern. “What is the point of you being here, Howard?” Grant questions aloud, tired of the constant circles that their conversation seems to be amidst making, “I know you’re not sorry, and I know you’re not here for any reason that I’d like. So why are you here?”

Looking off to the ceiling, Nalty lets the question sit in his head for a few seconds before the sound of another entrance catches his ear. “You have sixty seconds to get out of my building before I have security through you out through the windows” Robin calls out, storming through the front entrance and down the same centre of the aisles that her anchors had taken to the transparent stage.

“I don’t care what network you go to as long as the person that hires you knows that you stand no chance of making a dent into our market share” Robin continues, stepping past Taylor in an effort to climb the stage, “so go back to Russo and let him know that this ploy will not-” Kept from finishing her thought, the company’s chair woman falls silent as Grant calmly steps in front of her, gently resting his forearm against her side to prevent her from carrying on.

“Robin, please...” he speaks through placidity, locking eyes with the powerful woman as she remains quiet, allowing him to make his case, “...let me handle this?” Looking her male anchor in the eyes, Robin eventually redirects her sights toward the unwelcome visitor standing upon her stage, holding back her anger for him as she returns her focus toward Grant, who remains confident in his polite request.

Bowing her head in the form of an accepting nod, Robin takes a step back and frees the bureau’s focal point to be reclaimed by its male lead, respectfully bowing out of the business that isn’t hers to put to an end. “In all honesty, I was sent here by Russo. He told me how to sneak in and get up here without getting caught by security” Nalty confesses, taking on a more sincere tone than the semi-presentful one he’d entered the building with.

“I’m sure he wanted me to get in your head, but I don’t really care to” the disgraced newsman admits, letting his arms fall from their crossing against his chest, “I’m just a pawn in this war between the two of you- I’m just satisfied with getting a chance to be on television again.” Slightly narrowing his eyelids, Grant remains silent as he allows the man opposite himself to continue speaking, feeling like he’s finally found something worth hearing his adversary out over.

“I can’t stand here and say what you want to hear. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I got caught” Nalty continues, verbally cutting through thin skin and creating winces throughout the audience, but doing so with honesty at the least, “I lost my career and now I have to work at Finley. I get a chance to at least have some kind of career, so- I guess I’ll take it.”

“You shouldn’t even have that” Taylor mutters aloud, her comment heard by those currently occupying the stage, “I feel awful for the women that have to suffer with you in the workplace every day.” Deepening the shift in his mouth toward the corner of his face, Nalty takes the comment to heart before letting out a deep sigh, continuing along with the stance he’d intended to make.

“You’ve come into your own, Grant. Congratulations” Nalty concludes, shrugging his shoulders as he begins directing his body toward the steps that lead from the floor and to the stage, “I don’t care to do Burt Russo’s bidding for him. I figured that I might as well give you your credit while I’ve got the chance.”

Without anything further to add, Nalty’s imposing facade falls as he descends to the newsroom’s floor, keeping his hands to himself as he steps past Taylor, who holds an intense glare at him as he passes. Stepping into the presence of the security standing just beyond the bureau’s front entry, the newest member of the Finley Network departs without a peep, leaving those that call the premises home to stew with his presence in the wake of its absence.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Thursday, January 10th, 2008 /
\ 9:38 pm est. - 6:38 pm pst. /

“Richardson’s departure from the race comes on the same day one of his now-former opponents across the aisle nets a high-ranking endorsement” Grant carries on, reading from the teleprompter as canned footage of the most-recent Democratic nominee plays as an overlay. “Former Democratic nominee John Kerry- who lost to President Bush in the election of 2004- officially endorsed Senator Obama’s campaign for the presidency” the man explains whilst his executive producer offers direction to his colleague.

“Throw it to commercial and regroup as we get Brant Washington in via satellite” Shane remarks, watching the monitor that hosts the view of his hard camera as the female anchor taps her pen against the desk twice. “When we come back, we’ll be joined by Brant Washington to speak with us about the growing concerns that Americans have for the state of the economy” Grant explains, “in addition, we’ll continue our on-going coverage of the other network’s Republican debate.”

“We’ll be right back- don’t go anywhere” Taylor finishes off with a smile, watching as the solid, red glow of the light over her specific camera cuts off, signalling the broadcast’s break. “Two and a half until return” Shane calmly remarks, stepping away from the wall of monitors before venturing toward the direction of his office.

Seated at the desk of the eight o’clock time slot, Aiden watches the broadcast that succeeds his own from the chair that his anchor would normally occupy, having begun the process of fixing the levels beneath the nine o’clock offices with televisions just as he had years prior on his other show. To the left of LMC’s broadcast resides the one hosted by CSN, where the Republican candidates fighting to succeed Bush as the party’s nominee for president duke it out from behind podiums.

Called to answer the device ringing in his pocket, Aiden keeps his eyes glued to the screen not amidst a commercial break and presses his thumb upon the green-coloured button. “Aiden Redwood, executive producer of eight o’clock” he greets, only to hear the ruffling of papers precede his friend’s voice.

“Are you coming back to the apartment tonight or should I assume you’ve fully patched things up with Carly?” the nine o’clock producer inquires, still seated at his desk with a passing glance at the television in his office’s corner, watching the same debates as the man downstairs. “Things are going smoothly for the moment. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight” Aiden replies, satisfying the acquaintance that hurries to end the call he’d interrupted his job to make.

“Sounds good, have fun” Shane retorts, hanging up the phone just as quickly as he’d dialled his pal’s number, allowing the eight o’clock showrunner to do the same. “Have you finally moved back in with Carly?” Doug wonders aloud, asking from the desk that he occupies away from the corner in which Aiden resides, joined alongside his fellow producers as they collectively oversee the CSN debates.

“We’re not putting a label on anything yet” the executive producer answers, sliding his cell phone back into the pocket of his slacks, “for now, all I’m doing is ‘staying the night’ until further notice.” Nodding in agreement, Doug leans back in his seat with one foot kicked atop an empty seat he uses as a stool to rest his limb upon, eyes falling back upon the monitor as the few remaining employees still hanging around the office take toward minding their business.

“Hey, what are gonna do about Finley’s show crossing into our time slot?” Colin questions aloud, growing tired of hearing the repetitive cycles that the Republican candidates allow their talking points to create. “Why would we do anything?” Aiden asks back, preventing his eyes from pulling away from the screen as he addresses the question.

“Because they’re taking their primetime show against us?” Colin replies, answering the question as asked as if it were warranting a reply. “And that doesn’t scare me one bit” Aiden reassures, one foot resting atop Carly’s workspace whilst the other sits on the ground, his anchor’s seat having been reclined a slight amount for more comfortable viewing, “Finley’s audience is a bunch of older people who find it a necessity to stock up on tin foil. Our audience is old and young, but we’re growing in the latter.”

“So, we’re not going to counter-program?” Colin questions back, earning a chuckle and a squint from the executive producer. “The moves that Finley’s making are just petty acts of retaliation against the guys upstairs for stuff behind-the-scenes. His move has nothing to do with us” Aiden clarifies, shaking his head as he reaches for the half-drunk bottle of beer within arm’s reach of him, “he’s just trying to send a message to them. He’ll fail like anyone else that makes business decisions out of spite does.”

“I get your point, but that still doesn’t explain why we wouldn’t counter-program” Joey tacks on, only for their immediate superior to answer on Aiden’s behalf. “The Finley Network’s extension of nine o’clock won’t affect us even the slightest amount. They’re trying to send a message and we’re not scared of them” Doug points out, breaking their motivation down into bullet points, “counter-programming is a way of insinuating that we feel their presence against us is worrying. It’s not.”

“But our audience is pretty old in some spots too. I mean, we do have three percent more viewers in the ‘49+’ range than their eight o’clock does” Colin corrects, looking at his superior whilst doing so, “we’re making headway into the younger demographic, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we can afford to lose the older audience we already have.”

“We won’t” Carly interjects, stepping out of her office with her dark locks of hair tied into a messy bun, approaching the desk whilst wearing a casual t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. “Aside from not necessarily being a bunch of conspiracy hacks, the older group doesn’t just watch me for my journalistic integrity” the anchor clarifies, putting a classy spin on the effect of her appearance’s appeal on the older generation as she steps toward the corner of the office.

“We’re not counter-programming their eight o’clock hour because we don’t need to” Aiden explains, leaning further in the anchor’s chair to make room for his girlfriend to take a seat upon his lap. “I appreciate your concern for the work we’ve done thus far, but Colin... you don’t need to worry” the E.P assures, providing the man with a nod of confident reassurance, “Finley’s not going to get anywhere with us.”

“I’m not worried” Colin clarifies, the certain tone that he takes in his declaration proving to convince his immediate superiors just the slightest amount. “I’m, or- what I was trying to...” the man explains, only to let his head fall and shake with refusal, “nevermind.” With a curious squint, the eight o’clock producer and the anchor upon his lap bypass the face of Brant Washington as it pops up on the broadcast fed to the nation from a few levels above their heads in favour of their colleague’s own.

“No, no... tell us” Aiden assures, offering the man enough of a floor to convince Doug to turn his focus toward the subordinates as well, “we’re all open here. If you’ve got something to say, it’s better said than kept to yourself.”

“He thinks that- if he has an idea that sounds stupid or doesn’t work- you’d think he wasn’t good at coming up with new ideas” Joey explains, taking over for the man who fails to find a voice for himself. “Colin and I were brainstorming new ways to connect with the audience we’ve gotten online other than just posting to message boards and replying to them” the associate producer carries on.

Staying silent, Aiden joins alongside his girlfriend in carrying their sights toward the subject in question, intrigued by the idea that’s presented. “People throw shit at the wall that doesn’t stick all the time. That doesn’t mean they never get the chance to see what does, Colin” Carly says, resting the back of her head against her lover’s chest, “unless you get a reputation of throwing things at the wall that never stick, we’re not going to take your ideas with a grain of salt.”

“Conspiracy theorists or not, we can’t really afford to lose the older audience just yet. We do either have to find a way to keep them around, or to hurry up our in-roads with the younger one” Colin rebuttals, explaining himself as coherently as his social awkwardness will allow him. “I’m not saying we directly counter-program Finley’s show, but we are the only primetime show doing something different with the time slot we’ve got” he carries forward, “why not work outside our parameters while we’re at it?”

Hearing the man’s point, Aiden focuses his sight upon the associate producer for a few seconds in silence before glancing toward his immediate subordinate. With a momentary look of intrigue, Doug takes his pupils from the carpeted floor and toward the man and woman on the stage a short distance away, shrugging with a semi-interest in what’s presented.

“Alright, Colin...” Aiden responds, reaching toward the remote that had rested beside the beer bottle his girlfriend now takes for herself, muting the Republican debates to bring a substantial quiet upon the bureau, “...what do you propose?”

|

\ Monday, January 14th, 2008 /
\ 11:31 am est. - 8:31 am pst. /

“All that I’m saying is that there’s no point in covering the debates any further” Grant explains, seated opposite Shane with a coffee in hand. “We know who the two front-runners are on the left and which guy the establishment wants on the right. We’re wasting our time with this coverage” the man continues, looking toward each side of the conference table that his colleagues line across, “I’d rather devote more time to focusing on the ones that could be our next commander in chief and dissect their talking points and historical stances.”

“That’d pretty much be firing Clinton so far out of the race for the nomination that she’d be rocketed into space” Marcus points out, watching the male anchor’s nodding head react to him as he sips at his coffee. “With the kind of skeletons she has in her war chest? Good” Grant replies, setting his cup back upon the table as he continues, “McCain’s not going to win the presidency anyway with how the nation perceives the last eight years of Bush. We might as well tell them exactly who their next president is.”

“Obama’s been in the senate for a single term. Clinton’s got so much baggage in this thing that even her husband’s little adventures get lost in them” Olivia points out, resting against her seat with one leg kicked over the other, “like Marcus said- you’d practically be handing Obama the nomination.”

“I’d rather take the things I don’t know about Obama than the things that I do know about Clinton” Taylor interjects, standing in the corner of the room with her arms crossed, “I’m pretty sure I’m not in the minority of the American opinion in saying that, too.”

“And that’s the point. Americans aren’t stupid enough to blindly vote someone in because they’re a woman. They want a thorough vetting of each candidate and a comfort in knowing that they’re aware of who they’re casting their ballots for” Grant explains, snapping his fingers before pointing toward Shane at the opposite end of the table, “if there’s anything that differentiates us from the pricks over at Finley, it’s that.”

“The fact that we’re not going after Democrats for stoking flames of terrorism or whatever the hell they target them for at Finley also helps. Our criticisms are fair” Shane corrects, leaning forward in his seat to take another look at the script sitting in front of him. “With that said, Romney isn’t that far behind from historical precedent and Edwards did still finish second in Iowa- he’s the Democrat’s golden child, after all” the executive producer explains.

“I wouldn’t imagine they’d put their chips in his corner after how bad Kerry lost in ‘04, and I doubt they’re investing anything into him now that his affair surfaced” Taylor argues, stepping up to the table to reclaim the coffee cup she’d left beside her fiance’s own, “It’s a race between Obama and Clinton, and since Edwards still finished ahead of Clinton in Iowa- I’m inclined to believe it’s Obama’s for the taking.”

“And a good chunk of America is following suit, which is why it’s important to properly vet these candidates” Grant explains, extending his arm toward the monitor with a feed of his former employer, “I don’t agree with their corporate practices, but at least CSN is getting with the same program. They’re ditching Edwards, Romney, and Giuliani in favour of focusing on the main three.”

“Alright, alright... fine” Shane concedes, liting one hand to the anchors that fight for the shift in their coverage of the race before extending a finger toward them, “but if this blows up in our faces- it’s on you two.”

“This isn’t a hill for us to die on, it’s a speed bump... we’ll take our chances there” Taylor assures, patting the table with the top halves of her fingers with satisfaction, “alright- meeting’s dismissed. Marcus, I want you at the red desk. Everyone else just stays the course.” As instructed, the crew spill out of the transparent box one after another, returning to their duties as the show rolls on, their responsibilities made clear.

Being left as the final two to occupy the space, the engaged anchors take seats beside each other without uttering a word at first, simply taking in the sounds of feet storming around beyond their compartment in the name of getting to work. “Are you really not phased by Nalty heading back to T.V?” Taylor questions aloud, lifting the inquiry through the lack of disruption that had unfolded around them.

“Why would I be? He’s a ghost of my past that I’ve already put to bed” Grant responds, resting one arm upon his lap whilst the other holds his coffee cup beneath his chin, “what Finley decides to let into their building isn’t up for me to control, so I’m not going to let something beyond my power get the best of me.”

With a warming smile, Taylor rests her dominant arm against the table and looks into her fiance’s eyes, feeling the seconds pass as they could physically touch her before guiding her free hand to the man’s face. “I’m really proud of you” she confesses, earning a pleased smile from her lover, their faces being brought together for a kiss to show the male anchor’s appreciation for her remarks.

“The fact that you can stomach looking me in the eyes after how we first met tells me all that I need to know that you’re telling me the truth” Grant retorts, following suit resting his hand against the side of his fiance’s face, “I love you so goddamn much.” Taking in another kiss, the anchors continue to remain about their business whilst Aiden watches on, having just entered the nine o’clock newsroom through the front before looking on with a smile.

Not wanting to interrupt the anchors’ moment, their former showrunner returns the way he’d arrived and makes for the lift to the eight o’clock floor once more. Entering his newsroom, the eight o’clock producer takes a glance toward Carly’s office with a smile, seeing her silhouette through the frost glass before turning his focus to the two associate producers who’d taken his interest prior to the weekend.

“Alright, Joey, Colin, and Doug...” Aiden proclaims, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone, sending a text message to his significant other that had been typed along the journey of his return. Watching the eyes of the three men he’d called out for take toward his direction, the eight o’clock producer dips his cell phone back into his pocket before watching his girlfriend’s figure step out from her desk, approaching the exit to her office upon receiving his message, “...let’s make our pitch.”

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 31 Jan 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e5-putting-boots-on-the-ground\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 9:12 am est. - 6:12 am pst. /

“Yes, Nicole?” Vickers queries, looking over the cheaters that sit atop the bridge of his nose as he takes the woman knocking at his open door’s frame. “You have a visitor” the woman responds, leaning halfway into the room as the office’s occupant motions his hand toward himself and replies. “Send her in” the man quips, snatching the glasses off of his face and setting them down at the base of the computer’s monitor.

“It’s actually a he” Nicole corrects, catching her immediate superior by surprise, his face taking toward the empty chairs at the front of the room as he wonders who it could be. “Alright, then. Send him in” the company’s president doubles down, adjusting the jacket he wears over his person before turning in his chair to face the door his secretary now retreats from. For a few seconds, Vickers remains seated in his silence, awaiting the sight of a face that doesn’t take much longer in letting himself in.

“Do you have a second to talk briefly?” Joshua Lane queries, taking the older gentleman by surprise at his appearance, though not enough surprise to prevent him from presenting a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure, kid? I thought you’d be working remotely by now” Vickers remarks, stepping out of his seat to approach the younger man with an extended hand, “still climbing the corporate ladder from within, huh?”

“It’s not the city that I mind, it’s the people in it. Well, some of them” Josh replies, reciprocating the handshake as he remains standing, not wanting to sit down in the name of preventing himself from staying longer than necessary. “Listen, I’d really like to say that I came down here to have a friendly chat, but I can’t with a straight face” the young businessman explains, passing a quick glance around the room as he lowers his voice just a slight amount, “I’m actually here to give you a head’s up.”

“I’ve adjusted my finances over the last few months. Don’t worry, you won’t be the first person to tell me that the market’s about to crash” Vickers assures with a grin, only to fall into a modest confusion once more, seeing the refusal in the opposite man’s shake of the head. “No, it’s got nothing to do with the market. Besides, everyone knows it’s about to plummet. At least, they should” Josh corrects, wearing a visibly concerned expression on his face.

“I don’t like when young, smart people start speaking in vague tongues. Old people at least have the wherewithal to rip the bandage off” Vickers responds, sliding his hands into his pockets as he mentally prepares for unwelcome news. “I’m assuming that you haven’t read my email?” Josh wonders aloud, taking the lack of change in the company president’s face to insinuate just that, “I sent you one before the long weekend, but I didn’t get it off until late in the day.”

“I’ve only been in the office for about an hour now and haven’t even looked at a computer since Friday. What’s going on?” the older gentleman questions again, watching his younger acquaintance lower his head and nod. “Howard Nalty’s back in New York” Josh answers, metaphorically ripping off the bandage that he’d seemingly been wished to, “I’ve got a friend who snapped pictures and sent them my way, so I forwarded them to you. He got in Friday afternoon.”

“I don’t understand, why is he back here?” Vickers wonders, shaking his head as he’s unable to make sense of the change in scenery taken on by the besmirched anchor. “Listen, the only thing that I know is that he got in on Friday afternoon and- to my knowledge- he’s still here” Josh explains, watching as his acquaintance turns to the side and walks toward the back of his own office, trying to rationalise the renewed appearance in any way that he can.

“I was confident that whatever he was here for wasn’t something that could just be speedily-moved along, so I figured that I’d let you enjoy your weekend if you hadn’t already gotten the email” Josh explains, shrugging his shoulders without much more to offer. “You’re one of the few people in this city that I actively like and respect. As for Nalty, I can’t tolerate the guy’s presence” the young, corporate success-story explains, “I wanted to give you a head’s up.”

With his brows furrowed, Vickers approaches the window of his office and stares out at the city from above, one hand having slid out of his pocket in favour of settling upon his hip. Struggling to find sense in returning to the home one was exiled in, the president loses himself deep into thought for a few seconds before suddenly remembering the presence that remains behind him.

“Thank you, Josh. I’ll... Well, I don’t really know what I’ll do from here” the older man rejoinders, glancing over his shoulder to the office’s guest before watching the younger man nod and walk off. Returning to his seclusion, Vickers frees the hand opposite his hip-sitting limb and uses it to stroke his chin, genuinely bewildered as to the point of such an old foe making his presence felt once more.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 11:34 am est. - 8:34 am pst. /

“No, we don’t need to put any kind of thoughts into their heads” Vickers explains, pacing around the room with a hand on his hip whilst his superior occupies his chair and his leading co-anchor’s agent sits in one of the simple ones opposite his desk. “I still have an obligation to make sure my client is well-informed” Bruce doubles down, leaning against the back of his seat with his non-dominant arm draped atop.

“No, you have an obligation to put your client in the best-possible position he can be in” Vickers corrects, pausing his stroll from one side of the room to the other with his finger pointing at the well-dressed professional, “making wild assumptions about why that dirty bastard is back in town is not the best-possible position for him.”

“Allowing Nalty to get the jump on him isn’t the best-possible position either” Bruce responds, forced to redirect his gaze to the same place in the office that the interjecting voice emanates from. “Nothing is preferable in this position, but Vickers’ point is much more concrete” Robin explains, extending her hand toward her subordinate’s figure, “Nalty could be here to tie up loose ends or close in on a real estate deal. Something not worth getting riled up over.”

“Okay. Do I need to remind the two of you what Nalty has done in the past?” Bruce questions aloud, placing the sides of both hands against his thighs, “do I really need to refresh your brains about the drive by shooting he likely orchestrated to kill Grant?” Showing his teeth as he winces, Vickers hangs his head and begins pacing once more, quickly accepting the fact that he holds little argument against such a recollection.

“Nalty is the reason that I still use a bulletproof briefcase. How the hell can we justify not telling Grant about him when it could literally be the difference between life and death?” Bruce doubles down, raising the question toward the woman occupying her president’s chair. “He’s got a really good point, Robin” Vickers confesses, admittedly coming around to the mindset that the man’s agent has brought upon them.

“I know he does, but there’s still the issue of not knowing why Nalty’s back in town” Robin assures, only for the non-employed party of the three to add emphasis. “And if Josh Lane found out about this four or five days ago, how long is it until the tabloids pick it up?” Bruce queries, watching reservation take shape in the chair woman's face, “what will Grant say if he has to hear about Nalty being here because page six prints it instead of it coming from us?”

“Alright, alright... I hear you” Robin concedes, holding the palms of her hands toward the agent’s face, staring defeatedly at the ground with her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. For a few seconds, she sits within the presence of a silent room as she contemplates how to approach the issue that appears to be on hand. Feeling like he’s made his point well enough to be confident in a preferable decision to be made by the CEO herself, Bruce sits back in his chair and lifts one leg over the other.

“We’ll tell Grant and Taylor- in private- and ask them to keep it under wraps” Robin decides, placing the tips of her non-dominant hand’s fingertips atop the solid desktop, “we’ll explain that we don’t know what he’s doing here, and all we know is that he landed at JFK sometime last Friday afternoon.”

“Should we tell them that we’re trying to find out what he’s doing here?” Vickers wonders from a few paces behind the seated agent, only to receive a shake of the chair woman’s head in return. “No, because that would be a lie. I don’t care why Nalty’s here, I just care that he is and it’s going to cause a problem with my premier anchors” Robin concludes, following Bruce’s lead in lifting one leg over the other.

“Nicole!” Vickers proclaims, calling out for the woman that leaves her secretary’s desk and reaches his doorway within seconds, “do me a favour and ring Grant Haste and Taylor English’s office for me, please? Let them know that I’d like to speak with them in my office urgently.” Nodding, the employee ventures off to do as instructed, leaving the three parties that remain to patiently await the anchors’ arrival.

Scratching his forehead as he begins traipsing toward his office’s windows, Vickers returns his gaze to the city below whilst Robin hangs her head, gently bouncing her elevated leg atop the smooth thigh of the one beneath it. Rounding out the trio, Bruce swipes at his recently-cut hair whilst continuing to lean against the seat, staring off at the corner of the room as the seconds pass before his eyelids inch closer together, a genuine wonderment carried through his visage.

“Hey, guys?” the man asks aloud, re-earning the attention of the company’s chair woman and her on-duty president as he continues staring into blank space, raising the subject of his puzzlement through the silence that the moment presents him with, “you don’t think Burt Russo has anything to do with this, do you?”

With the same expression that he’d carried toward Bruce, Vickers’ eyes direct themselves instantly to the woman at his desk, the lack of a shift in his visage not changing the fact that his eyes spell the look of someone genuinely curious as to the answer. Looking back to the man near the windows, Robin begins to glare with an angry scowl as the seconds pass, growing too discomforted with the thought to control it.

“Son of a bitch” Robin whispers, slamming her hands against the swivel chair’s armrests before ascending to her feet, “you two let the pair know what’s going on... I have somewhere to go.”

|

\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 12:13 pm est. - 9:13 am pst. /

“Well, it’s certainly not welcomed news” Grant responds in a breath-heavy sigh, hunched forward with his elbows digging into his thighs as he sits opposite Vickers’ desk. “I know, and I’m sorry” the older man explains, finally getting to occupy his own chair whilst staring at the disheartened and perturbed anchors before him, “it’s not the news that any of us want, but we’re all going to have to hope for a good outcome.”

“There’s never a good outcome with Nalty” Taylor responds, seated beside her fiance as he stares at the ground, the palm of her hand resting atop the man’s right arm. “And neither of you know what he’s doing here?” Grant questions aloud, looking up from the carpeted floor in favour of the men that stand across from him, “you just know he flew in, got off the plane on Friday and hasn’t left yet?”

“What we know for certain is what you now know for certain” Bruce assures, standing to the president’s right with his knuckles pressing against the desktop, “anything else is just wild speculation. All of it would be baseless and the kind of shit reserved for assholes printing in gossip columns.”

“What’s the speculation?” Taylor queries, narrowing her eyelids just slightly as the quandary is met with silence at first, the lack of an immediate answer prompting her fiance to look up at the pair. Shrugging his shoulders with slightly-parted lips, Bruce shakes his head without certainty whilst Vickers looks at the ground, leaning against the left side of his seat as the question still goes unanswered.

“Are either of you going to respond?” Grant questions aloud, watching his agent look toward the man beside him, who still continues to look at the ground up to the point in which his second anchor calls their hush into focus. “He could be here for anything” Vickers responds, shaking his head without any clear conclusion to reply with, “this could be a real estate deal. Or he could be meeting with a financier about what to do when the market plummets.”

“Or he may not have permanent residency in Italy and has to come back for a short period of time in order to not overstay his welcome with their government” Bruce adds on, finding his line of thought to be amongst the more reasonable suggestions. “Or he could be what Burt was talking about when he said he’d make us pay for snatching the shares off of him” Taylor tacks in, re-earning his fiance’s attention as his face takes toward her.

Looking at the side of the woman’s face as she continues to stare at the men opposite them, Grant eventually follows her line of sight to find a pair of disappointed and glum faces. “He did say he wasn’t afraid to tarnish Finley’s reputation if it meant getting back at us, didn’t he?” Taylor calls into question, only stoking the fire that brings her fiance’s concerns to light, “with how far their reputation is in the toilet already, how would he squander it any further than by hiring a rapist?”

“The concern crossed our minds and I have a feeling Robin just went out to get answers herself” Bruce retorts, defying the dialogue he and the company president had agreed on in light of the female anchor’s discovery. “So that’s why they decided to change their format over there...” Grant mutters beneath his breath, though loud enough for the rest of the room to hear as he nods his head and looks away, “...to paint the hour before and during our show with a ghost from my past.”

“I’d wish them luck in trying to find an anchor willing to sit beside him for two hours each night if that’s the case, but I’m sure some random whore would snap at the opportunity to get on T.V no matter the cost” Vickers responds, giving into the shift of the narrative they’d attempted to keep from ‘doomsday think’ and running along with the new course.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Nalty’s an excellent anchor” Grant confesses, wearing a frown on his face as the rest of those in the room turn their focus to him. “If you think that I’m any good, it’s because- for better or worse- I learned from him” the male nine o’clock showrunner quips, “he’s a disgusting human being, but he’s very good at what he does. Even if the public sees him as a rapist, there will still be a good amount of people that will give in and watch his show because of how much they liked his on-air work.”

“If he wants to get anywhere with any of that, he’ll have to go through an hour of the most attractive eight o’clock anchor out there and a second one of the greatest duo on the airwaves” Vickers defiantly refutes, stepping out of his chair with command as he adjusts his suit jacket, “Nalty doesn’t stand a chance in this war.”

“Of course he doesn’t. But neither does Burt Russo” Grant sighs, pushing himself out of his seat whilst his fiance follows suit. “If this whole thing is a ploy to get back at us for costing him a spot in the company, he’s going after the wrong person. I don’t give a damn what Nalty does” the male anchor remarks, shaking his head with a lack of concern in his expression, “Nalty is old news to me. Sure, he’ll be some stiff competition professionally. But seeing his face on television won’t do a damn thing to me.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just the Grant that wants to put on a strong facade speaking?” Bruce questions aloud whilst the company’s president joins the rest in climbing to his feet, “it’s alright if you’re not okay with this... You shouldn’t be.”

“You were there when I confronted him, Bruce. There wasn’t a damn thing left for me to do with that asshole once I’d left” Grant replies, not an ounce of hesitancy within his voice, “I mean it. He wanted me to hit him and I didn’t. The only one in control that day was me, and until the day that I die... I’m going to remain in control.”

“If this is what’s happening, you’re really okay with it?” Vickers asks for the sake of clarity, looking at the man with both uncertainty and a striking amount of belief in what’s being said. “Well, I’m not going to like it. But as far as losing my mind over it, I’m not letting that filthy prick get in my head” Grant responds, unwavering in his defiance to the assumed ploy of their rival network, “the only person I’ve had nights staying awake over is Kelsi, and that’s for an entirely different reason. Nalty is nothing but a sour memory I no longer care to think about or feel like I have to walk around eggshells over.”

“And you’re sure about that?” Bruce asks for the sake of absolute certainty, truly believing the claims that his client makes. “I’m not stuttering, Bruce. I couldn’t care less about what he does now- I just hope it doesn’t involve hurting other people” Grant declares, firm in his stance and genuine in the belief, “as far as I’m concerned, there are some people that he can still hurt... but I’m not one of them.”

|

\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 12:40 pm est. - 9:40 am pst. /

“You’re signing Howard Nalty to broadcast your evening show, aren’t you?” Robin questions aloud, storming into the office of the Finley operator to the reaction of a giddy smile, “I knew you’d stoop to that kind of low, you obese faggot. How the hell do you think this is going to work out for you?”

“If you’re asking me that question, I’ll take it that you haven’t heard about my newest appointee to the board of directors here, have you?” Burt replies from behind his desk, sitting before the backdrop of a massive window stretching from one side of the room to the other, reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

“You mean Reece Rocha? Am I supposed to be phased by that bellcow bottom?” Robin questions back with hands firmly pressing into her hips, an eyebrow raised over her right eye, “he’s the kind of skinny fat that’d get cut due to budget constraints even if he were the CEO himself. He’s worth nothing anywhere.”

“If you think I assigned him to the board because he’s the key to toppling your empire over at Leicester, you’ve got the wrong impression of my motivations” Burt rejoinders whilst staring at the screen of his computer, “and that’s on you, because I’ve gone out of my way to tell you exactly what I plan on doing.”

“Making our lives a living hell? Do you think Reece Rocha and Howard Nalty- or the panty-wearer and the panty-sniffer, as I like to call them- is going to get that done?” Robin questions back with a chuckle. “It’s clearly got you worked up enough to storm down to my building, climb the seventy floors to my office, and wager every kind of insult you and that big head of yours can think of on the fly” Burt rebukes.

“I came up with a few new ones in the car, don’t you worry- my big head has plenty of storage to remember them all” Robin snipes back, earning a slight chuckle out of the overweight company figurehead. “You’re sacrificing your flagship broadcast in the name of trying to take potshots at- and get in the heads of- my employees” she doubles down, calling the man’s motivations into question.

“Yes, Robin. Because that’s what war is” Russo rejoinders as the visiting executive’s eyes begin to roll, “do you think I’m oblivious as to what kind of audience watches my network?” Crossing her arms as she remains standing at the man’s desk, Robin keeps her lips pressed together in the name of earning insight out of the obese man seated opposite her.

“I could put a Nazi on my airwaves, and as long as he takes shots at Democrats for twenty minutes each night and calls them devil worshippers- my audience will watch” Burt replies, turning his focus away from the computer monitor and toward his uninvited guest. “I’m not sacrificing my premier broadcast so much as I am evolving it” the Finley Network operator corrects, “unlike you and your misguided idea of where this industry is going, I’m preparing for the real future.”

“What’s the title of your nine o’clock show, again?” Robin wonders aloud, immediately receiving her answer of, “News Tonight, but it’ll be rebranded to National News Tonight when it starts the two hour format.”

“Is your idea of the industry’s future ‘National News Tonight with Dr. Feels Good’ and whatever dumb, blonde slut you’re gonna send out there with her tits pushed up to her chin?” Robin queries to her adversary’s genuine amusement, “I think my prediction of this industry’s future is a lot more viable than yours.”

“Haha. ‘Dumb, blonde, slut’. Yeah, that’s who we’re putting beside him” Burt laughs to himself in a subdued manner, “I’ll give you this, Robin... You’re very funny.”

“Thanks, I learned by watching the clowns I’d eventually usurp to snatch my company away from their pie-covered hands” Robin quips, continuing to wear a grin as the man opposite her carries on. “The future of the industry is just bumping up our individual biases to eleven. Democrats rag on goofy Republicans by calling them fascists, and Republicans rag on uptight Democrats by calling them psychopaths” Russo predicts, “morals are a dying breed around our line of work.”

“Yeah, and you stabbed it in the chest to begin its extinction in the first place” Robin assures, watching the man opposite her extend his arms in a show of triumph. “I’m a trendsetter, what can I say?” Burt responds, taking the insult on his chin and changing it to be taken as a compliment.

“This isn’t going to end well for you. This will be a P.R nightmare that you’ll never recover from” the LMC chair woman explains, getting no effect out of her claims, however. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a business move, this is a personal move. I’m not out to beat you at doing better business, I’m out to beat you at war” Burt explains, climbing out of his seat and walking around his desk to stand directly opposite his visitor, “the only reason that I’m manning the troops is because you fired the first shot.”

“If you’re firing from this tower of yours, I think you’re sorely mistaken if you’re of the belief that you’ll be able to even land a shot on mine” Robin defiantly remarks, watching the arrogant grin spread across the puffy cheeks of the Finley Network chairman.

“I find it funny that you’re talking about landing shots on each other as if the point of war weren’t to put boots on the ground” Burt replies, deepening his smile as he and Robin maintain eye contact, the woman’s lids narrowing closer together as the man speaks, “because if we’re talking about putting boots on the ground in the other’s building... Who’s to say I don’t already have them there right now?”

Her curious glare dropping into a straight face with rooted anger buried within, Robin stares at the overweight man’s face as she takes his comments into thought. For a few seconds, she remains standing opposite her adversary before retreating, turning her back to the man’s frame and making for the direction in which she’d entered whilst Burt chuckles to himself, returning to the work at his desk.

|

\ Wednesday, January 2nd, 2008 /
\ 1:35 pm est. - 10:35 am pst. /

Exiting the lift at their desired floor, Grant and Taylor calmly make their way back to the newsroom, their hands coupled together as they venture through the corridor and toward the bureau. “I believe you” the female anchor remarks, not needing to clarify what she’d meant by the claim in order for her fiance to know what she’s alluding to. “I know you do” the man replies, looking at her with a smile before leaning in for a kiss, their lips’ embrace ending as they step through the panopticon’s entrance.

To the collective sound of chairs turning amidst a silence that’s impossible to miss, the nine o’clock anchors arrive back to the level they’d departed a few hours prior with every producer centring their eyes upon them. Not taking long to notice this reaction, the stars of the primetime broadcast look out to the crowd of desks to see a plethora of wide eyes and uneasy expressions, some carrying the weight of anger whilst others just appear incredibly uncomfortable.

“I heard you got engaged!” a man’s voice proclaims from behind the desk atop the newsroom’s transparent stage, climbing out of Grant’s seat to the left of the hard camera to stand upright. Immediately recognising the voice, the broadcast’s male anchor looks past his colleagues and to the visitor that had awaited his return from the comfort of his seat.

“That’s wonderful news! As long as it endures, marriage is a beautifully-symbolic representation of the undying love that two people have for each other” Howard remarks, dressed in casual wear and with a grin from ear to ear whilst locking eyes with Grant, “even if it doesn’t manage to stay the course, the contractual obligations that come with marriage make it impossible to escape each other.”

Though staring with a great displeasure carried through his visage, Grant’s expression doesn’t seem to be all that phased by the unexpected appearance of his past. “Everyone give it up for the happy couple!” Howard commands, putting his hands together for the lovers whilst the rest of the newsroom remains audibly still, watching on as spectators to whatever interaction is about to unfold, incapable of ignoring the words that Nalty utters, “what we have here is really meant to last!”

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 24 Jan 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e4-auld-lang-syne-part-ii\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 10:43 pm est. - 7:43 pm pst. /

“I don’t understand what the problem is with some of you men!” Carly explains, standing beside her executive producer’s right hand man as he hunches over his desk with a pen in hand, “we’re entering a brand new year, there are slightly-inebriated women scattered all around this place willing to judge you on a slightly-more favourable scale, and the three of you are sitting at your desks working.”

“We have to oversee the message boards! It’s crucial to connecting with the demographic!” Doug jokes, replying with outright honesty despite carrying a humoured tone to it. Saying nothing, Carly waves her hands toward the man and gestures for him to move aside, “can you film videos and post them to this thing?” she queries.

“Yeah, do you want us to help you with it?” Joey responds from the desk directly opposite Doug’s, standing out from his chair expecting an affirmative response. “No, I want you to show me how to” Carly corrects, pulling up an empty chair from nearby and taking a seat in front of the computer. Taking the mouse into her hand, the eight o’clock anchor directs the cursor toward where her senior producer advises her.

Pulling up a camera feed and instinctively pressing record, Carly takes a sip from her tall glass of champagne and addresses the community they’ve cultivated online. “Hi. It’s Carly, and I speak on behalf of everyone here at On-Air in thanking you for following along with the work we’re doing here at eight o’clock” the woman begins, addressing their online audience whilst the producers who’d helped her navigate to them cross their arms and patiently await the conclusion of her remarks.

“We’re currently in an office party, there are a ton of good-looking women here, they are all drinking, and my crew needs to get laid” she continues rather bluntly, amusing those that stand around within her vicinity. “I’m sure you’ll understand that these opportunities are few and far between, and they need to capitalise on them... Some more so than others” Carly continues with a giggle, passing a subtle head-bob in the direction of Colin, “for the rest of the night, eight o’clock is signing off from the internet. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

As quickly as she’d begun the impromptu address, Carly severs communication with their fanbase and pats Doug on the chest, leaving her seat before passing off her champagne glass. “Start drinking, start socialising, start sleeping around, and leave the hangovers and slut walks to being problems you’ll deal with tomorrow” the anchor carries on, retreating with a smirk on her face, “happy fucking new year’s!”

Accepting the terms in which they’d been freed from their responsibilities, Carly begins wandering toward the office at the back of the newsroom, not even bothering to make a detour for another glass of champagne along the way. “I’m gonna tell you the same thing that I-” she proclaims whilst letting herself into the room, finding the desk of her executive producer stacked with clutter and a lamp that’s always left on without the employee in attendance.

Curiously looking around the room, the anchor takes notice of the mountains of clutter that are always present before stepping forward, advancing upon the desk that still remains as unoccupied as she’d taken it to be upon entering. Confused, she glances toward the room’s entrance once more before carrying on, grabbing a hold of the man’s phone and punching in the number she’d memorised by heart.

“Are you at the office?” Carly inquires once she hears the other line to connect to her desired caller. “No, I’m on the couch at home” Aiden replies with a deeper voice than he’d normally carry, his words slow and sluggish in ways that immediately sound off. “Did I wake you up?” the eight o’clock anchor questions back, noticing the off-nature of her executive producer’s voice whilst taking a seat in his unoccupied office chair.

“Yeah, I’m sick” Aiden answers, rubbing his eyes as he lays beneath a blanket on the chesterfield, only able to make out light through the orange glow of street lamps spilling through the slits of his blinds. “I’d say that I feel like death, but I feel like death would be a lot kinder to me than this” the man explains, clearly backed up and congested as he’s pulled out of his slumber.

“Is there anyone looking after you or are you just up there alone?” Carly wonders aloud, resting her free arm’s elbow against the hardwood desktop as she leans over the workspace. “Shane’s at the office. He offered to stay, but I didn’t want him missing the party because of me” Aiden answers, groggy and exhausted in his delivery as he rolls over in bed, pressing his Blackberry to the side of his head, “I’m just gonna sleep it off and load myself full of drugs if I don’t feel better by tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure you’re alright up there by yourself?” Carly reiterates, staring toward the front of his office as their communication continues, an obvious look of concern carried in her face. “There isn’t anything I need that I don’t have now” Aiden responds, letting out a soft sigh as he sinks into the soft comfort of the couch he willingly sleeps upon, “enjoy the party. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Alright” Carly begrudgingly responds, leaning back in her seat with preparations of returning the phone to its holder, “feel better.” Their brief conclusion shared, the anchor’s hand returns the handset to its receiver and pulls back in the seat, visibly displeased with the circumstance that surrounds her executive producer. Looking toward the window in the back of his office, the woman stares at the skyline of New York City as it resides beneath the cover of night, coated with lights of a city that never sleeps- especially on evening’s such as this one.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:22 pm est. - 8:22 pm pst. /

“Same plan for the ball drop as last year’s?” Grant questions, approaching his girlfriend with a glass of champagne in hand for her, his free hand sliding behind her lower back as he presses his lips to her cheek. “I don’t see how a rooftop cigar could hurt” Taylor answers, returning the kiss as Abby steps past them, approaching the foosball table that’s been set up atop their news desk’s transparent base.

“Abby-versus-Vince, first to seven wins!” Shane proclaims, standing off to the side of the wooden play station with a glass of sparkling water in his hand. “I wonder how much Vince is going to win this one by” Keith proclaims, watching the man in question point his finger toward him. “Give me a scoreline... Any scoreline” the confident, defending champion commands, watching as the source of the inquiry pauses to consider.

“Seven to four” Keith replies, joined by the anchors of his primetime broadcast and his fellow associate producers in watching on for the evening’s festivities. “Seven to four... works for me” Vince responds, manning his side of the table without much enthusiasm as the ball is dropped in. Fumbling around her posts, Abby makes first contact with the ball as her opponent’s men fail to even move, allowing her shot to easily meet its mark and score the opening point.

“One point to Abby!” Shane declares, presiding over the unoccupied end of the table opposite the gathered crowd as the next ball is rolled in, and the one that follows that, and so on and so forth. Within a minute, the score finds Abby at a four-to-zero advantage, allowed to do so through Vince’s refusal to even put up a convincing display.

“Good start for you, Keith?” the producer wonders aloud, looking at the man standing a few feet off to Grant and Taylor’s side with an eyebrow raised. “It looks like someone’s a little cocky now that Aiden isn’t here to put you to the test” the associate producer in question responds, watching a smile spread from one side of Vince’s face to the other as he replies.

“Aiden? The guy from eight o’clock?” he quips back, playing the man’s presence off as if he’d never met him before, “isn’t that the guy I swept last year?” Rolling in as soon as he finishes the question, the foosball fires off of Vince’s peg player and tears into the slot opposite his goal, scoring him a point for the first time in the match.

To great intrigue, the crowd watch on as the ball continues to roll in, each new start of play resulting in another goal for the defending champion until the desired scoreline has been reached. “Vince’s victory- seven to four!” Shane proclaims to a round of applause, opening the chance for the match’s winner to approach Abby with a purposefully-playful and unintimidating bob of the head, playing the unsportsmanlike winner in a manner that the woman can’t help but laugh at.

“Who else wants a piece of the champion!?” Vince questions aloud, spreading his arms outward like an eagle as he stares at the sea of producers. “I’ll give it a crack!” an older voice proclaims from the back of the bureau, further behind the collective audience that now redirects their focus toward the panopticon’s entrance. Stepping through the assortment of desks that host work responsible for keeping the primetime broadcast together, Vickers draws toward the transparent stage to the cheer of the producers.

“You’re about to get your shit pushed in by the president of the company, Vince!” Olivia proclaims through coupled hands, prompting the audience to erupt into a roar of applause that finally draws the defending champion into focus. “You still want a scoreline, V!?” Keith jokes, injecting laughter into the raucous crowd as the older gentleman takes the opposite side of the stage from his employee.

“It’s Vickers-versus-Vince- first to seven wins!” Shane proclaims, snatching the ball out of the goal that the company president now steps up to defend. Clearly more motivated to win than he had been throughout the entire night, Vince grasps the handles of his players with great readiness as Vickers does the same. Stepping forward with the white sphere in his possession, the nine o’clock executive producer gracefully lets the object roll into the centre of the table and fall into play.

With more intensity than every other game up to this point put together, the two competitors spin the pegs violently as they keep a fierce eye on the ball, following it from one side of the surface to the other before a projectile-like shot is taken into goal for the first point of the game. “One point to Vickers!” Shane proclaims to an eruption of cheers, making it clear that- whilst beloved by his coworkers- the defending champion plays the role of the villain in this defence.

|

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:29 pm est. - 8:29 pm pst. /

Suffering in silence, Aiden tries his best to disregard the fever dreams that prevent him from earning any worthwhile sleep as he fights between bouts with the sweats and chills. Though distant, the executive producer can hear the jingling of keys in the distance beyond his flat’s front door, unable to keep himself from paying it much of his focus in light of how hard it is for him to properly sleep.

Letting out slow and steady breaths, the ill resident continues to shield himself from the outside world within his somewhat-cosy, New York apartment. Having overheard the distant sound of cars driving by a few stories below and people exiting their flats on the same floor in favour of hitting the town throughout the night, Aiden pays little mind to the ringing pieces of metal until the moment he hears one of them slide into the deadbolt of his front door.

Mustering the strength to squint, the executive producer forces himself to sit upright and reach for the nearby lamp, bathing the apartment in light that takes his eyes a few seconds to adapt to. Successfully unlocking the front door, the soul in possession of the keys pushes the entrance inward and politely steps forward, coming to a stop the moment she sees the light and her coworker sitting upright on the chesterfield.

“Hi” Carly mutters in a subtle tone, not wanting to disrupt the quietness of the air that her colleague’s illness had proved necessary. “What are you doing here?” Aiden inherently questions, fueled by the slight amount of adrenaline that his anchor’s unexpected entrance provides him with.

“Checking in on you- obviously” she replies with a heartwarming smile whilst closing the door and stepping forward, leaving the keys of her producer’s roommate in a bowl atop a table near the corner of the main foyer. “I thought you were at the office party?” Aiden questions back, groaning as quietly as he can whilst rubbing at his eyes, clearly benumbed by the bug that’s brought about his poor health.

“I was. That’s where I called you from” Carly reassures, immediately earning a disappointed togetherness of the man’s eyelids. “I told you to enjoy the party” Aiden sighs, looking way with a disheartened look on his face, “I didn’t want you guys to miss out on the party because of me.”

“There will be more parties” the anchor confidently predicts, entering the adjacent kitchen and retrieving a hand towel, “besides, your producers take after you in getting knee-deep with their work when they really shouldn’t be.”

“We have an important job to do. I don’t blame them” Aiden groans, still rubbing at his eyes whilst his vision adjusts to the light, hearing the water of his kitchen sink begin to run in the near distance. “When the holidays are upon us, they need to get their dicks out and get some steam out” Carly corrects, covering the towel in a coating of cold water before ringing it out, “and I was expecting to tell you the exact same thing until I realised you weren’t in your office.”

“I can’t control when I do and don’t get sick” Aiden responds, hearing the woman’s footsteps approach before feeling the weight of his upper body be gently pushed forward. “I don’t expect you to, but I do expect you to be able to control when you do and don’t surround yourself with work.”

“I’ve got a lot riding on getting eight o’clock working. I can’t risk-” Aiden retorts, falling silent the second the woman takes a seat on the spot of the couch he’d slept upon and presses the cold towelette upon his forehead. “Now’s not the time to talk about work. Now’s the time to let me help you feel better” Carly interjects, pulling the man’s torso into her side with one arm wrapped around his chest, keeping the cold compress resting against his sweaty forehead.

“You should be having fun at the party... not trapped here taking care of me” Aiden rebukes, a comment that his premier anchor refuses to accept as truth. “I’m here now and there’s no point in telling me I should be somewhere else. That party will be long-over by the time I leave here” Carly chirps, gently sweeping the loose strands of hair away from her ex-boyfriend’s face, better clearing his forehead for the cold towel’s embrace, “besides, I wouldn’t have been able to have fun if you weren’t there anyway.”

“Shane didn’t put up much of a fight when I told him to go” Aiden counters, earning a slight chuckle out of the woman that oversees his recovery. “I don’t think you and Shane have the kind of friendship-relationship-acquaintance thing going that we do” Carly responds, aware that- even if he feels bad over her presence- the executive producer’s comforted relaxation insinuates her care is greatly appreciated, “I wouldn’t have been able to have a good time knowing you were suffering over here.”

|

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:42 pm est. - 8:42 pm pst. /

“We’re tied!” Shane proclaims to a chorus of booing, the energy of the nine o’clock newsroom having proven so palpable that even the eight o’clock newsroom felt compelled to join in on the spectating. “You ain’t taking my crown that easily, boss!” Vince exclaims, earning an amused nod out of the company president as the scores reach the point of levelling.

“It may not be easy, but I’m still taking it from you... champ” Vickers spouts back, throwing his hands out at his sides to loosen up, still wearing the blazer he’d entered the floor wearing whilst his adversary’s long sleeves are rolled upward and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. “Game point! We’re locked up at six-to-six!” Shane declares, reaching into Vickers’ goal to retrieve the white marble that has danced across the table for the last few minutes like a ballroom aficionado, “next goal wins!”

“VICKERS! VICKERS! VICKERS!” the audience howls aloud, backing the man that chooses to have fun with the scene in which he takes part in. Stepping away from the handles of his players, the company president slides his suit jacket off and tosses it into the arms of Grant, who’d approached the transparent platform with the intent of holding onto it anyway.

“Your kingdom’s about to come crumbling down, kingpin!” Vickers remarks, swiping his hands forward to loosen up whilst rolling the sleeves to his dress shirt upward. “This is the champ’s home territory, boss! You ain’t getting my turf without earning it!” Vince retaliates, widening his stance as he approaches the handles once more, prepared for the sphere’s final drop and the game’s final goal.

Matching the man’s posture, Vickers approaches his side of the table and gives a nod to the EP of nine o’clock, assuring him that the final round is ready to begin. Downing the rest of his sparkling drink, Shane places the tall glass onto a nearby chair before walking forward, gently holding the ball over the slot in which it’s meant to roll into play from before releasing his grasp, allowing fate to take over.

Audibly spinning around and colliding with the marble, the wooden pegs spin like horseshoes to a post as their controllers look for the ultimate score. From one team to the next and across the table, the deciding point lingers across the green surface and rolls from one goal and into the direction of the other. Gradually leaning closer toward the table the longer that the final point hangs in the balance, each competitor continues to fight the other’s players until a decisive blow is finally landed.

“Vince’s victory- seven to six!” Shane proclaims to a chorus of booing, the genuine disappointment at the man’s continued success doing nothing to stifle the producer’s celebration. “Ah, damn!” Vickers concedes, playfully swatting at the table as his employee’s hands take toward the sky with jubilation, a victory that he feels had been truly earned finding its way to Vince’s possession.

Keeping his revelry brief, the nine o’clock producer watches the company’s president approach him with a hand extended, the handshake being one that he gladly reciprocates. “I’ll be back for you next year, champ” Vickers declares, patting his employee on the shoulder once he receives a nod, satisfied with the sportsmanship displayed to him before lifting the subordinate’s hand in triumph.

As if given the greenlight to shift their reception, the crowd turns their collective jeering into applause for the performance that the president now sponsors, a hard-fought victory achieved by the man. Handing off the jacket to the hands of its rightful owner, Grant pats his friend on the shoulder and congratulates him on a good performance.

“I’ll get him next year” Vickers playfully remarks, carrying the coat over an arm that he drapes against his chest before taking the glass of champagne from Taylor’s hand and downing it in one sip. “Happy new year’s, you two” the man proclaims, licking his lips to indulge in the sweet alcohol’s taste as he passes them by, amusing all three parties amidst his departure.

“Should we take that as a sign to head to the balcony?” Grant wonders aloud, watching his girlfriend’s eyes collide with his own before she leans forward, planting a kiss on his lips with a sincere smile. “Lead the way” Taylor mutters, letting her hand fall into her boyfriend’s own as they head off, taking themselves in the direction of the same patio they’d welcomed in the new year from three hundred and sixty five days prior.

|

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:53 pm est. - 8:53 pm pst. /

“We are just seven minutes away from welcoming in the new year, so stay tuned! We’ll be right back!” the television set emanates, affording the party host’s voice to reach the people of America watching at home as they enter their final commercial break of the year. “You’re going to miss your new year’s kiss” Aiden murmurs, keeping himself awake amidst the comfort his anchor provides, watching the screen across the room as it bathes their collective faces in white light.

“I wasn’t going to have one even if I stayed at the party anyway” Carly confesses, unaware of the slight furrowing in her producer’s eyebrows at such an admission. “You’re not seeing anyone?” Aiden queries softly, being caught by surprise at such a revelation, having purposefully kept himself out of the woman’s business well enough to make such an assumption without any means of traditional clarification.

“I haven’t even dated someone- aside from the fake dates with Brant to get Vince that connection- since we broke up” Carly confirms, shaking her head whilst watching the mattress commercial play through the screen. “I wouldn’t be able to anyway. Everything I said to you a few months ago about how much I missed what we had is true” the woman doubles down, “I can’t look at guys like I used to. They always just see me as the pretty chick to have by their side.”

“I’m not the only decent guy in New York City. It’s not hard to find someone who thinks of you the way that I do” Aiden argues, still lacking the energy to put up anything other than a passing defiance to his ex-girlfriend’s claims. “Have you taken a walk through this city? Even if there was someone like you out there, I’d have to walk through eighty thousand neighbourhoods of cat-calling and obsessive paparazzi” Carly retorts, shaking her head with refusal, “it’s not worth it.”

Keeping his thoughts to himself for a moment, Aiden chooses not to speak in lieu of making anything between them awkward, still not having truthfully moved past their relationship in the months that have proceeded it. “Besides, you were right about what you said after I got you out of jail. I never really gave you a reason to trust me” Carly explains, visibly discomforted by the truth behind her statement, “the only defence I can even come up with is that none of them were people I actually wanted to be with.”

“It’s still cheating” Aiden quickly counters, holding firm in the stance that he’d come to months prior, though too sick to stand in any affirmative resistance like he had at the time. “I know. And that fact nullifies any stupid defence I can make for it” Carly assures, bringing the man in her lap something more closely resembling peace of mind than he’s ever taken from their breakup to this point, “if nothing else, I think it’s just hard accepting that my track record should be fair game now that I’ve actually got a reason to care about having one.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden wonders aloud, not sure how to make sense of the latest claim, fighting through his ailment in search of clarification. “Like I said, none of the guys I cheated on were people that I cared to be with. I didn’t love them and I didn’t care about them once I realised they were only into me because I was some attractive girl they could show off to their friends” Carly explains, “I didn’t care if I had a track record because I didn’t care about them. If they found out, we’d break up and that’s it. I didn’t care about them, so I didn’t care about not dating them and gave up on them.”

Remaining silent through the woman’s explanation, the executive producer of her show continues to lay in her arms as the broadcast running before them reaches its final few advertisements before coming back to the air for the final few minutes of the year. 

“But then, I fell in love. And the track record hurt me because it hurt the person that I fell in love with” Carly explains, shaking her head with great disappointment, “and I struggled to cope with the fact that I’d brought it upon myself. I’d finally found someone I was happy with and now it was threatening to ruin that. I was so hurt by that fear that I couldn’t help but try to blame everyone other than myself for the track record that I’d created.”

“Do you mean it?” Aiden asks back, genuinely yearning for an answer to that question as he pulls his head back, looking up at the face of the woman who provides him care, “do you actually love me?” With raised eyebrows and a genuinely sympathetic gleam in her eyes, Carly nods her head without offering a verbal reply at first.

“Yes. I’ve never felt this love for you with anyone else. I’ve never cared about someone the way I care about you” the woman assures, struggling not to smile in the wake of the deeply-rooted pain that they’d lost what they shared. Looking to the far side of the room, Carly thinks deeply about how to phrase the thoughts that flutter around her head, trying her best to offer an explanation that can be considered worth the pain her past actions had served to inflict.

“I think I kind of gave up on love before we started dating. I flirted with you, yeah. But, I didn’t actually expect to find love the way you hear in fairy tales or the movies” Carly explains, shaking her head as she stares toward the corner of the room. “It took me a little while to figure out what I was feeling after we started dating. I’d forgotten what I thought love was” she confesses, furrowing her brows as she recalls the further weeks and months.

“Then I went out that night and ran into Brent. I didn’t know if you’d found out and took it the wrong way, so I froze when I got home that night- when everything started to change between us” Carly carries on, “I was worried that you had and I felt guilty. We hadn’t done anything, but I just felt this immense shame like I’d betrayed you.”

“Why?” Aiden whispers, genuinely curious as the woman’s face falls back toward his own, their bodies painted in the television’s light as it returns to the new year’s eve festivities for the final time. “Because it felt wrong, I guess. I knew that I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but I couldn’t help but feel that guilt. So, I struggled to speak, or move, or really do anything” Carly recalls, “I can’t explain it. But everything spiralled out of control from there and... you know the rest.”

“Was fucking Brent after we broke up meant to hurt me?” Aiden questions, watching the anchor’s eyes fall again as a tear begins streaming down her cheek, though she remains composed enough to not break down into tears. “I couldn’t handle blaming myself for the past I’d made. I finally found love and had it ripped away. I shouldn’t have blamed you, but I wasn’t in a place where I could blame myself yet” Carly confesses, shaking her head once more, “I just made things worse.”

As the air grows silent, Aiden begins struggling to sit upright once more, keeping his face aimed away from the anchor’s own to prevent what likely chance she already has of catching his illness from growing any further. Nearing the final minutes of the year, the pair continue to occupy the quiet air as Carly takes it upon herself to bring it to an end, speaking through the hush that comes over them and the host’s voice through the distant television set.

“I really want to respect your boundaries, Aiden- but I can’t. If we’re going to keep working together, I need to tell you that I’ll never be okay with how things ended between us” Carly confesses, allowing herself to be vulnerable and threaten the stability of their friendship in the name of honesty and transparency, “I’ve done enough work to accept that we’ll probably never be fully trusting in each other and that’s on me, but I can’t accept how things ended between us. I can’t be okay with giving up on this, or on us, or on you.”

“And we are ready, too. I’m gonna send it back up to the man who’s been doing it all these years to count us into the new year” the interviewing-host explains through the television, “Dick, take it away! It’s your specialty, my friend!”

|

\ Monday, December 31st, 2007 /
\ 11:59 pm est. - 8:59 pm pst. /

Whilst illuminating with a deep, red glow through Aiden’s television screen, the falling ball of Time’s Square is watched on by the cigar-smoking anchors of nine o’clock from the LMC headquarters’ balcony. “Happy new year’s, honey” Grant whispers, looking into his wife’s eyes as they set their cigars upon the tray that rests on the patio wall’s concrete top. “Happy new year, my love” Taylor whispers back, hearing the crowd countdown from afar as the magical moment is finally upon them.

From the comfort of the flat and watching along on television, Carly and Aiden bypass the illness that threatens to spread in the name of rekindling their love with a kiss as the new year rings in, the long locking of their lips holding firm as the cheering audience blares through their television set. With their eyes closed, the eight o’clock showrunners embrace each other’s love with locked lips, their feelings strong enough to bring the executive producer out of his ailing exhaustion.

Having leant forward, Taylor gently pulls back as her boyfriend’s face falls from beneath her view, refusing the kiss in favour of descending lower. Following the man’s figure, the experienced anchor at nine o’clock watches Grant lower himself to one knee on the ground and part the lid of a box with an engagement ring concealed within. Smiling as she stares off toward the heavens, the woman laughs just as her lover does, having quietly wondered to herself whether or not this was his plan earlier in the day.

“Ah, I had a feeling!” Taylor giggles, looking back to her boyfriend’s smiling face as he remains intent on following through. “You know me well, Taylor English...” Grant responds, continuing to present the shining, diamond ring to the woman he hopes will finally follow through with the promise she’d been offering him for months, “...now, will you marry me?”

Though flattered by the ring, Taylor’s concerns refuse to rest upon the piece of jewellery as she gently guides the man’s hand toward the ground, dropping to both knees whilst placing the palms of her cold hands to either side of the anchor’s face. Pressing her lips to the man’s own, the blonde woman disregards the strands of her hair that a brief gust of wind sends whipping back, sealing off the kiss by locking eyes with Grant and providing him with the word he’d wished to hear.

“Yes.”

\ Monday, January 1st, 2008 /
\ 12:00 am est. /

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 17 Jan 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e3-a-change-of-pace-to-keep-afloat\ Thursday, December 20th, 2007 /
\ 8:55 pm est. - 5:55 pm pst. /

“No, he’s endorsing Romney” Grant responds, adjusting his blazer accordingly as he joins his girlfriend in approaching the news desk, speaking through the mic of his in-ear. “Who cares, he’s a member of the house from Colorado. I’d hardly call that a Republican stronghold” Shane responds, glancing at the bullet point rundown sitting at the base of a wall of monitors, “you did watch the debates, right? The guy doesn’t even believe in the theory of evolution.”

“So? There are still people thinking the earth is flat, we just don’t care to give them a reason to think we take them seriously” the primetime anchor continues, climbing into the seat beside the one his girlfriend already occupies, “nothing is universally believed anymore... and in fairness, it shouldn’t be.”

With a slight squint in his eyes, Shane pulls his head up from the stacks of papers and stares at the monitor feeding him a live shot of the hard camera, a genuine intrigue carried in his mind. “Do you believe in the theory of evolution, Grant?” the executive producer questions aloud, only raising the question to his pair of anchors, though the rest of the control room looks on with wonder.

“How about we just stick to getting ready to hit the air?” Grant queries, openly evading the question in a way that prompts even his girlfriend’s head to slightly pop up, pulling away from the paper copy of the script she takes the point of a pen to. “We have five minutes until airtime, I’m in no rush at all” Shane doubles down, wearing a smirk and slightly-widened eyes at holding the anchor’s feet to the fire, “I want to hear you tell me you believe in the theory of evolution.”

“I’d like to focus on preparing for tonight’s broadcast, thank you” Grant instead retorts, lowering his head toward the script at his fingertips whilst his girlfriend turns to look toward him. “Do you not believe in the theory of evolution?” Taylor wonders aloud, wearing a half-smile at the idea that such a stance could be the case.

“I’m not sure what to believe on the matter” Grant scoffs, crossing a few words on the paper script out with his ballpoint pen. “How do you not know what to believe? How do you think we got here?” Taylor questions, asking the same question that the executive producer in their headset wanted to ask.

“Aliens” Grant replies, immediately being struck with silence that he’d not intended for, quickly putting him in a position of defence. “I don’t believe it was aliens, I was being facetious” he corrects, looking at the wild expression on his girlfriend’s face as it falls, her concern having been that he’d meant every bit of his reply.

“I was raised in a semi-religious household and science class always told me a different thing than the creation story” the male anchor explains, shaking his head at a loss for further importance, “I didn’t want to upset either side, so I chose not to take a side. I didn’t find it important either since we’re here now... What would learning how we started change?”

“I’m pretty sure people at the MET would argue that science class would be a lot more redundant... As would a chunk of their jobs” Shane replies as he reaches for a ringing phone in the room, a squint carried in his eyes as he greets the caller.

“I found a way to avoid pissing my mother or my teacher off. To me, that was a win-win” Grant explains, satisfying Taylor enough with her response to send her smiling face back toward the paper script before them. “As long as you know I’ll continue to pick on you about this for a very long time, that’s what counts” the female broadcaster responds, fixing the hair that falls in front of her face as her boyfriend allows a sigh to leave his lungs.

“...the most accurate and efficient delivery of news that the nation can provide” a man’s voice explains, his voice fluttering into the newsroom through the speakers that surround the bureau. Lifting their faces from the documents that they quietly work on, the nine o’clock anchors put their finishing touches for tonight’s broadcast on hold, looking toward the crowd of producers at a loss before taking a quick glance around the room.

“I think we’re getting a feed from one of the other networks in the newsroom, Shane” Taylor quips, continuing to look around the panopticon as she searches for the specific broadcast responsible for the monologue. “Vickers just told me to feed Finley’s audio through the speakers” the executive producer replies, looking toward a video feed of the rival network that one of his subordinates pulls onto the main monitor, “the guy that does the eight o’clock news is announcing something.”

“What is it?” Grant questions back, only to receive the grumbles of his executive producer as they serve to explain his uncertainty. “Unfortunately, my contract with the Finley Network expires at the start of February. My employers and I have decided that it is not within our best interest to negotiate another contract” the black man in the suit explains, staring directly into the camera as he addresses his audience, “in addition to this, I have been informed that my show at eight o’clock will be ended.”

Feigning an insincere smile toward the audience, the clean-shaven gentleman remains sitting upright at his desk, taking a pause for his audience to grapple with the latest string of insight before moving onto the next. “My employers feel that it would be best to move forward with expanding the nine o’clock news to two hours, starting at eight instead” the anchor continues, watched on now by each member of the LMC newsroom that redirects their sights toward his show.

“In the wake of success that other networks have had with the format, the nine o’clock news will be anchored by not one- but two broadcasters. A fitting change of pace that Finley sees as the future of primetime newscasting” he carries forward, earning a confused look from the LMC anchors he’s likely providing soft reference to. “This comes as a great disappointment to me, but it is what I feel is within the best interest of-” Finley’s eight o’clock anchor speaks, only for his voice to be cut off from the speaker that refuses it any further airtime.

“Vickers told me ‘not to give the fucker more attention than he deserves’ now that he’d said his part” Shane explains, the information that he passes on being exclusive to the anchors, leaving the rest of the newsroom in confusion. “And we shouldn’t. Fuck him and fuck their network. Let’s get back to the show” Taylor replies, passing a disgusted look toward the Finley Network broadcast as she returns her eyes toward the paper at her person, placing the finishing touches on tonight’s script.

“Are you alright?” Grant whispers, watching his girlfriend’s eyes take toward him in silence for a moment before she glances at the transparent desk. “If Russo thinks expanding his primetime show to two hours is going to put a damper in our ratings, that’s his mistake to make” Taylor responds after a brief silence, shaking her head with dismissal, “he can’t wage a war with nobody anchors on a nothing show at a nothing network that no one watches... No matter where he airs it.”

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Friday, December 21st, 2007 /
\ 8:01 am est. - 5:01 am pst. /

“That just means Grant, Taylor, and I are going up against nine o’clock” Carly explains, entering the LMC building alongside her executive producer, each holding a cup of coffee in their hands. “It doesn’t matter” Aiden replies, flashing his badge toward Nola as she lifts a thumb up from behind the welcome desk they pass, paying the man little mind as she remains deep within her search on the computer monitor at her disposal.

“We’ve stabilised the ratings and we’re getting more traction with Doug’s online project. Interaction is good, and it’s driving viewers toward the product” Aiden explains. “Finley could go find a pair of hot blondes with even bigger tits than mine to open the eight o’clock half and that traction goes down the drain” Carly retorts, watching the shake of the man’s head react to her.

“Unless those whores do the news naked, I doubt they come close to touching your numbers” Aiden replies, continuing to step in the direction of the lifts whilst he speaks. “We’re not looking to win the overall, we’re looking to win the demo. Doug’s ‘new media think’ is getting us an ‘in’ with them that Finley stands no chance of touching” the executive producer continues on, “we could have half of their two-hour rating, but if seventy percent of our audience is that target demo... Our broadcast is the undisputed king of value and the race isn’t even close.”

“What is their plan supposed to be anyway? Get two new people on board and hope for the best? Take a shot in the dark and hope the two hour format holds firm?” Carly queries, finally reaching an inquiry her producer cannot make as clear of a prediction on as he’d please. “Two hours should- at least, in theory- keep people watching through the show” Aiden explains, finally reaching the lift and pressing his thumb against the call button, “advertisers will love the consistency, but that’s it. That doesn’t mean the format will work.”

“Sure, but how can we know that for sure?” Carly wonders aloud, earning an amused chuckle out of the man she accompanies. “Because breaking news doesn’t happen every single day” he answers, turning to look her in the eyes as the elevator reaches their floor, “we only run a one hour show and we already get to a ‘D Block’.”

With the gentle ring of a bell, the lift’s doors part to reveal a single man standing at its centre, his face taking itself away from the screen that counted the digits of each passing floor and falling upon the pair that now enter. “It’s fancy seeing you here” Shane remarks, watching Carly enter the lift as Aiden follows her in, their mutual acquaintance doing the part they’d intended to in pressing the button of their floor.

“We come here often. It’s sort of a habit of ours” Aiden replies, earning a nod from the executive producer of nine o’clock. “Hmm... Ours.” Shane repeats, watching his friend bow his head with a shy smile, aware of what his pal is hinting at, “you never came back to the apartment last night. Should I assume you two are patching things up romantically?”

“No. Not at all” the eight o’clock producer responds, pointing his finger toward the well-built figurehead of the controls at nine o’clock with adamant refusal. “We were at a meeting on the other side of town and it just made sense for us to crash at her place” Aiden clarifies, continuing to receive a repetitive bowing of “Tonight at 9’s” executive producer. “Whatever you say, champ” Shane responds, pointing his finger at the state of his friend’s attire, “just be ready to explain to your colleagues why you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

Glancing down at his wardrobe, Aiden listens to the lift’s bell ring as it finally reaches his floor, coming to the same realisation that Shane had taken on the moment he saw his friend through the parted doors. “Shit” the eight o’clock producer remarks, unable to say anything further before Carly playfully shoves him forward, setting him on a path that allows both of them to exit toward their floor, passing a friendly wave toward the nine o’clock showrunner as they depart.

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:13 pm est. - 7:13 pm pst. /

“Send her in” Vickers replies, granting his secretary permission to depart toward her duties after a quick chat whilst he removes his cheaters and places them beside his computer’s screen. For a few seconds, the room remains quiet only changing accordingly when the sounds of heels tapping against the ground in the distance grow close. “Yet another good night of programming. Well done” Robin explains, stepping through the doorway and approaching the president’s desk.

“We have three talented anchors and incompetent competition, that should be the expectation” Vickers responds, coupling his hands atop his lap as his elbows rest against each side of his chair. “Those are the expectations and your anchors continue to meet them” Robin replies, offering a brief shrug as she adds emphasis, “I’d still like to see improvement out of the eight o’clock numbers, but I’ll take the modest growth they’re starting to show.”

“It’s amazing to see what happens when the anchor who needs the pretty lady in that chair to make the show work gets the pretty lady in that chair, isn’t it?” Vickers queries with a confident smile. “I don’t need your cocky smile. You know we never really had a choice” Robin responds, begrudgingly accepting the lesser chair at the front of her subordinate’s desk, “he still needs to play catchup faster than he is, but I’ll take steady growth over nothing.”

“You’re not concerned with what Finley is doing, are you?” Vickers wonders aloud, receiving a sour expression as if anything other than such could be true. “They’re in the business of pushing a narrative and I’m in the news business” Robin replies, crossing one of her legs over the other with dignity and folding her hands atop them, “no matter what some morally bankrupt organisations may want you to believe... there’s still a difference between the two.”

“Well, that’s only as long as the shareholders allow there to be” Vickers remarks, receiving a roll of the woman’s eyes in return for his claims. “If I could purchase the company outright and take it private- I would” the chairwoman explains, shaking her head with a visual disgust, “one of the worst moves this company ever did was take itself public.”

“It had no other choice besides bankruptcy” Vickers retorts, watching his guest’s hand wave toward him as she scoffs. “Money is fake. The only thing that’s real is me” Robin replies, wearing a grin as she presses her back against the chair, “if you look hard enough, you’ll find a way to turn one dollar into five, ten dollars into twenty, and student debt into a declaration of bankruptcy on credit card debut.”

“If only the younger generation had the credit scores of us old fogies” the company’s president jokes, sharing a simple laugh with the woman opposite him as their line of dialogue ceases in favour of something different. “Speaking of buying out the company, how’s the process of taking on Ross’ shares going?” Vickers inquires, gliding his chair in the direction of the room’s entrance with the rest of his body, but keeping his eyes firmly upon the woman’s visage.

“That’s why I’m here. The final kinks have been ironed out and the twenty percent is officially mine” the woman explains, prompting the president’s lips to pucker with his nodding head. “Regardless of what he thinks he’s changing, we are free from Burt Russo at last” Vickers proclaims, reaching for his drawer before the chairwoman’s voice can prevent him from making any advancement toward his stored-away liquor.

“We are, and that’s why I am not drinking your stash liquor!” Robin declares, freeing her hands from being locked within each other’s own in order to pat her lap and stand back upon both feet, “we’re going to the lounge and celebrating at the bar.”

Given little say in the matter, Vickers turns out the lamp on his desk and exits his office, not expecting to return to it until the weekend has passed. In the dark and with only the computer monitor’s light bathing the room, some time passes before the machine’s speaker goes off, reciting a cheerful, automated message into the empty office.

“You’ve got mail!’

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:46 pm est. - 7:46 pm pst. /

“Whatcha doing?” Carly wonders aloud, ducking her head into her EP’s office to find him knee-deep in work and moving from one document to the next. “Preparing us for Wednesday since we’ve got a long weekend” Aiden replies, spinning his chair away from a stack of papers at the centre of his desk and toward the computer monitor at its left-most side.

“Hmph. I figured you would’ve tried to do that on Monday instead” the beautiful anchor replies, watching the man shake his head in refusal. “I’ve got to find the time to not drive myself crazy. New Year’s Eve seems like a pretty fitting day to take off” Aiden rebukes, swiping his cursor across the machine’s screen before clicking the mouse and advancing back toward the opposite side of his desk, ‘why are you still here? Taylor and Grant went off the air almost an hour ago.”

“I’m not really sure” Carly replies, granting herself permission to enter the man’s workspace whilst he continues to slave over the labour at his disposal, “I got on the phone with my lawyer once they started covering Somalia and just kept hanging around after it was done, I guess.”

“Why were you on the phone with your lawyer? You didn’t run someone off the road in traffic, did you?” Aiden wonders aloud, receiving confirmation that such is not the case with little wait, “whatever it was, you better not be going to jail over it. I’ve finally got you in that chair every night... I’m not going back to the era of middle-aged fill-ins.”

“It’s just contract stuff. My current deal runs out just after the election, remember?” Carly queries back, “the network wants to negotiate now while the ratings are stable-but-underwhelming just in case your plan works out and I become the face of the most valuable show in the nation.”

“Keep putting that pretty face of yours in that chair and we’ll be waving that headline around by the time our next commander in chief is appointed by the public” Aiden assures, scrawling his pencil across the sheets of paper his attention is taken by, “negotiate like the anchor you’ll be in a year’s time.”

“I should be offering you the exact same advice” Carly retorts, leaning against the wall just beside the man’s desk as he continues to set his sights upon one interest after another, “it’s not long after mine that your deal comes up, right?”

“April of ‘09. I have an early-out six months prior in the event that the network doesn’t want to pay me or I want to land a job somewhere else” Aiden answers, closing the cover of a notebook after jotting down a brief set of numbers. “If I get this show where I’m hoping to take it, I’ll have companies all over the place throwing blank cheques at me” the executive producer doubles down, “that’s pretty good leverage to have with LMC... they’ll pay you what you’re actually worth, but they’ll make you fight like hell to get there.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. It might’ve been one of the only reasons I chose to take the LMC offer instead of the one out west” Carly replies, shaking her head not long after finishing her thought, preferring to redirect her attention to other matters. After a brief pause, the woman inspects the rapid move from one chore after another that her executive producer carries on with, working at a break-neck speed like a man on a mission as he prepares himself for a weekend free of concern.

“We can still hangout like friends even though we’re not together anymore, right?” the primetime anchor wonders aloud, earning the man’s full focus for the first time since poking her head in the room. “What do you mean?” Aiden questions back, unsure of what’s insinuated by the inquiry. “Well, we’re exes and everything- but we’re also coworkers” Carly reiterates, watching as the man’s hands take their first opportunity all night to settle down and lay upon his desk.

“I’d like to think we’re back to a place where we can just be friends without it being weird” she continues to explain, shrugging as she continues along the line of thought she hasn’t fully thought out internally, “would it be weird if we went out for dinner or something? Not as a date, but something just totally platonic?”

With a pause, the task-littered executive producer turns his sights toward the door that the anchor had entered through, deep within thought of consideration toward the question raised. “I don’t know that friends go out to dinner with each other unless it’s man-to-man or woman-to-woman” Aiden explains with a gentle shake of his head, “and I’m not sure friends that used to date works any better than at that.”

Lowering her eyes, Carly nods with acceptance as her producer raises wonder toward the purpose of her asking. “I just figured that I’d ask” the woman explains, shrugging off any notion that she had deeper intentions than wondering out of curiosity, “I’ve never actually stayed friends with someone that I’d dated. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to before.”

Feeling like she’s made their brief interaction odd, the anchor feels a responsibility to try and provide emphasis to her quandary. “I do miss being with you romantically, but I miss actually getting to just hang out with you and do friendly things” Carly continues, watching her acquaintance internally attempt to understand her point, “I want to respect the boundaries you’ve set up, but I also wanted to know if we could get the non-romantic parts of what we used to have back in a healthy way.”

Nodding his head, Aiden appears to better register the purpose of the wonderment, “alright” he replies with, providing a small amount of comfort that his anchor can carry herself away with. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you at the party on Monday” she proceeds, walking toward the room’s exit with her producer’s best wishes extended, putting a conclusion to the progressively-strange line of dialogue they both prepare to leave in the past.

|

\ Friday, December 28th, 2007 /
\ 10:57 pm est. - 7:57 pm pst. /

“It looks like we’ve finally found your home in the city” Grant proclaims, following Taylor past the point in which their inherited mansion’s lawn ends and their private beach begins. “If you would’ve married me, we wouldn’t have ever needed this place” the female anchor replies, earning a roll of the eyes from the man who has taken on the responsibility of getting their relationship to that point.

“If you would’ve accepted every time that I’ve asked you, we’d be engaged by now” Grant counters, not needing to wait for his lover to turn around and face him with a smile and a playful shake of the head. “I’m going to say ‘yes’ eventually” Taylor responds, watching her boyfriend playfully roll his eyes and throw his hands out at either side.

“Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me?” Grant questions in succession, watching as his lover’s hand lifts to count each reply with her fingers. “No, no, yes, no” she replies, taking humour in the lack of belief that the man across from her takes in the response.

“Was that third one legitimate?” he questions without an ounce of enthusiasm, seeing through the mirage without difficulty. “Of course not” Taylor answers with a joy-filling smile and a shake of the head, “but you’re getting there!”

“It’s progress and that counts for something” Grant concludes, accepting the continued refusal with the ability to take a brighter light at the end of the tunnel over it. Giggling, Taylor turns her back to the man and continues approaching the sea, refusing to stop until she’s approached the edge of the frozen-over, icy waters.

Catching up to his significant other, the less-tenured nine o’clock anchor wraps his arms around the woman and presses his nose to the side of her head, freeing his lips to passionately kiss at her neck repeatedly. Through laughter, Taylor endures the embrace of the man she’s come to love before spinning in his arms and returning the gesture, her lips pressing against the man’s own.

“My lips aren’t as ticklish as my neck is, huh?” the blonde queries, watching the man’s face shake with the rest of his head as he rests his warm palm against the side of her face. “It doesn’t matter to me” he whispers with a smile, pulling her in for an even deeper kiss than the ones they’d shared before a ball of light fires down upon them from the side of the home, bringing their passionate coupling to a quick halt.

Shielding their face from the light, the couple stare back toward the source of the illumination with their hands covering their face, looking toward the home before Taylor’s mouth opens. “Oh, it’s the fuckin’ motion sensors!” she proclaims, taking relief from the concern that they’d left rooms within the home unaccounted for the likes of squatters or thieves.

“As much sense as that makes, we should probably get better ones. We made it all the way out to the water- err, ice- before they caught us” the man proceeds, taking the woman by the hand in an attempt to lead her back to the home, only for her playful reluctance to pull him back in. “Come back here” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck and pressing her lips to his own once more.

Refusing to put up a fight against the display of affection, Grant gives into the woman’s desires before their faces naturally pull apart, their kissing put on pause as their eyes lock with each other’s. “We’re almost done with the year” Taylor whispers, running her hands over each side of the man’s face, “the next time we step foot in the office will be to sing Auld Lang Syne with everyone.”

“Are you kidding me? The next time we step foot in the office will be to celebrate welcoming in another election year!” Grant enthusiastically remarks, earning a playful swat on the chest as the woman’s lips press against his own once more. “I’m ready to say goodbye to 2007 as long as it’s with you” Taylor replies, pulling away from the man’s face for just a moment before returning to their kiss, celebrating the final days of a year set to enter history for good.

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 10 Jan 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e2-beneficiaries-of-battle\ Monday, September 17th, 2007 /
\ 9:42 pm est. - 6:42 pm pst. /

“Their pleas were felt even more in Taiwan than they were here, where hundreds of thousands made their call for the United Nations to formally accept Taiwan” Grant reads, looking directly into the camera as he does so. With his eyes glued to the screen his primetime anchors occupy, the president of the company takes a swig of dark liquor from a whiskey glass with a slight lean against his chair, taking in the information offered by his subordinates as a knock emerges from the front of his office.

“Don’t you just love when a machine is properly oiled and running smoothly?” Vickers queries aloud the moment he hears knuckles tap against hardwood, watching his lowered-guard secretary stand in the doorway with a pause. “These two bounce off of each other better than any anchors I’ve ever lived to see in my lifetime” the man continues, making small talk with the woman that, whilst she doesn’t mind it, had not intended for her greeting to be used as an invitation to it.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m just so fond of this business, and when everything’s clicking... I just can’t help but smile” the cheerful older man proclaims, properly adjusting his posture and spinning his chair toward the woman at the door. “What is it?” Vickers questions aloud, setting his glass on the top of his desk before folding his hands in his lap, allowing the woman to carry on with her purpose for knocking.

Within a few minutes of his secretary’s entry, Vickers’ feet are stepping along the long floors of the company’s building, travelling from the depths of its internal sanctum to a higher level. “...her plan for a universal healthcare system as the race begins to enter its most decisive starting point” Taylor speaks, only most of her talking points being heard by the company’s president as he steps through the doors of the newsroom, emerging into the bureau with a straight face.

Allowing his co-anchor to continue onward, Grant takes a similarly-brief notice of their superior’s entry with a glance past the hard camera, paying it no mind as of the moment with commercial fast approaching. Finishing the point laid out for her on the screen a few paces ahead, Taylor presses her lips together as her boyfriend takes over, aiding the broadcast in entering the next break whilst she awaits the advancement of the man across the room.

Their desks doubling as a crowd of tables during showtime, the producers responsible for putting the show together collectively watch on at the stage until a few seconds prior to the next advertisement break. Collectively, their chairs begin to spin around to the entrance of the room, where they, too, take notice of the rare sighting of their company’s president.

Calm and collected, Vickers stands at the opposite end of the producer’s fleet of desks with his hands in the pockets of his slacks until the broadcast’s outro tune begins playing, signalling a multiple-minute break whilst their shareholders’ will for profit is fulfilled. Traipsing through the crowd of his employed workers, the older man approaches the transparent stage in which his primetime desk has been placed upon, not uttering a word before coming within a few feet of the couple seated behind it.

“What’s going on?” Taylor inquires, watching the president step forward and remove his palms from the storage slots of his attire, pressing them against the news desk instead before answering in a subdued tone. “Robin gave me the call a few minutes ago, and I’m dropping by to let you know too” Vickers responds, only being overheard by the man that assumes the broadcast’s direction from within the control room, “Ross kicked the bucket about a half hour ago.”

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Tuesday, September 18th, 2007 /
\ 11:21 am est. - 8:21 am pst. /

“Where does that leave his shares?” Bruce queries, standing near the absolute centre of the company president’s office between both Vickers and Taylor, who occupy the visitor chairs whilst Robin occupies the swivelling one the office’s occupant is meant to be seated upon. “I’d imagine he’d have passed them down through his will” Grant replies, leaning against the wall lined with windows and his arms crossed, “I’d imagine the beneficiary would’ve still been Kaye.”

“Yeah, but she’s dead. The question is who it’d be passed down to next” Vickers replies, kept from speaking with suggestion any further before his superior’s interruption cuts him off. “With how much he’s worth, the state isn’t going to wait long to find out how much of their share they can snatch from his cold, dead, skank-enthusiast hands” Robin replies, reaching out to the foam cup of coffee she’d placed atop her subordinate’s desk.

“Would anyone here be able to figure out if a will-reading’s been called for?” Bruce questions aloud, providing an inquiry that prevents the company’s chairwoman from indulging in her coffee for the moment being. “We had an agreement that he’d leave me the other half of an apartment complex we’d both purchased in Vancouver twenty years ago” Robin responds, pressing her back into the chair’s cushion, “I don’t take him to be a man of his word, but I should be getting a call.”

“And we’re just supposed to wait until that will reading is called for to figure out how fucked we are?” Grant questions, watching the faces that reside in the room ahead of him collectively nod with the rest of their heads. “We’ve been in limbo over these shares for months now, another couple of weeks shouldn’t be that much different to our current status quo” Vickers proclaims, pressing his palms against his knees as he lifts himself from his seat, “until Robin gets that call, it’s business as usual.”

“No one should be acting any differently anyway” Robin explains, joining the company’s president in climbing out of her chair, setting an example that Taylor feels inclined to follow, “we’re already up shit creek without a paddle. Let’s not get ourselves any deeper than we should be.”

“Understood” Grant responds, gently pushing his frame off the concrete wall separating one window from the other before joining the four patrons of the office in making for the room’s exit.

|

\ Friday, September 21st, 2007 /
\ 6:14 am est. - 3:14 am pst. /

“Good morning!” Carly cheerfully remarks, stepping into the office of her executive producer with a box of muffins in one hand and a set of coffees in the other, “two creams, two sugars in your coffee and a pair of blueberry muffins.” Setting the taste bud delights upon the man’s work-covered desk, the eight o’clock anchor looks on with widened eyes and utter surprise at the casual manner in which the star of his broadcast places the treats at his disposal.

“What the hell are you doing here so early?” Aiden asks in genuine, yet semi-animated awe, slowly reaching out toward the coffee that his anchor extends toward him. “Well, I’ve had to keep playing nice with Brant in order to get Vince an ‘in’ with him and I’m hoping to introduce them to each other this morning” Carly replies, continuing to speak as she turns toward the clutter-filled visitor’s chair at the front of her producer’s workspace.

“Vince gets in really early now that he’s living in Taylor’s old apartment and Brant’s a finance guy, so I’m sure it doesn’t take much to crunch the numbers and figure out that they’re morning people” she continues, opting to remain standing in lieu of an actual seat. “So you woke up specifically so you can introduce the two early birds to the worm you’ve been working toward?” Aiden questions, watching the anchor’s head nod to insist that he’s on the right track.

“Not that I mind or anything, but why the hell do you have so much stuff in your office?” Carly questions aloud, quickly shifting the discussion toward matters she’s more interested in. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you take everything here seriously, but... come on, man” the anchor carries onward, gesturing toward the two stacks of binders on each visitor chair, “you work a one-hour show with a host whose only ever really been used as eye candy until you came on board here- how much research do you need?”

“That depends. Some of the binders are news stories, others have paper records of my sources and their previous insights, some are documented reports on the demographics since I took over...” Aiden explains, motioning his hand toward the areas in which each resides as he runs down them, “...it looks like a lot because it’s pretty much every insight that I use to keep this show running on the right track.”

“I don’t understand how you can live like this” Carly responds, still standing to the side of the man’s desk with her coffee in hand and eyes held toward the amalgamation of documents, “I know you and Shane aren’t exactly tidy, but this is like a natural disaster put a hit out on you.”

“My job isn’t easy. There’s a lot to keep track of, and that applies double when I put my career on the line to take a risk like the one I made coming down here” Aiden replies, appreciatively sipping his coffee before leaning in his seat, both arms pressing into the sides of his chair. “Besides, where else would I keep stuff like this?” he carries on, regaining the anchor’s line of sight, “imagine if we were still dating. Would you really want me to bring all of this back to your flat?”

“Of course not! It just seems...” Carly answers, assessing the assorted mess of information once more whilst pausing, unable to put the proper word to the illustration that she bears witness to in the moment. “Excessive” Aiden concludes after a short time, nodding his head in agreement despite being the source of the mess in the first place, “I know it is, but again... that’s my job. All of it’s important and it all serves a purpose. As much of a mess as it causes... it’s necessary.”

Willing to take the man’s claims as gospel, Carly shrugs before allowing her feet to carry her toward the door. “Well, I’m gonna head off. Vince should be getting upstairs in a couple of minutes and I don’t want him getting settled in just to be ripped by the throat toward a breakfast date with some financier douchebag” she concludes, turning her full front toward the room’s exit before hearing her executive producer’s voice call out for her.

“Douchebag, huh?” Aiden jokingly wonders aloud, wearing the faintest smirk that takes no effort at all for his premier anchor to take notice of. “Yes, Aiden... he’s a bit of a douchebag” Carly playfully retorts, her own, composed grin returned to the man that begs the question, “just because a guy is pretty doesn’t mean that he’s worth anything more than drooling over.”

“That’s good to know” the executive producer responds, kicking one leg over the other as his anchor’s breathy laugh is returned to him, her back turning the rest of the way as she sets sail for the bureau. Somewhat amused by the way in which their interaction had concluded, Aiden leans as far back in his chair as it’ll allow him whilst taking a sizable swig from the cup, giving off the most satisfied sigh that a coffee has ever brought him.

\ Wednesday, October 17th, 2007 /
\ 9:18 am est. - 6:18 am pst. /

“I know you don’t drop in to check on me every day, but sometimes it sure as hell does feel like it” Vickers remarks, entering his office with a coffee in hand to find his superior awaiting his arrival. “I figured I wouldn’t go out of my way to convince you that I was already here since your secretary would’ve let you know ahead of time” Robin responds, confessing that her greater intentions were likely impossible to achieve.

“You pay her well... she appreciates me for that” Vickers replies, letting his coat fall off his shoulders before being guided by his hand toward the coat rack. “I got the call this morning. The reading is taking place next week” Robin cuts to the chase, stepping out of the president’s chair with little intention of sticking around any longer than she needs to, “from what I’ve been told, only four people are to be present.”

“Am I one of them?” Vickers questions back, not needing to wait long for his superior to answer his question with ‘no’ and replying to her, “then why would I care about who’s supposed to be there?”

“Because- aside from me- two of them are your highest-rated anchors” Robin answers, watching her subordinate pass her by before quickly looking back, his eyes squinting as the attempt at returning to his desk takes a pause. “Why would Grant and Taylor be in his will?” Vickers questions aloud, hiding a slight optimism that the company chairwoman wastes little time in voicing aloud.

“I’m not sure, but unless he decided within the last year and a half that he was going to try and make up for the scars he helped leave the girl with... I’d hope that would mean he’d redone his will very recently” Robin explains, stepping closer toward her employee-acquaintance and lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Now, I don’t know if what she said to that affair-having jackass made any progress...” she furthers, “...but if he had his will redone recently, it just might have paid off.”

“If he had his will redone recently and has the three of you invited, what are we worrying about?” Vickers queries, gently letting his coffee rest at the edge of his desk. “What we’re worrying about is the fact that the fourth person is Burt Russo” Robin answers, immediately earning the roll of the president’s eyes as he carries on with his approach toward his desk.

“We both know the kind of man that Ross is. We certainly know what kind of grudge he still had against me for ousting him from the company” the owner of the highest-percentage of shares in the company explains, “how much are you willing to bet he’d leave the shares to Russo for absolutely nothing simply because I was in the room to watch it happen?”

“I don’t know at this point, Robin. I wouldn’t discount the idea of him leaving the shares to Grant and Taylor at this point just to take a snipe at both you and Russo” Vickers concludes, dropping himself into his chair whilst looking toward the woman standing over him, “honestly, I’m kind of tired of speculating. With all this worrying about who gets Ross’ shares in the company, I miss just coming into work because I love being a part of making the news... Not being the news.”

“How do you think I feel?” Robin queries, rounding the desk before begrudgingly taking a seat on the visitor’s side, “I’ve had my authority questioned and put in doubt more in the last eight months than I have in the last eight years.”

“We’re all tired of this, Robin. The only light at the end of the tunnel as it stands now is that meeting next Thursday” Vickers responds, wearing a frown as he slides his hand into one of his desk’s drawers. “You know when the meeting is, you know what’s going to happen, and you can’t change any damn thing about it until then” the president continues, retrieving a bottle of scotch and placing it atop the desk, “why bother with letting pointless worrying get to you?”

“I don’t even know if ‘high-functioning alcoholic’ is a good enough title for you anymore. I think you might have outgrown it” Robin quips with humour, listening to the metal cap be directed by her subordinate’s hand around the rim it soon falls off of. “I prefer ‘strong-livered gentleman’ these days. It seems more fitting” Vickers replies, pouring a small amount of liquor into a paper cup that he sits before his superior’s person.

“You’re lucky I have mints in my purse” Robin responds, quickly leaving her chair, taking the paper cup into her hand and downing the drink without hesitation. “Keep your ship in working order, you elderly drunkard!” she proclaims whilst walking for the door, earning a snipe from the man she leaves behind. “Don’t use that ‘e-word’ around me! You wouldn’t call a donkey a horse if you saw its teeth first!” Vickers chirps, watching the woman wander off before returning the bottle to its cabinet.

|

\ Thursday, October 25th, 2007 /
\ 11:36 am est. - 8:36 am pst. /

“I don’t understand, are you his agent or his lawyer?” a white man with a trimmed circle beard questions, standing in the doorway to a room cut off from a larger waiting area. “Both. I’m certified in law and in the representation of my clients” Bruce answers, immediately reading the same hesitation on the man’s face that the rest of the room notices. “Listen, if you can let him in- great. If you can’t, Bruce can stay outside until we’re done and I’ll fill him in afterward” Grant explains.

“That is acceptable. I’m only authorised to let the four of you inside while proceedings are underway” the executor remarks, “once I’ve completed the reading of the will and all opportunities to ask questions have elapsed, we will open the room to anyone who wishes to join.”

“Is that alright, Bruce?” Grant questions, watching the man begrudgingly lift his hands into the air as a show of surrender, stepping back from the man that gently rests his non-dominant hand on Taylor’s lower back. “I’m a busy man and I have a lot on my plate. Can we just get this show on the road?” Burt questions, immediately hearing the snicker of the LMC chairwoman beside him.

“You’re just a walking fat joke, aren’t you?” Robin chirps, joining in the ire that the youngest of the present women continues to draw. “Can we just get this bullshit over with please?” Taylor wonders aloud, stepping forward with the hopes that her progression toward the room will convince the executor to similarly follow suit.

“Are there any questions before we begin?” the executor questions aloud three minutes after seating each beneficiary at the table, the Finley Network operator seated alone on one side whilst his LMC-based adversaries occupy the one opposite. “Yeah, when do we receive the things that we’re being given in this thing?” Taylor questions aloud, asking the one question that none of the present parties had raised just yet.

“Bank accounts, retirement accounts and other non-physical aspects will be distributed immediately” the executor responds, seated at the end of the table closest to the two parties, “any physical items you may receive will take a few months to be settled by the probate and distributed to their rightful beneficiaries.”

“So, company shares would be passed down immediately?” Burt questions aloud, sitting closer to one side of his chair than the other, his dominant arm resting against the seat’s side, “even if the shares are worth hundreds of millions of dollars cumulatively?”

“If the company shares are as high of a value as you present, there will likely be a few hoops to jump through with the I.R.S...” the executor replies before nodding his head and looking toward the opposite side of the table, “...but, yes. Aside from those caveats and actually having to sign off on the paperwork associated with the changing of ownership, company shares would be placed into the possession of their beneficiary immediately.”

As if readying for their feet to be put to the fire, the LMC trio begin holding their breath as the time for questions concludes, allowing the executor to open his leather bound binder to the will they’ve waited all too long to hear the results of. “Mr. Walker’s will is not a bullet point list and will be read in the manner it was copied” the will-reader explains, “for the purposes of clarity, it will be read like any letter would. Each paragraph, read by each word, until completion.”

Slightly impatient, Burt glances toward the opposite side of the table whilst pressing a hand against the side of his face. The subjects of his glance all eager to hear what’s been written, their collective patience proves to be one of necessity in the name of keeping a straight face, hiding their worry that nothing good will come out of the next few minutes as best as they can muster themselves to.

“My final hours on this earth will be spent thinking back to each of the ones I had lived prior to them. As I reach the end of them, I will hope to have lived a full life” Ross’ opening line reads, doing little to sit within the conscience of anyone other than the two younger anchors. “I have done good and I have done bad, but what I have not done is make amends for much of the former. I intend to change that, even if I don’t have much time left to do so” the following statement reads.

With slightly wider eyes, Taylor stares at the executor, whose face takes on the expression of focus that comes with someone reading off something as important as the document in his possession. Stricken with hope by the final line, Robin passes a glance toward the confused man on the opposite side of the table that fails to see the purpose in such a remark from the man he’d attempted to do business with.

“It is for this reason that I request any American currency that remains in the wake of my estate be donated to children’s hospitals, local foundations, and cancer research” Ross’ first declaration states, being scoffed at silently by the Finley Network chairman. “I next wish to leave all of my international property to the ownership of my first wife, Robin Lloyd, in full” the will follows, affirming the only true expectation that the woman in question entered the proceedings with.

“My domestic properties- aside from one- are to be left in the possession of Robin Lloyd as well” the next line reads, earning a slight squint from the LMC chairwoman, “I wish for my Port Washington estate to be left in the possession of Taylor English and Grant Haste.” Uncertain for the reason behind their benefitting of the property, both anchors glare with confusion at the document whilst keeping their mind on the bigger prize still at stake.

“In addition to this waterfront property, I wish to leave Taylor English and Grant Haste each of the assets that are registered under the Port Washington property” the executor carries on, “this includes a collection of seven foreign luxury vehicles, individual properties that reside within the home, and my vessel stored at the Port Washington Yacht Club.”

Taken aback by the generous wealth they’ve been left with, the couple stare on with bewilderment for a moment whilst retaining their reservations, aware of the possession still up for grabs that provokes the impatience within their network adversary to further build. “With that, what I am certain of is that my remaining assets- namely the twenty percent of shares that I own in LMC Media- are the greater focus of those that are present for this reading” Ross’ departing letter continues, “in that, I will waste no further time in naming the beneficiaries to these.”

As if told to brace for an impact that was only seconds away, the collective attention of those at the table stands immediately, their bodies tensing and teeth pressing together. Settling his impatience, Burt takes a slight lean forward whilst Robin clenches her fists, the anchors that man her premier broadcast strengthening their grasp on each other’s hands whilst their free fingers wrap tightly around the sides of the seats that they reside within.

“Of my twenty percent of shares in LMC Media, I leave them to Robin Lloyd for absolutely no cost” the letter proceeds, immediately fueling an anger within Russo that stands in drastic juxtaposition to the glee that brings an audible cheer over the three beneficiaries opposite him. Collectively leaping out of their seats with a roar of joy, Grant and Taylor release each other’s hands from their grasp and instead take each other into their arms whilst Robin’s head tilts back with immediate satisfaction.

“Fuck yes!” Bruce exclaims from beyond the doors that each of the beneficiaries had wandered through to begin proceedings, hearing the collective applause and knowing immediately who had reacted with it. “This is fucking bullshit!” Burt blurts aloud, reacting exactly the way in which the executor had come to expect of him, “had his miserable, bitch wife been a better driver, none of this would be happening!”

“Tough shit, Russo!” Robin proclaims with a smile, standing out from her seat and bringing a natural pause to the embrace that her primetime anchors share beside her, “you can talk all the game you want, but it’s like I’ve said countless times at this rate... LMC is my domain.”

Flaring his nostrils, Russo looks to the opposite side of the executor before hearing the neutral man’s continuation and turning his head. “After this, I imagine the room is currently uncivilised and I authorise my executor to finish off my will- which I don’t wish to waste any further time with” the man explains, finishing off the final declaration that Ross had to offer, “Burt Russo, you are the scum of the earth. I have more hatred for you than almost anyone else in life. To you, I leave a ten dollar gift card to Dunkin’ Donuts.”

Turning away with a look of obvious rage, the overweight network operator is refused the ability to leave the room as his rival’s voice draws his ear all too firmly. “Russo, the only thing that matters is that his wife’s dead, he’s dead, and you’re fucked” Robin quips, prompting the man to turn his back with a finger raised in the much smaller woman’s direction.

“If you think this is something to cheer about, you are sorely mistaken” Russo declares, watching as Taylor follows Grant toward the chairwoman’s direction, his posture suggesting that he’s ready for a fight in the event that one breaks out. “Do you think I’m oblivious to how Finley’s perceived by the public? Our shows aren’t meant to get people to trust us, it’s to get people to watch... That’s it” the heavy set man doubles down, “if you think I’m opposed to ruining our reputation for the sake of ruining you... think again.”

Making threats that the LMC chairwoman refuses to take as being anything other than idle, the borderline-obese executive turns toward the room’s exit before thinking twice, adding emphasis to his claims. “None of our networks like each other, but no one is at war here. ACN and CSN fill a void, but no one’s going at each other’s throats... Not until now” Russo declares, again pointing his finger in the trio’s direction, “you’ve picked a fight with a network who doesn’t pretend to be morally higher than the competition... And it won’t end well.”

“Finley stands as much of a chance of putting LMC out of business as the economy has of bouncing back anytime soon” Robin rebukes, drawing the furthered ire of the man that she fails to find any reason to fear, “there’s nothing you, or your slutty anchors, or your handsy correspondents, or your mindless audience can do to stifle us.”

“Maybe not, but it will make you wish the only thing you had to deal with was having me in your boardroom” Russo counters, offering his final declaration whilst moving his finger toward the subjects they’re intended to snipe at. “I’m going to make each and every board meeting a living nightmare for you...” the man declares with his finger aimed at Robin, only to pause and redirect his extended digit toward the anchors both beside and behind her, “...and I’m going to make your lives a living hell.”

Speaking his peace, Russo steps back and angrily ventures through the now-open doors, retreating toward the direction in which he’d entered the building whilst the trio he leaves behind watch on. Unphased and willing to remain that way until confronted with a reason to change that, the anchors and their superior stare on without uttering a word, having gotten out of the appointment what they’d wished for and ready to leave with the aftermath of their benefits in full swing.

== Tonight at 9 ==

]]>Sat, 03 Jan 2026 10:00:00 GMThttps://www.officialpacer1.com/season-4-20261/s4-e1-heartbreak-helionSeason 4 Premiere

\ Saturday, September 1st, 2007 /
\ 7:08 am est. - 4:08 am pst. /

Dressed in black with her legs crossed at the ankles, Taylor stares through the window of her town car's backseat, allowing it to take her past the lesser-travelled parts of New York state. Resting on either thigh, the back of her hands leave her open palms exposed through uncurled fingers as she watches humble hills and rolling fields pass by beneath a sun that- just one hour ago- hadn’t even fully risen.

With her straight locks of blonde hair falling over her shoulders, the longtime host of the nine o’clock news gently rests the back of her head against the leather upholstery of her seat. For a few seconds, the ride remains quiet aside from the dull sound of the car’s wheels rolling against the ground, offering not a remark, nor an obstruction of any sort to guide her attention away from the glass that she looks through. Instead, she’s left on her own to stare out into New York’s sleepy side.

Before long, a hand guides itself through the air and into the embrace of the woman’s own, prompting the sight-seeing anchor to snap away from her appreciation of the scene and direct her attention toward the man sat beside her. With an apologetic expression similar to the one he’d carried in the days prior, Grant locks eyes with his girlfriend without uttering a word at first, instead choosing to allow his delicate gaze to perform the speaking on his behalf.

With more lively eyes than she’d carried toward the passing views, Taylor looks toward her boyfriend as she locks the fingers of her non-dominant hand with those of his preferred one. Feeling the acceptance of his hand within his girlfriend’s own, Grant’s face lights with a smile that soon proves to be contagious, carrying over to his significant other’s face before the man’s own falls with the rest of his head.

Seeing this change, Taylor chooses to let it go unmentioned for the time being, not wanting to address it before her boyfriend can have the chance to do so of his own volition. Pondering the thought that litters his head, the newer of the two anchors to nine o’clock contemplates asking what sits on his mind, clearly troubled by the idea of uttering it off the place it resides near the front of his tongue.

“I’m not entirely sure how to ask this. So, before I do, just know that I’m not insinuating anything. Alright?” Grant queries, looking toward his girlfriend, who nods with ease and much more puzzlement carried in her face than concern. Fearing that he’ll come off as insensitive, the man parts his lips and keeps them removed from each other without saying anything for a few seconds, still fighting with himself internally to voice what he carries within.

“Are you actually grieving? Or, are you still trying to figure out how to process all of this?” he finally wonders aloud, watching his girlfriend take the faintest breaking of their eye contact before offering context. “I don’t mean to sound like an ass, it’s just that I know you and her hadn’t been that close within the last couple of years. There’d been a little bit of distance between you two” Grant explains, “I don’t know if this has affected you because it’s her or because of how sudden it was.”

“You don’t sound like an ass. At least, not to me” Taylor quickly replies, shaking her head with a faint smile in the corner of her mouth, looking back at him for a moment before redirecting her sights toward the back of the driver’s seat. Parting her lips now without speaking for a couple of seconds, the woman’s mind rummages through her head in search of a worthwhile answer, unsure if there is one that best describes the odd state that she feels herself being embraced by.

“I think it’s a little bit of both” she finally confesses, using the free hand not held within her boyfriend’s grasp to swipe a lock of hair behind her ear, “the way I figured out what happened definitely wasn’t how most people would’ve gotten the news. So, racing all across town to confirm that my friend from college really was dead had a couple of weird connotations.”

Resting the side of his head against the leather upholstery, Grant looks into his girlfriend’s eyes as they remain distant, moving from one element of the car to another whilst she voices her thoughts aloud. “She was my roommate. We knew each other’s sleep schedules, we had our own little rituals and inside jokes. We were friends, and we grew apart because that’s what happens” Taylor proceeds, “and now she’s no longer here. It stings, but not as much as it would’ve if we kept in contact.”

Though able to end her explanation there, the anchor chooses not to do so, searching through her thoughts for something further to offer. “If I’m being honest, I feel more selfish than I do anything else” Taylor opens up, deepening the corner of her mouth as her smile shifts into a frown. “Everything happened suddenly, and I think that changed the way I looked at all of this happening” she continues, “as close as we were, I can’t say in good faith that I’m going to miss her.”

“I wouldn’t call that selfish” Grant reassures with a near-whisper, only for his rebuttal to be reacted to with an assertive shake of the head. “That’s not what I feel selfish about. It’s definitely not something I would say around people I didn’t know, but it’s not the selfish part” Taylor corrects, taking her eyes back to those of her lover’s own, “there’s not really much to miss. All of our history is in the past anyway. Once this deal closed, I doubt I would’ve ever seen her again to begin with.”

Curious to the earlier remark his significant other had made, Grant opts to keep his lips pressed together, allowing the woman seated beside him to continue on her own accord. “What’s selfish is why I’m going to this funeral. It’s why any of us are even going to this funeral” Taylor explains, watching as the slight furrowing of confusion takes shape in her boyfriend’s eyebrows, “well, your reason isn’t selfish. But the others?”

Briefly glancing away, Grant lets his girlfriend continue to speak with more clarity on where she’s going with the remark. “Sam and Robin are going to look better in Ross’ eyes, and Russo would’ve done the same thing if he weren’t banned from it” Taylor explains, deepening her frown out of self-disappointment as she speaks to her own selfishness, “and I’m going because it might be the last chance I truly get to convince Ross to- at the very least- not sell to Russo.”

“I still wouldn’t call that selfishness” Grant quickly retorts, only for his girlfriend’s question of “well, what would you call something as heartless and inconsiderate as that?” to meet him just as quickly. Reacting to the inquiry by gently strengthening the warm squeeze he holds his lover’s hand with as his smile deepens, the less-tenured of the two anchors takes his free hand to the side of her face, grazing her chin with the tips of his fingers.

“At its worst, I’d call it self-preservation” Grant explains softly, his reassuring words calming the sickening pit in Taylor’s stomach that had formed out of disgust with her own intentions. “Listen, let’s just pretend that Burt Russo isn’t an awful person. Let’s pretend like he’s never had an allegation against him, he’s never conducted himself improperly, and he’s always been an upstanding citizen, alright? Let’s choose to live in that fantasy world for a second...” he proceeds.

“...Even with an entirely-clean slate, he’s still the owner of a company with morals more bankrupt than ours that houses a culture no parent would want their children to enter when they grow up” he finishes, gently laying his palm onto his better half’s cheek. “You’re not using Kaye’s death as a way to get what you want” Grant carries on, pausing for a second whilst putting on a simple gesture of comedy, “well, technically you are...”

Voicing the correction in a way that leaves his girlfriend both laughing and wincing, Grant bypasses the humoured remark in favour of finishing his original point. “But you’re also looking out for every child that could ever work at LMC, and all of the men and women that already do by trying to protect them from having to work in a place like the one Russo runs” he concludes, watching the weight of his comments settle into his lover’s conscience, warming her heart in a way that shows through her expression.

Leaning into her boyfriend to press her lips upon his, Taylor joins the man in an embrace that reassures her of the intent she sets upon carrying out, supported by the man’s insistence that he’s entirely behind her in the call that’s been made. Freed of the weight of the eight-year veteran of the nine o’clock news’ mind, the town car carries down the winds and turns that come with the backroads of rural New York in favour of the occupants’ final hopes at assuring change.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Saturday, September 1st, 2007 /
\ 11:12 am est. - 8:12 am pst. /

“Do you come to these kinds of events exclusively for the alcohol?” Robin questions, joining her colleague at a white cloth-covered table with a plethora of self-service options lined atop. “What’s the purpose of going to a funeral if I’m not allowed to drink?” Vickers queries, pouring himself a charitable glass of an unlabeled bottle of brown liquor before garnishing it with a lemon for the simple reason that the fruit slice was there.

“I would make a snide comment, but I’m quite certain that you asked that question with all sincerity” Robin rejoinders, earning a brief chuckle from the man as he lifts the rim to his lips. “Of course I do!” the spry-chicken of an elderly man assures, “when my mother and father died- both times- I wasn’t even sober when I walked up to the grave!”

“Yeah, that’s different. Your ability to put away alcohol is borderline superhuman and I’d assume it’s been that way since college. You were mourning and drunks only really do that in one way” Robin concludes. “Grade school, but to your point... yes” Vickers corrects, earning a slight widening of his employer’s eyes as he confirms her assumptions, “to my credit, however, I didn’t mourn my father like I did my mother. My father is the man that taught me to drink, I felt I owed it to him to be drunk.”

“Yeah, all alcoholics have an excuse, don’t they?” Robin questions back, turning her back to the table just as her subordinate does whilst inspecting the field of people that walk around chatting with each other. “Well yes, but most of them just rightfully blame their marriages” Vickers chirps back, making room in the conversation for the man that approaches.

“Where’s the girl?” Robin questions aloud, drawing focus to the lack of Taylor’s presence beside her approaching boyfriend. “You know where she is. None of us are here exclusively to mourn” Grant replies, his comments both pleasing Robin and earning a nod out of Vickers, whose eyes remain glued to the others invited to the event and scattered throughout.

“How’s she going to play this? She realises this might be our last chance at making any sort of headway, right?” Robin wonders aloud, a truth that isn’t lost on any of the funeral’s guests. “I don’t know how she’ll approach it, but she’s certainly aware of how little room for failure any of us have now” Grant explains, helping himself to an unmarked bottle of clear liquor that he pours into a tall glass already set out with a couple of ice cubes, “she’s not setting out on this with the intention of failing.”

“She won’t fail. She may not be able to close the deal, but she’s not going to put us in any more jeopardy than we’re already in” Vickers responds, lifting the glass to wet his lips with another sip.

|

\ Saturday, September 1st, 2007 /
\ 11:19 am est. - 8:19 am pst. /

Dressed in a modest black skirt and blouse, Taylor traipses into the nearby chapel where she knows the subject of her interest to be, finding him seated in the pew near the front of the church. Passing the faintest of glances over his shoulder at the sound of heels tapping against the marble floor, Ross returns to his sulking that he’d intended to keep private, though is left without a choice in the matter as he’s advanced upon.

“People are outside wondering where you are. You’ve got some of them concerned that you’re alone with how ill you are” Taylor explains, receiving too little of a reaction from the man for her to notice. “You found me easily enough. If they can’t, that’s not my problem” Ross responds in a glum tone, clearly continuing to grieve for a loss much closer to him than it is to the deceased’s one-time roommate.

Without uttering a word, the blonde lock-wearing lady takes a seat to the man’s left side, resting her back against the wooden support with dignity and class, staring forward with her hands folded atop each other on her lap. In silence, the cancer-ridden billionaire stares forward at the stage his newly-deceased wife’s casket once resided upon, offering not one word for at least a full minute.

Ready to entertain the silence for as long as the man beside her is, Taylor continues to stare forward without speaking, letting the hush in the air continue to fall upon them like the cool breezes near the end of summer that signal the change of the seasons. Breathing slightly, and heavier than the primetime anchor, Ross listens to each breath leave through his nose before enough time spent hearing them has passed that he wishes to break the silence.

“Who told you about her?” Ross questions aloud, prompting his guest’s head to drop toward her coupled hands as he raises his inquiry, “I’ve been trying to figure that out in between my grief, but I just can’t piece together how you would’ve known what happened and where to look for her.” Gently rubbing the back of her left hand’s pinky finger with the tip of her thumb, Taylor stares at the floor for a few seconds before lifting her eyes toward the front of the church.

“A local newscast was covering her crash. I didn’t notice that it was hers until a few minutes before the end of our show that night” Taylor confesses, turning to look at the side of the wealthy man’s face as she follows through, “I met with her to catch up the night Burt hosted Robin, Sam, and Grant on his yacht.”

“How did you know it was hers?” Ross questions aloud, still staring forward with little interest as of yet in turning to face her, “it could’ve been just any other random car crash.”

“I saw the scratched-out sticker of the kid on her rear window. I’d noticed it when I was leaving the diner that night” Taylor answers without hesitation, waiting through another brief pause before following her point with a question of her own, “was it a miscarriage?”

Hanging his head once more, Ross spends a few seconds sulky before replying with the calmest shake of his head in refusal. Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, the fatigued man continues to fight his exhaustion in the name of continuing to be of present-mind for his departed wife’s services. “They call it ‘sudden infant death syndrome’ from what I’ve been told” the man explains, greatly shifting the assumption that the news anchor had come to.

Feeling the burden of guilt and sympathy, Taylor passes a half-hearted, “I’m sorry” to the man beside her as she faces the front of the church once more. “We both were” Ross replies without much of a pause, resting his right arm against the pew’s side whilst his left sits across his lap, a slight forward-lean carried in his posture as his processing of the loss continues to unfold in real time.

“I understand how people perceive our age gap. But we both greatly cared for each other. Neither of us was using the other- we just didn’t have the traditional relationship. I can accept that” Ross carries on, shaking his head before fighting off the urge to enter a coughing fit. “He passed about three months after he was born. We were both devastated” he concludes, looking further toward the ground than he had up to that moment, “she loved that boy.”

Not truly knowing how to respond to the conversation being had, Taylor sits in silence and waits for the man to continue speaking, hoping that he’d switch the topic toward something easier for her to interact with. “Now I’m left with nothing. I never wanted children with Robin- at least, not until she couldn’t have them anymore” Ross explains, visibly distraught at the isolation he’s now left to endure, “now I’ve lost everyone. No son to inherit my business and no wife to leave with a comfortable life.”

Wearing a strong frown, Taylor doesn’t hold the kind of reaction that she would’ve expected herself to take on at such a remark, her empathies having fallen aside in favour of bitterness. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” she questions calmly, still looking at the ground as Ross slowly guides his attention toward her, not offering a reply to the question he knows has yet to be fully spoken aloud.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want me to feel about what you’re telling me” Taylor doubles down, matching the reaction of Ross by turning her own focus toward him just as he does her. “After Barry, the person I most-associate with the worst moment in my life is you” the woman explains, still refusing to let her voice lift past anything considered reasonable for the environment they hold this interaction within.

“You can say you were just doing what you had to in order to keep the company from losing a shit load of money, but I’ll always just boil it down to you being the man who tried to defend my rapist” Taylor doubles down, a conclusion that prompts Ross to nod his head with equal acceptance. “I’m sorry that Kaye died. I remember our time in college fondly and I’m sorry she had to go through that with you” the anchor concludes, “but the sympathy I have for her cannot be replicated for you.”

“I don’t expect it to be. In fact, it shouldn’t be” Ross corrects, assuring the woman that her comments are neither out of line or unwarranted. “I do want you to know, however, why it was something I stooped low enough to do” the man explains, watching the woman’s hesitant eyes take shape, almost as if she were ready to disbelieve anything he could say.

“When you’re in the position that I was in with LMC at that time- for as long as I was in it- there is a depressing lack of morality that comes with it” he confesses, shaking his head with the memories that he still carries after all of this time away. “Every person is a number. It’s a salary you want to cut down on, it’s a job that you can’t argue is necessary, it’s a figure that may damage your bottom line. Every person is anything but a person” Ross continues.

Her reservations kept intact, Taylor chooses to keep her composure firmly within her grasp, not wishing to stray out of line as she silently waits for the man to continue speaking. “When you treat your job like that for long enough, you stop seeing things the way that others see them. You get detached from people being people” the billionaire explains, “and when what happened with you and Barry happened, the only method I’d been conditioned to view it in was how it affected the company.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse” Taylor wastes little time in calmly adding in, watching the shake of the head that Ross returns to her with intrigue. “Of course it’s not. It shouldn’t be, but it should give you a better idea of why it was so easy for me to look at it like I was fulfilling my obligation to the shareholders” the ousted executive explains, “you weren’t Taylor English of Tonight at 9 fame at that point, you were just a pretty, young, blonde girl hired to be a paid intern.”

“Is that supposed to change anything?” the woman inquires, again watching the shake of Ross’ head respond to her. “No, but it should put this into a better perspective. The company had a few thousand employees at the time, and I- as the acting CEO and chairman- couldn’t justify risking their jobs and the company’s bottom line because a girl was assaulted” he carries on,  “it’s shameful that such can even be true, but it’s even more shameful for me to admit that it was an easy stance to take.”

Looking back toward the front of the church at the conclusion of the man’s comment, Taylor lets the side settle with herself as the air grows quiet again, the lack of either voice leaving an absence of sound in the air. Though distant, the chatter of the crowd across the parking lot from the tiny chapel at the centre of the graveyard sounds somewhat noticeable from the front-most pew with the uneasy hush that comes over the lone pair of mourners within the building.

“I understand why you view me in the way that you do. I understand why everyone else does as well” Ross clarifies, re-earning the attention of Taylor’s tense face with his speech. “I just hope that- as long as you keep holding this grudge against me- you’ll see that it wasn’t a decision I made out of pure malice” the man explains, “it’s easy to look at people with my wealth and think they’re just snakes. Plenty of them are, in fact. But a lot of us are because that’s what our jobs demand of us.”

“Why tell me any of this?” Taylor quickly wonders aloud, again speaking with the composure that she’s carried through the interaction’s duration, “you’re dying, your wife is dead, and this is probably the last time we’ll ever see each other. So why, after all of this time, is it important to you to make any of this clear to me?”

“Why would I want to die leaving someone thinking that I went out of my way to protect their assailant?” Ross responds as hastily as his guest has raised her counter-inquiry, still weak in his delivery beneath the weight of the drugs he’s been pumped full of to fight the cancer that brings about the rest of his weakness. “There’s no one in this life that I’m more disgusted with than Arnold Barry for what he did to you” the man continues, “maybe it’s because of how impactful that turned out to be, but my disgust for him is still as strong as it’ll always be.”

With the faintest squint in her eye, Taylor continues to look the man in the eyes as he speaks, quietly reserving a statement of her own to make for the moment in which the man beside her finishes his point. “You’ve carried this hatred of me for this long, so I’d at least like to give you some fashion of closure in knowing why I took the side that I did” Ross explains, “and for what it’s worth, Sam Vickers earned his angel wings that day by having the balls to stand up for you that I just didn’t have.”

Though she’d otherwise be appreciative for the assuring comment that’s made toward her, Taylor’s reservations direct her toward breaking eye contact once more, concealing her thoughts behind a wall of silence that she erects up until the point in which she chooses to shatter it. With the air quiet and Ross’ attention brought back toward the front of the chapel, the declaration that sits within the top of her mind makes itself too strong to contain any further.

“Then don’t sell your shares to Burt Russo” the woman orders, looking toward the wealthy man just as he looks toward her, a scowl worn across her visage. “If the way that I perceive you is- even in your dying days- as important to you as you claim it is, then I’d imagine your legacy would be pretty important to you too” Taylor explains, watching the inquisitive face take shape upon the mourning gentleman seated beside her.

“You may think you have a few months left, but I think we both know what losing Kaye’s done to you. You may be physically able to fight for a few more months, but I’d be shocked if your heart didn’t give out within the next week” Taylor continues, opting to make the passage more akin to ripping a bandage off the wound. “You have no wife, no kids, and no family to pass your wealth down to. When you buy the farm, it’ll be the last thing a ‘Walker’ ever purchases with your money.”

Now following the suit that his guest had taken throughout their discourse’s duration, Ross takes his turn to keep his lips pressed together, not interrupting the woman he wishes to hear out. “If your legacy is as important to you as not leaving me without closure is, then what you should be doing is getting on the phone with your lawyer to make sure that anyone other than Burt Russo is the one that gets your shares” Taylor remarks, “because the last thing you need to be remembered for is making a deal with him.”

Stricken with a metaphorical gut-punch at the latter-most line, Ross’ eyes take toward the ground as the blonde anchor continues to speak. “Take the Rockefeller route if you really must. Start syphoning off your wealth to charities, build schools and low-income housing or something like that. Die and leave everyone remembering you for giving back to the world once you no longer had a use for the money” the woman suggests, “but don’t be the guy whose legacy is selling off LMC to that man.”

Still silent, Ross’ ability to respond seems to evade him, his mind going blank with a worthwhile response as he sits with the woman’s comments. Having said what she’d come to, Taylor nods to herself before leaving the pew, walking around the man and returning to the aisle that she’d travelled to originally take the seat in the first place. With one foot in front of the other, her heels tap along the ground and bounce a sound of tapping against the spacious, internal walls like a rubber ball.

Letting a long sigh free from within her core, the thought-depleted anchor marches for the doors before hearing her name being called out from where she’d stepped away. In a fragile tone of voice, Ross turns to look over the back of the pew and stares at the woman that also turns back, her person standing before the sun that shines through the chapel’s open doors, cascading her in a ray of light that the death-bound billionaire has very few opportunities left to see.

“I truly am sorry for taking his side that day” Ross confesses, not wanting that truth to be lost upon the woman in the wake of her departure. Watching her shadow stretch across the floor and toward the man she leaves behind, Taylor presses her lips together and takes in his apology for a moment before reiterating her stance. “Then don’t do the deal with Burt Russo” the woman replies, waiting a beat before turning around and following through with her exit.

Watching as the anchor steps into the sunlight and rejoins those she’d been accompanied by in the graveyard, entering the field that Ross will someday soon lie in himself. Remaining amongst the living for now, the billionaire turns back toward the front of the chapel without a soul around, neither a sympathy to pass on or a prayer to present. On his lonesome just as his final days shall be spent, the man takes in a deep breath and lets it free with his eyes pressed shut, bringing himself to a peace he’ll be forced to endure soon one way or another.

== Tonight at 9 ==


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