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Another day, another… nothing. Creel has been somewhat dormant the last couple months. After the relatively recent acquirement of his powers, his petty crimes failed to really catch on. He's managed to make enough money to pay for his rent out at least another thirty days, and has somewhat let his life go to crap in his muted depression. Where's the respect? Where's the fear? He keeps ruminating on the heavyweight champion title he could have gotten, in another world, another existance. A household name as a tough guy nobody messes with. Alas. He's presently in a dirty recliner, feet extended, wearing heart-covered boxers and an old wifebeater. He's continued his workout regiment, but beyond that has been doing nothing but loafing, currently drinking the fourth beer of the night. It's the 'dark time' of television, before good evening broadcasts start. If he gets enough of a buzz, he should be able to get through it…
*
Speaking of good evening broadcasts? Well, that's not what's about to take over the airwaves — not to the general public, but just in one particular apartment in the city that never sleeps. No, first there's a bit of static, then a bright orange screen.
"Hey, YOU!" calls a terrible voice that sounds not entirely unlike Gilbert Gottfried. If the squaking voice were known in this era. "That's right, I'm talking to you! Sitting in a recliner, drinking a beer, doing jack shit with your life!" Pause. "Can we say that on TV? No? TOO BAD! I'm still talking to you!"
To be truthful, it sounds like the start of yet another infomercial.
*
The moment of static causes Creel to make an annoyed sound. He takes another long look when the television begins to squawk once more, finger entering his ear and twisting to and fro roughly for a few moments. Giving it a sniff, he reaches out to grab an old pool cue. Leaning forward, he prod-prod-prods until hitting the knob to turn it to a new channel. Apparently he hasn't realized the supernatural aspect of this yet, and isn't very interested in changing his lifestyle despite being part of the target demographic!
*
Each prod of the knob produces a bit of static, and the same picture.
"Hey!"
*prod*
"You!"
*prod*
"STOP IT! Nobody changes the channel on the magnificant Mojo! Drop the stick, sit down and keep those ears open! Are you bored?" The word 'bored' pops up on the screen in cartoonish letters. "Do you feel unappreciated? Do you want the world to chant your name, your adoring public hanging on your every word?"
Cue some piped in audio that might be /very/ familiar to Creel — a crowd, chanting 'CRUSH-ER! CRUSH-ER! CRUSH-ER!' Something he may remember /very/ well from his time as a boxer. In fact, the audio's taken /directly/ from an old broadcast.
*
Okay, that's less expected. Creel blinks at the television when the channel refuses to change, slowly leaning back and allowing the cue stick to drop until the tip touches the floor. "…? What the hell is this?" he asks the air, turning to look left and right suspiciously before his attention returns to the television, eyes narrowing. Did he black out and is dreaming…? Wouldn't be the first time…!
*
"That's more like it, isn't it? Everyone knowing your name, not just in the city, not just the country or even the /world./ Imagine being famous across worlds that even the eggheads at NASA have trouble imagining?"
Cue a cut to an audience; but not a human audience, no, there's creatures from all across the Mojoverse sitting (at least, those who /can/ sit). The kinds of beings that would tittilate scientists and horrify children. And /they're/ chanting Creel's name, too. Fists and other appendages pumping in the air along with the word. The pan over towards the gelatinous yellow visage of Mojo himself, metallic legs of his chair skittering to turn him towards the camera.
"Beautiful, isn't it? And it could be yours, bubala! This limited-time offer is only being offered to the best of the best, and that means YOU!"
Pause for effect, and the crowd dies down. "You might be wondering," the blob-like creature starts, arms splaying to either side. "But Mojo, what do /you/ get out of this? Do I have to pay a thousand dollars?" Pause. "No, not a thousand dollars, not five hundred, two hundred or even a penny! All you have to do is put your natural talent to work and pulverize some pipsqueaks in a fight that'll be broadcast to /billions!/ Cassius Clay, eat your heart out!"
*
Okay, Creel doubts he's creative enough to imagine some of those monsters presently filling his shitty television screen. Mojo himself is ugly enough to cause a grimace even from the Crusher, although he doesn't linger on such things. Numbly, he takes another long guzzle of his beer, letting the bottle fall to the ground adjacent amongst the others. "Lemme get this straight. You want me to bust some heads… and I'll be famous for it?" His neck slowly twists until it pops. "That was literally my dream as a kid. It ain't much different now. But I can save you a lot of trouble. Nobody can beat the Absorbing Man in a fight. Nobody."
*
"Famous is just the beginning, Crusher baby!" Mojo bellows, body rumbling with a fit of laughter. "Prove yourself to the masses and you could have your own series, Crusher Creel, Champion of Champions, competing every week against the toughest opponents we can dig up in front of a live, adoring audience! Babes fawning over your every move! You can already imagine it, can't you?"
Mojo smiles, showing way, waaaay too many teeth. "But you ain't gonna be fighting just one pipsqueak. You might remember this little number," A picture of Lorna, in her 'armor' pops up on screen. "You might not know her buddies." It's soon joined by five others — Billy, a city bus driver that Teddy had shapeshifted into, Ava, Hope and Tommy. "…but some silly KIDS are no match for the Absorbing Man, ARE THEY?"
*
"Hrrm." Creel comments, although he doesn't seem entirely sold on the idea. He's not sure if Mojo is trying to market him to some multidimensional audience, or Earth. There's a pretty big difference there. Flexing before slug-people and causing big-headed people to faint is not the kind of fame he's seeking. Although Lorna causes Creel to pause, lips hardening into a line. Tommy seems familiar, though… didn't he want to punch him once? "What's the deal with the girl? She ain't nothing to Absorbing Man. I only hassled her as a favor." He certainly doesn't recognize her from anywhere famous, not that he has ever made the slightest attempt. "But yeah. You wanna send some little kids into bed with Creel and have it end in pound town, I'm your man. Long as they ain't dead afterwards. Crusher Creel ain't no murderer." Also, phrasing.
*
Cue a ticker-tape and confetti extravaganza displayed on the television, complete with sirens and prize-sounders. "The brillance of the Absorbing Man will go down in history! Trust me, you /want/ the kind of media machine I can provide backing you up!"
As for the question about the girl? Mojo evades the question, waving his arms. "She's /nothing/ compared to you, she's an ingrate, a nobody, a nuisance! Just like the rest of them. The world's gonna love you, and that's /all/ you need to know."
As for not killing them? …and the other bit? Mojo looks offscreen, "Can /he/ say that on TV?" Pause. "We'll allow it! They don't have to be dead, they don't /matter./ /You're/ the star, and you just have to put on a show to entertain the masses. Do that, and your stock's gonna go up, up, UP!" Queue his scrawny arm lifting higher with each 'up'. Cut to a close-up of Mojo's grinning face, tone turning more serious. "Then we have a deal. I'll bring /you/ to the set when we're ready for you to make your debut. Until then? Staaaaay tuuuuuuuuuuned~"
Cut back to static, and then the return of that horrible, afternoon programming.
*
"Hrrmph." It's true, Creel isn't interested in abusing ideallistic youth for no benefit, but if that benefit is fame, then he's totally on board. "Alright, then. You, uh, know where to find me." He scratches his beer-stained bellyshirt. Chances are almost certain he's just going to keep drinking beer in front of the television until showtime. Then again, isn't that precisely the sort of person Mojo might want…?!