"Over the past year, the Holding's broadcasts have collectively surpassed the top three federal channels in terms of views. And this is even taking into account television viewership, not just online audiences..." The voice of a young man in a gray suit sounds very convincing, yet unpleasant, echoing hollowly through the empty conference hall.
"And what about the financial results?" interrupts another director, resembling all the other pre-retirement-age directors.
"Yes... Next slide. As you can see, we are steadily growing in the areas of contextual advertising and advertising integrations. But in percentage terms, the biggest breakthrough right now is occurring in the cryptocurrency microtransactions sector. As predicted, viewers are actively responding to interactivity, participating in fundraising for commissioned content..."
The director wrinkles his nose with disdain (it seems he hasn't lost that ability yet) and dismissively remarks:
"The Colosseum..."
"Well..." the presenter stammers awkwardly. "History repeats itself."
"As a farce."
"It's just a genre," chimes in a certain producer with violet designer hair. "Let's skip the self-reflective nonsense. Those who wanted to watch it did so without us. Those who didn't want to won't start now. We don't impose tastes on viewers; we satisfy their desires. If not us, then who?"
"Someone else," smiles the revived presenter.
"That's exactly it. And they'll take our money. And we must take their money back—money that was theirs but will become ours!"
"Alright. Alright," concedes the director. "Let's finish with the statistics. You were going to tell us about the new product."
"Yes!" The producer leans back comfortably in his chair and puts his feet up on the table. "Despite these victory-oriented charts of yours, focus groups are already showing a decline in interest. We still hold audience attention next month, but within two or three months, people will start unsubscribing. They'll simply switch over to the losers with gurru-content, those who boil brains in buckets and all that kind of stuff..."
The director winces again.
"It's clear that this is niche content. Red rooms. Torture. It's not for us. It's outside our target audience. Satanism. Unhealthy. We condemn it. But the fact remains that we're falling short."
"And why?" genuinely asks the man in the gray suit.
"Because it's boring! Everyone's fed up! Endless air raids. Rocket attacks. Meaty assaults. All bullshit! 200-300. Statistics..." The producer looks at his interlocutors expectantly, pausing for effect. "Well, I've got this guy in scriptwriting... Vitenka. He's practically a real writer. He's been driving me crazy with this idea for a long time. We need a hero. Not a crowd. Not a mass in helmets. Not some damn caviar. But a real, damn it, hero. Someone you'll empathize with. Follow! Root for!"
"Like Alyosha?" guesses the presenter.
"Like hell! Your Alyosha farted and was done. What we need is a phenomenon. A character. A mythical hero. A superhuman! Super-damn-Alyosha!"
"But where can we get one?"
"We create him. We grow him."
"Huh?"
"Let Georgiy Mikhalyich explain... I argued with him half a year ago about the biological direction. I even swore like a sailor..."
"The Belarusian contractor? The director frowns. "Could it really be that they've managed something?"
"They've managed it. They've really managed it! Something proper, damn it! Biological weaponry! Something that will make everyone shit bricks! And just imagine how the ratings will soar..."