Cameraman Never Dies

Judge could feel the tension radiating from Hawthorne, the poor guy practically sweating bullets under his mask of composure. Ah, yes, perfect, Judge thought. This is what villainy is all about, making people squirm without lifting a finger. He sat back, crossing his arms, trying to exude a vibe that said I know everything about you, when in fact, he had no clue what Hawthorne was even doing inside the researcher's office.

"So, tell me, Mister Hawthorne." Judge was trying too hard to sound domineering. He lowered his voice just enough to sound ominous—well, he hoped it was ominous and not just like he was about to read bedtime stories. "what was your business inside my underling's personal space?" He wanted to pat himself on the back for his Theatrical and terrifying performance—10/10 delivery. but that would have to wait.

Hawthorne was definitely frying his brain on how to respond. He was, no doubt, scared of the entity. But his pride won't allow him to just act as if he is scared.

Finally, he decided to be humble but not act scared. He held his hat on his chest and gave a slight, polite bow. "I was just searching for a diary, sorry if I intruded upon the place of your servant." Hawthorn stayed in the bowing position without anyone talking, like he was waiting for a royal knighting, but mostly just trying not to tremble. He could feel that he was being observed by the person on the throne, but he did not dare to raise his head.

Judge was contemplating on what to say to the person in front of him. If he wanted to a person to do as he wanted, he needed to know more of the person. And the information was exactly what he lacked. So he needed to know more about Hawthorne, but how?

He thought a bit and a lightbulb flickered in his mind. Of course! Play it cool, ask the right questions, and pretend like you've known what's going on the whole time! He prepared to take it up a notch in his villainous performance.

He cleared his throat and decided to ask him in a commanding tone. The tone that had the best possibility of success. "I am curious," Judge said, his acting was commendable. Years of grinding trying to take control of the cooperate industries required a good grasp of many things.

"Why were you searching for a diary," He paused for dramatic effect, mentally congratulating himself on the perfectly timed silence. Then he smirked—well, he imagined smirking, because the mask was doing all the work. "Did you, perhaps, find parts of Victor's torn diary...?"

He let the silence build again, this time turning the tension meter all the way up. The tension in the air was so thick that it could have been sliced with a butter knife. Hawthorne looked up slightly, clearly surprised, his eyes wide, as Judge leaned in for the kicker.

"A diary," Judge said slowly, making sure every word reached his ears, "about... nothing?"

Just as he had expected, Hawthorne stood there, paralyzed. He was like a low-end CPU that was trying hard to process a huge load of information and lagging the system. Ok! I this, if I just push this a little more. He was about to speak, but Hawthorne spoke in a dazed manner.

"Who are you?" Hawthorn asked the first question that came to his mind. He was also wondering why the servant never spoke a single word all this time, but he had greater issues to think about.

Judge, of course, had been waiting for this moment. Oh, yes, the perfect setup. He straightened up dramatically, making sure the invisible spotlight was on him. "Oh me?" he began, pausing for maximum effect. "I am the narrator of untold stories." He threw in a dramatic hand gesture, the kind you'd see in a theater production right before the villain breaks into a monologue.

"Call me..." A dramatic pause (again), this time really dragging it out for the weight, "...The Cameraman."

There it was. Perfection. He could practically hear the applause in his head. If there was an award for most theatrical villain reveals, he'd be giving the acceptance speech right about now.

He did not stop there, he needed to make himself appear more powerful. Theatrics were just the beginning. He snapped his fingers and, in an instant, transported Hawthorne to a chair opposite his clone. The table appeared, and the chair was, of course, grand and intimidating—just like a proper villain's chair should be. "Please take a seat."

Haw was still skeptical about the whole scene, but he still sat down because he still had his survival instincts active. The chair was surprisingly comfortable, but he wasn't about to let his guard down.

"Now! Answer me, why were you seeking the diary?"

Hawthorne, still holding on to what remained of his self-esteem, sat up straight. He started to answer honestly, but he also wasn't stupid. "I was commissioned by someone who found the diary," he admitted. "I don't know the specifics, just that it contains information about an ethercraft related to nothing."

Judge acted as if he was thinking for a bit, but he had already thought of what to say next. "I see," Judge said, giving Hawthorn an illusion of deep consideration. Then, with a slow nod, he dropped the bait. "I shall give you the diary... but what would you give me in return?"

Hawthorne blinked. He'd expected some grand demand, not this vague, open-ended question. "Please do tell me what you need," he said cautiously. "I cannot possibly know what someone of your existence would require."

Judge laughed and created a white mask identical to the one he was wearing. "Join 'The recorders'. " He had laid out the base, now, all he needed was for the pray to take the bait and fall into his trap.

"What is the recorders?" Hawthorne Took the bait. Judge smiled creepily under his mask, the creepiest smile a villain can give, and the creepy mask he was wearing was not as creepy as his current illegal face.