Vincent lounged in the half-lit backstage corridor, surveying the scene with quiet satisfaction. The reporter at his feet still twitched, static curling from Vincent's fingertips as he crouched beside the body.

“Terrible delivery. Terrible face,” he sighed, nudging the ruined cheek with a mic cable. “Airtime is sacred, sweetheart.”

The studio hummed around him, empty save for flickering lights and abandoned cameras. Rising, he caught his reflection in a nearby mirror and smiled.

“Some people chase relevance. I remove obstacles.”

The anchor desk waited beyond the curtain, ready for its new star. Vincent was already moving toward it when he paused. Someone else was here. A grin spread across his face as the silence stretched.

“Well,” he purred, “looks like tonight’s broadcast might have an audience after all.”