“Shadrach.”

Ted Turnblatt spun on his heel, coffee roiling in his mug. “Only my mother calls me that, and she’s dead,” he said with a showman’s smile.

Omnibob, in its suit, did not return the gesture, though it was quite able to do so. “We need to talk about Toast That Bread, Shadrach.”

“Look, I know the contestants have been lousy lately, but that’s down to Acquisitions,” said Ted. “I’m doing the best I can with a game show designed to sell bread and toasters that has bread and toasters as its only prizes.”

“Corporate feels differently, Shadrach,” said Omnibob. “We feel that your approach may be too…old-fashioned.”

“Old fogies are the ones who get the most excited about toast,” sniffed Ted. “You don’t want a disaster like the time The Dietary Fiber Hour tried to appeal to the youth demo.”

“We’re not retooling the show; we are retooling you,” replied Omnibob. “Your resignation is requested, at the standard corporate buyout internal rate. You will finish this week’s filming and then report to Omnidyne Central Casting Unit for your new assignment.”

“I have an ironclad five-year contract,” Ted sputtered. “You should know.”

“We do know. That’s why you’re being asked to voluntarily terminate it.”

“Forget it,” Ted snapped. “I’ll finish my five years, and then we’ll talk.”

“Is that your…final answer, Shadrach?” said Omnibob.

“Absolutely.”

Ted gasped in pain as an object suddenly erupted from his chest, a gentle claw of bread, hardened in the oven, piercing him from behind and collapsing a lung.

“We will therefore invoke the death and disability clause,” Omnibob said. “Instead of replacing you at the end of the week, Contessa will replace you now.”

As Ted sank to the ground, his vision fading, he saw Contessa walking toward him, clad in a three-piece suit and wingtips, her hair ponytailed. She bent over, waved him goodbye, and then all was darkness.

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