Chapter Text
Static. Footsteps. Chatter. Music. An occasional car horn. The noises, although beginning to dwindle as the day came to an end, were what any civilian would expect from the lustrous streets of TV Land. No matter what time of day, the entire world always seemed busy, though perhaps a bit busier than they were before he showed up. Although it had been years, some things still felt so new. Despite the commotion outside, Mike R. Phone, TV Land’s resident (and only) radio host, was where he always was: sitting at the desk of his small studio with a drink in one hand and his radio mic in the other, blocking out the racket with the sound of his own voice.
“Now, here’s where it gets interesting: the King released the grip he had on my throat and set me down as gently as a brute such as himself could. I brushed off my suit- you know how I feel about my suit getting dirty- and he got real close to me, staring daggers right in my eyes…and you know what he said?”
No one replied (because nobody else was there).
“He told me I could take whatever fancy witchcraft I’d created and shove it right up my pretty little…well, come to think of it, maybe it’s best I spare you guys the details. Don’t wanna get my show canceled, now do we?”
He reached over to press the laugh track key on the nearby keyboard, which he always kept around to add extra pizazz to his shows. It was all he could do since losing his live audience.
“Point is, I never got the King of Card Kingdom on my show, not in all these years. I did, however, get his wife to do a quick interview back in the 80’s! And let me tell you, she is a lady of few words indeed. But we’re running low on time. How’s about one last song before we wrap things up?”
Why was he still asking questions?
“Right, right. You know this one, needs no introduction.”
The last song started to play. It was the same one that ended every show since Mike first started his radio gig. Once upon a time, it was a little different every time it played. Sometimes, he’d be the one singing it. Sometimes, it would be one of his crew members or a guest. Sometimes, he’d even play the whole thing on his keyboard instead of using the pre-recorded track. He never grew tired of it, no matter how many of his listeners did, but lately, he just hadn’t felt like putting in that kind of effort. Nothing like that mattered now that it was just him.
Sighing as the dulcet tones of a tune so familiar settled around the studio, Mike allowed himself to kick back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. He reached for the fruity beverage next to him (one of the few perks of having no listeners is nobody knows or cares when you drink on the job) and took another swig, staring at the walls around him. Most of the time, Mike would do his show, get off air, and spend the night either sleeping or thinking about tomorrow’s show. It’d been his routine for years now, decades even. His mind had been on autopilot since his radio show became a one-man special.
Unfortunately for him, he also forgot that drinking made him think about things other than his totally-not-dying career. That included his friends, if he could even call them friends anymore. Part of him wanted to, even though they’d never bothered to reach out since they went their separate ways. Despite everything, he didn’t want to hold hard feelings toward his crew. Mike knew the entertainment business like the back of his hand; they did what they had to do! That damn cathode was the one he should direct his rage at.
Mike sneered at the thought of him. C.R. Tenna, the founder of TV Land and currently its biggest star. What did the C.R. even stand for? Mike didn’t know and sure as hell didn’t care. Ever since he took the entire world from his grasp and turned his perfectly fine Radio Land into a gaudy mess, it was much more sensible to work for him and not the former big man in town who could hardly cough up a single listener. The weather people were the first ones to book it, entranced by the appeal of moving pictures and vibrant colors that radio could no longer offer. Then the band left, then the sound design, then it felt like everyone skedaddled all at once. Hell, even all the advertisers worked for Tenna before a good half of them went digital! Mike thought he could at least keep Cass on his side, but she was the last to go, giving him one of the hardest goodbyes he’d even been through.
Mike toyed around with the toothpick-pierced olive sticking out of his drink, staring into what felt like darkness. He had no idea why he still kept pictures of the crew plastered around his wall, bittersweet reminders of everyone who ripped his heart out. He gripped the martini glass tightly, careful not to break it but not making any promises, and popped the olive into his mouth (toothpick included), chewing it as one would usually do a steak and swallowing it with a rough gulp. Even though he definitely did, Mike felt like he should resent them more, and maybe if he thought about it longer, if he spent an entire day staring at the wall and dwelling on all the burnt bridges, he’d rip down their photos and light the whole studio ablaze. Part of him felt like it might be a little cathartic to give in to the madness. Too bad he didn’t have it in him.
The last song was ending anyway, the final notes echoing through his empty studio. Then silence. His cue.
“And there you have it, folks. Another show under wraps.”
Mike meant to press a finger against the key that played applause but accidentally fumbled and fell onto a neighboring one which happened to be the key for cricket noises. He growled under his breath at his mistake, finding it too ironic to correct before speaking.
“For anyone who’s listening, I wanna say a few words. I know I normally keep the endings short and sweet nowadays, but I’ve been thinking- dangerous, I know- and I really wanna reach out to…well, anyone.”
He twirled the microphone cord around in his fingers.
“Look, look, maybe it’s just me, but with the times changing like they are, I can’t help but feel a little smaller than I was before. It’s like all the darkners and buildings and even the music’s so different...”
Another pause. He gritted his teeth.
“If you’re like me, you’ve had to say your fair share of farewells over the past few years. At first, it really takes you off-guard because no matter what, no matter how many times you were warned, part of you never saw it coming. The change, that is. And I guess the loss. They kinda go hand-in-hand when you think about it.” Mike laughed. “Guess it makes me old fashioned, right? To sit here, telling every story I can think of from the golden days of radio and maybe even making a few up just so anyone who still cares enough to hear me out might find me- I mean, my show interesting.”
No reply. He was used to it. But he wasn’t used to the pang in his chest or at least had been numbed by it for too long. Damnit, he really should’ve ordered a stronger drink. Mike tried his best to force a smile, wiping his face with the side of his sleeve.
“I know what everyone thinks of me. That I’m “washed up,” “living in the past,” “a lost cause,” “a dinosaur,” all that junk. And the funniest thing about it, my fellow listeners?” He leaned in closer to the mic, voice growing more frantic. “I couldn’t even care if I tried. Hell, I’m not going anywhere! Ever!” A twisted chuckle burst from somewhere deep in the host’s throat. “Radio Land can become TV Land and audio can switch to video and everyone I know and care about can leave me in the dust, but I don’t care! I don’t care at all! Ol’ Mikey’s stickin’ around until he DIES!”
He banged his free fist on the desk with enough force to almost knock the microphone off, gripping his drink as tightly as he could muster without shattering glass. “And with that, I bid you goodbye but only for now. We’ve got some sleeping to do before we get up bright and early and do the same thing tomorrow! Or maybe it’ll just be me again; I don’t know. But you know what?” He looked at the last picture he took with his crew all together. It made the manic feeling in his gut explode. “You’re never, ever, EVER getting rid of me! Ever! Have a good night, TV Land! I’ll see you all tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and the-”
The red light abruptly shut off, and he heard the whirring of technology powering down around him. Airtime was over. Mike’s award-winning smile started to curve downward once more as the realization of what he’d just done hit him like a truck, and before he could dwell on it too long, he downed the last swig of his drink, shuddering at the onslaught of bitterness that came with it, and practically collapsed on his desk.
Why did he do that? He’d been so good about not breaking down on air this week; why’d he have to go and do it right at the end? This was surely it for him. Nobody would ever want to listen to someone who spilled their guts out on… That’s right. No one was listening anyway.
Mike put down the now empty glass rather roughly and ran the hand that had been holding it through his curled, frizzy hair. He stared down at his feet as he felt the glares of everyone he’d let down by existing piercing him. And then, he did what any sensible washed-up radio host would do in his position. He started laughing. It started out similar to his previous laugher, a slight edge but overall stable. Soon, it devolved into something much more desperate, maniacal, and almost sinister. Above all else, it was a cry for help not even Mike himself would acknowledge. He slammed his fists down on his desk, both of this time, so hard the whole thing shook. Mike then planted his face on its wooden surface, feeling a few more tears well in his eyes.
He never wanted to become this. Never in a million years did he see such a shift in his personality and well, in everything coming. Things weren't how they were when the other darkners cared about him. Radio Land was not TV Land but a deceased fantasy that now felt like a fever dream. Mike knew he needed an overhaul to survive in this new climate. He had to be snazzy, sharp, “radical.” But he wasn’t any of those things. He wasn’t a game show host or a weatherman or even a bartender. Mike was a dying art, a star falling from the sky, trying so desperately to cling to all the others around it. But instead of letting him latch on, they let him keep fall, burning brighter than ever while he crashed to Earth.
But dying stars are still stars. Maybe one day he’d find his flame again. Even if it was on his own.
Sighing and pushing back his chair, Mike managed to stand upright, legs wobbling a little as he tried. He steadied himself on his keyboard to get a better footing. Damn, how much did he have to drink? He didn’t have time to think about that. His body was drained in a way it hadn’t been in what felt like years, and it was screaming at him to rest.
As he prepared to make the lonely trek back to his apartment, a faint noise played in his head. It was a crisp, consistent tone that almost sounded like the static he heard occasionally when his show was facing connection issues (which was frequently; you’d think the least the crew could’ve done was update his equipment before they all decided to move on to greener pastures!). He thought it was the alcohol, but then something caught his eye, and he whipped around frantically, almost knocking his keyboard over in the process. The host glanced at the red light that had minutes ago gone dark.
It was on. Was he on air?
“Great phantom power,” he thought out loud, “I could’ve sworn that thing went off…”
Mike tapped a finger to his chin, walking toward the light and adjusting his glasses to confirm what he was seeing. Was someone…listening to him? Watching him break down? The thought made his mechanical heart sink. Before he could confront the possible listener, however, the light flickered off just as easily as he swore it had come on. For a moment, Mike stood there and stared at it, waiting for it to burn bright again. But it refused, and he was forced to shrug his shoulders and write it off as faulty wiring or too much booze.
Without questioning anything else, Mike powered down the rest of the lights in his studio and made his way out the door. Funnily enough, even when the red light was off and he was well out of the studio, the soft hum of static remained in the backburner of Mike’s mind that night, whether he tuned in to it or not.