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Gaslowe's lab was a mess.
Sure, he had survived his... story-driven "ordeal" mostly fine, and—by some miracle of the dimensions—even somehow ended up on great terms with most of those of whom he manipulated for his schemes!
...but, of course, those Witches didn't have the basic courtesy of helping to clean up what they trashed.
So, naturally, the disgruntled plague doctor was forced to do some (admittedly, long-overdue) maintenance. Most of his old gizmos were unsalvagable, but Gaslowe figured he could probably find and fix something that survived the assault on his laboratory, even if it were something long-outdated, rusty, and vestigal.
It's not like he could truly remember all of the things he had ever invented over his unnaturally long lifespan.
The faint buzz of static resounded past the clanking and whirring of half-operational machinery. Sparks shot out of torn wires, some mold was growing on the walls, and a box-shaped TV stood out from the rest of the laboratory rubble.
Mr. Puzzles couldn't exactly tell where he was, but whoever ran this place either had some major anger issues, or had made enemies with the wrong people. He figured it was most likely the former, but considering who he had just dealt with in his past, well...
...Either way, he was now stuck where he was; apparently he had lost the rest of his actual, non-TV body when he was sent flying past the mesosphere just from getting hit by a meat mallet of all things. Maybe it WAS a bad idea to mess with people who have slain Actual, Literal Eldritch Gods. Go figure.
Tch. To think THIS is my final resting place? Some middle-of-nowhere warehouse?!
Someone of MY caliber at least deserves a more dramatic death...
I'd much rather live, obviously, but—
Puzzles' session of self-reflection was then suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching... well, wherever he was situated. Great.
"Hmm? I don't particularly... remember making anything like this." Gaslowe picked up the... bizarre metal cube that was situated amongst very broken chunks of other old devices and the ceiling. It had text printed at its bottom (in a font Gaslowe couldn’t particularly read all too well), two darker gray dials at the side of its display, and—is that a bowler hat with antennae?!
Even more oddly enough, most of the device was practically brand new—which was in stark contrast with the rest of the useless rubble. The plague doctor stared at the TV, observing its blank screen warily. "...Odd. I don't sense a lick of magic from this device. I wonder just how— or why I had built this... contraption at all." Gaslowe turned away, muttering something to himself.
The odd box-device fizzed a bit as the bird-brained scientist was talking to himself. Maybe it could use this klutz to get back what he needed. All he needed to do was play his cards right.
After some deliberation of his own, Gaslowe decided to inspect the odd invention more closely before fixing it up. He used nearly all of his strength to haul the heavy metal box to his main workshop—of which, Mr. Puzzles observed to be, somehow, even more cluttered than the room where he had first woken up.
Yeesh. Someone can LIVE like this? That man needs to get himself a reset!
He should be glad I'm about to do what I'm about to do to him.
"None of this seems to be my handiwork..." As the plague doctor had tried to use his technomancy to activate the device, he met some unexpected interference from it, as its screen briefly flickered to static before turning back off. "...and it doesn't seem to be powered by magic, either. Maybe if I—?"
...What is with this guy? Does he not know how to turn on a—
That's it! I'm taking matters into MY own hands...!
The device fizzled to life before Gaslowe could prepare himself. He instinctively turned to look at the sudden burst of light (as his laboratory was usually dim at best), only to feel a surge of static run through his body upon seeing the display. His senses dulled, and the plague doctor couldn't help but keep staring at the screen's glow.
A little jingle began to play from the device.
"It's TV time, with your friend, Mr. Puzzles!
TV time; take a break from your troubles!
We'll sit down, criss-cross-applesauce...
...and go flipping through the channels,
to see what we come across!"
He felt compelled to sit down. He was obligated to.
Gaslowe's posture shifted dramatically, straightening up to take in the sight. Perfect.
"There! Was it so hard to just stop for a minute?" Mr. Puzzles' screen flickered back to his regularly expressive self, displaying a smug grin on his screen. "Now, I'd hate to ask you to take up a new role so soon, buuuut—"
"—I'm not looking so great at the moment, gizmo bird. I need you to make me a new body. Now."
The plague doctor suddenly jolted up from his stupor upon Puzzles' command.
Gaslowe looked at the letter wearily.
It had been a month since he had encountered Mr. Puzzles. While he couldn't actually remember the specific events of their meeting, he could faintly recall having a box-device with a display, and he sure did remember having many less spare parts leftover when he had awoken from his trance a day or so later.
And plus, the TV emblem was really foreboding anyway. Seriously, how did someone manage to send him any mail, anyway? His lab was in a secret location!
Even those damnable Great Witches had quite a hard time finding it, and that was after tracking down one of Gaslowe's stolen magic signatures.
But... upon seeing the letter, something at the back of Gaslowe's mind was nagging at him—to ignore his suspicions and agree to the deal given by the sender.
The plague doctor ventured out, becoming yet another hapless actor on the Puzzlevision channel.