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[Proto Man]

From his desk, Ron Burgundy chewed on his lower lip a little as he glanced over the freshly printed piece of paper. It wasn’t until the cameraman let out an unsubtle cough that the anchorman glanced up and realized that the light above the piece of equipment was green again.

“Welcome back, Omniversians. I’m Ron Burgundy, here again with some of the latest headlines.

“The tournament in Camelot continues to be a big hit, with the crowd of contestants dwindling down to four.” Ron glanced at the monitor to his left that displayed what was being projected onto the greenscreen behind him. Once he had a look at the primes, he turned back to his audience. “As you can see, it’s a bunch of white people, but at least we’ve got kind of a woman in there, am I right? That’s Progress.” To cover up his smirk, Ron took a swig of scotch, knowing that he’d made a few of the ladies in the department red across the cheeks.

And I’m not even talking the good cheeks.

The laugh bubbled up out from the scotch as Ron set the rocks glass back down onto his counter. “In other news, the town of Nippur has had some bad luck in recent months. After two failed… assassinations?” Ron glanced down at the description and wondered if one on four fights could really be anything other than attempts at self-euthanasia. “Yes, after two failed attacks on the Palace that resulted in at least one banishing, Nippur has been attacked by a gang of loosely affiliated individuals.

“Chief among those involved in the skirmish?” A choppy video feed played over Ron’s shoulder. “This man, one Thaal Sinestro, who has become something of a folk hero among the ‘citizens’ of the Town with No Name. Reports indicate that this perpetually red-faced prime was the focusing point for aggressions, although we’re also told that he’s been aided by… Mickey Mouse?” Ron glanced at the monitor and then over to the other desk crew. “That’s Mickey Mouse? He decide to go Terminator or something?” The image was certainly the mouse from Dante’s Abyss, but he was decked out in red metal armor and firing lasers at Gilgamesh.

“Mickey Mouse was seen engaged in a firefight with Gilgamesh in downtown Nippur, but at this point, we have no additional information, and the only news about the situation is filtering in from a collection of corrupted audio-visual feeds from a reporter on the scene. We’re going to try to get one of our people to the area, but for now, we can only imagine that the situation will get worse before it gets better.”

The next image that flashed up on the screen took Ron a moment to figure out, and he spent that moment draining his scotch. As he clinked the glass down and motioned for a refill, he cleared his throat. “News from the Pale Moors.” An image of an older man appeared on screen. “Commander Dobson Skendor of Darkshire’s Town Guard has been the victim of an assassination. Killers were linked to a rogue councilman who was last seen slipping out of town in the aftermath of attacks on the commander and his son Dobson, who had been assuming more responsibilities in lieu of his father’s age and injuries.

“From what we’ve heard, the assassinations were followed up by a riot at Darkshire’s Town Hall. While we don’t have much information just yet, it appears that the mob has taken control of the building and detained the mayor and several councilmen. It sounds as if the town’s guard has established a light form of martial law while they sort out the government. No word on the status of Mayor Boone and other leading members of the seemingly defunct town council of Darkshire.”

Picking up his fresh glass of scotch, Ron took a small sip. “In other news, there is word that a group of secondaries were turned into primes following a meeting with Omni. We’re attempting to reach out to one of these individuals to figure out the veracity of their statements.” A glance at the paper in front of him revealed a few other stories that could pass as headlines.

“Oh yes,” he suddenly spoke up as an image popped up behind him. “The Empire continues its crackdown on prime-on-secondary crime, with the total rising to nearly seven dead primes over the last few months… a rate of at least one or two per month. Kingdom officials have become a little more active in their attempts to guide new primes away from the often death-filled allure of Coruscant.”

Tapping the stack of papers on the desk until they were lined up in a nice pile within his scotch-chilled fingers, Ron set them down once more and reflected upon how neat it all looked. “That’s all the headlines for right now, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check my tournament bracket. You stay classy, Omniverse.”

When the light blinked off atop the camera, Ron let out a long breath of air and relaxed in his chair. From the next desk over, one of the reporters shot him a question.

“Who’d you wager on, Ron? Didn’t you have a few brackets?”

The anchorman frowned beneath his perfect mustache. “I had most of my bets on Stretch McCock.”

“You got anyone still competing?”

“Yea, in one of my brackets, the person I have winning it all is—”