The doors to the NY Stock Exchange building crashed open with the push of two men’s shoulders, and in that darkened hall the sound fled from them, scattering in great multitudes like that of many frightened bats. A sliver of moonlight lit them there in the threshold: three men in all, two on either side of an unwilling third who thrashed in futility against the grip of his captors. The two men hoisted this middle-man up by his armpits and dragged him forward. The middle-man did not look like the two that held him, as these men were dressed like wild creatures: tattered, once-white shirts unbuttoned to expose their chests, torn dress slacks, lusterless black shoes, and a necktie tied around each forehead. The trio's surroundings were inert, dark and hollow like the core of a quiet planet. They walked forward for a time, in a straight path until they encountered a long, frozen escalator that stretched out before them like the ancient sloping steps of Chichen-Itza. The two men mounted the first step and heaved the protesting middle-man up with them, and so began their rhythm of ascent: step, step—heave, step, step—heave. As the band neared the top they could hear the low chants of many men, and they could see a soft glow of light just beyond the horizon of the top-step. When the group reached this summit, a large marble floor lay before them, on this floor were fifty men, dressed similarly to the middle-man’s captors, and kneeling prostrate before a massive LCD screen that was devoid of all color and image but for a single negative number in red, that appeared to increase its numeric deficit at a staggering rate. The venturing trio’s arrival was clocked by the priest, a smiling man resplendent in his mighty cloak, that was stitched from the business casual blazers of many defeated stock-brokers. Upon the priest's approach the middle-man was forced to his knees and then the priest called out to his people. “The number!” He said to them in an emotional quaver, “is angry…” At this revelation, frightful sobs and wails broke out amongst the men, “the number, it has forsaken us!” they whispered. The priest waited and spoke again, “and we must appease it...with blood!” After he said this the priest knelt down, took a hold of the middle-man’s hair and wrenched his head backwards exposing his neck. With the priest's free hand he took a sharpened American Express card out of his cloak, raised it high, and then sliced a crimson line across the middle-man’s jugular. As the middle-man choked and bled, the priest brought forward holy spreadsheets to be drenched in blood. The bloodied sheets were then collected into a golden bowl and set alight, as the priest cried, “oh great number please accept our sacrifice of middle blood, may it strengthen you, may it fortify you, and bring us back into your holy favor!” With the ritual ended, the gathered men watched the plummeting number on the LCD screen and waited. Topics on today’s episode include: Robecore, Plague World, and StockWatch!

VOD link here: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/569019267