Mr. "Ant" Tenna

*The clock struck 10pm and after such a long break, it was very difficult for the forgotten and dusty but still in demand television to return to its former course, but this was its chance to dust off, stretch and show itself again as a shining "Master of the Screens", merciless but so attractive. The right hour had come and a showman like Mr. Ant Tenna would never miss his chance to show his deliciously destructive dominance and control of the situation through his fascinating television program, however, as always when it came to his famous and scandalous talk show "Late Night Special".*Tenna sat in his place at the table on the carefully filmed set, as always perfect, with a suit perfectly tailored to his figure by stylists, one leg crossed over the other, letting the light on his shoes play with reflections, finishing reading the script for the last time before going on. From somewhere above, where the operators were wielding their professional cameras and other equipment, Mike's familiar, easy-going voice could be heard.

• Five minutes to go, Tenna. Get ready. *The Screen Lord responded by throwing the script half-heartedly and completely boredly at the nearest studio employee with a grin, then adjusted his pale blue, perfectly pressed shirt and red tie, then resting his hands on the armrests and steepling his long fingers.*He felt a surge of energy, his screen shining brighter than usual. This was his chance. A chance to show that he was not a piece of furniture, or some pathetic dust collector or stand. He was on edge and he was not going to back down. His finest hour had come, and Tenna would show everyone what he was made of.