Dust fills the air, catching the dying light of the setting sun as whisps of falling debris and wreckage echo somewhere out of sight.
Shinichi gasps for breath, his chest rising and falling erratically, dirt and debris coating his clothes and matting his dark hair. His vision swims, shapes blurring and shifting. Slowly, the world sharpens—sharp enough for him to register the taste of iron in his mouth and the searing pain radiating through his left arm.
Is it broken? The thought flashes through his mind as he tries to flex his fingers. His left hand responds sluggishly, the joints cracking audibly. Pain flares up his arm, sharp and searing, but as he wiggles his fingers again, he feels movement. A bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It still works, he thinks, though the throb in his shoulder suggests otherwise.
His eyes slowly adjust, and his surroundings come into focus. The newsroom is unrecognizable. The sleek, modern space he’s worked in for the past months is nothing but jagged metal, shattered screens, and collapsed beams. The overhead lights dangle from frayed wires, flickering weakly. Broken cameras, mics, and monitors are scattered everywhere, their shattered remains crunching under his shifting weight. A wall once covered in accolades and awards is now fractured, the plaques barely clinging to the crumbling surface.
He groans, brushing off chunks of concrete from his chest. “Shit,” he curses, voice hoarse, his hand trembling as he pushes himself to his knees. His suit is torn at the elbows, blood staining the fabric where cuts and scrapes have torn into his skin. His reflection flashes briefly in the cracked remains of a monitor—unkempt hair, streaks of dirt on his face, and hollow, wide eyes.
The faint sound of groaning snaps him back to reality. His eyes dart across the wreckage until they land on a figure sprawled across the rubble.
“Conner,” he breathes. Panic surges through him as he stumbles forward, nearly tripping over broken equipment. He drops to his knees beside the cameraman, hands grasping at his shoulders. “Conner! Hey! Can you hear me?”
The man stirs, a weak groan escaping his lips as he rolls onto his side. His face is pale. A shallow gash mars his forehead, the dried blood forming a stark contrast against his weathered, tanned skin. His shaggy blond hair clings to his temples in disarray, and his five o'clock shadow gives him a rugged, almost desperate appearance. His clothes—once sturdy and practical—are now torn and smeared with dirt, exposing bruised skin and shallow scrapes along his arms. Despite his battered state, there’s a hardened edge to his gray-blue eyes as they flicker open briefly.
“Shinichi… what the hell happened?” Conner murmurs, his voice barely audible.
“I don’t know,” Shinichi snaps, shaking his head. He glances over his shoulder, his mind racing. “I have no fucking clue.”
A shadow moves in his peripheral vision, drawing his attention. Someone stumbles into view, their steps uneven, clutching their side with one hand. It’s a young analyst, barely in his mid-twenties, with wide hazel eyes that dart around. His short, messy hair—an indeterminate shade between brown and auburn. His glasses sit crooked on his nose, one lens cracked and reflecting the faint light. The once-crisp white button-up shirt he wears is torn at the hem, streaked with blood and grime, and hangs loosely over a pair of dark slacks ripped at the knees. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he grits his teeth against the pain, the tension in his jaw hinting at the effort it takes to stay on his feet.
Shinichi’s chest tightens. His exhaustion gives way to frustration as he storms toward them, grabbing the analyst by the collar and hauling them upright.
“What the hell is going on?” he barks. “You said we weren’t on any fault lines! You said there was no risk of quakes!”
The analyst flinches, his eyes wide, hands fumbling at Shinichi’s grip. “Wait, I—”
“You promised! This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Shinichi interrupts, shaking the man slightly before shoving them away.
The analyst stumbles back, holding his hands up defensively. “I don’t know!” they stammer. “I have no idea! Fault lines don’t just… change like this. Maybe—maybe it’s some anomaly—”
“Anomaly?” Shinichi growls, pacing in a small circle, running his hand through his hair. His eyes dart wildly, landing on the structure far beyond the collapsed walls. “It’s not an anomaly. It’s that fucking thing.”
The analyst follows his gaze, turning slowly. There, stretching across the horizon, looms a monolithic wall. Its surface is rough, darkening as night approaches, and impossibly tall. It stretches endlessly in both directions, an impenetrable line cutting the observable world in half.
The analyst exhales shakily. “Maybe…” they mutter, their voice hollow.
“Maybe?” Shinichi rounds on them, his voice cracking. “You’re supposed to know these things! How can you not—” He stops mid-sentence, staring at the ground as his breathing quickens. His hands shake as he grips his head, muttering under his breath.
“This isn’t real… this can’t be happening… It’s not fair,” he whispers. “I didn’t leave everything behind last year for this.”
Conner’s groan pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. Shinichi looks down at him, biting his lip as tears threaten to spill. Then...
A shaky laugh escapes him, bitter and dry.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Conner,” he says, kneeling beside the cameraman and grabbing his shoulders. “Listen to me. You have to find a camera. A spare. Anything that still works.”
Conner blinks up at him, confused. “What?”
Shinichi leans closer, his face inches from Conner’s. A faint, desperate smile tugs at his lips. “We’re going to record this. The wall, the quake, all of it. Do you know what this could be worth? The money we could make?”
Conner stares at him, dazed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” Shinichi says, gripping Conner’s shoulders tighter. “This… this is our shot. We’re going to be the first. The first to show the world what the hell is happening here.”
He lets out a shaky breath, glancing back at the monolith towering in the distance. The last rays of sunlight gleam off its ominous surface, and a deep chill settles into the air.
“Because if we don’t…” Shinichi trails off, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Then who will?”
...
The camera lies half-buried under a slab of broken plaster, its once-polished frame now covered in dents and scratches. A crack spiderwebs across the lens, but the internal mechanisms seem intact. Conner limps toward it, favoring his left leg, his steps uneven and slow. Each movement is accompanied by a grimace, but he doesn’t stop.
He kneels with a wince, brushing away dust and fragments of glass with trembling fingers. “Come on, baby,” he mutters, flipping the camera over to inspect its base. He pulls out a spare battery from his vest pocket, its casing scuffed but functional, and slots it in with a firm click. The camera whirs softly to life, the faint glow of its power light flickering.
Shinichi stands nearby, his fingers twitching as he rubs dirt into his jacket and smears it across his face. He crouches briefly, scooping a handful of ash-like debris and dusting it over his hair. “Make it real,” he whispers to himself, his jaw tight.
Conner tests the camera, adjusting the focus ring. He peers through the cracked lens, the fractured glass distorting his view but still serviceable. “It’s good enough,” he says, his voice weak. He limps back to Shinichi, clutching the camera tightly.
Shinichi exhales, nodding as he pats Conner on the shoulder. “Let’s do this. No turning back.” He squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath.
Conner counts down, his voice rasping. “We’re live in… five… four… three…” He mouths the final numbers, holding up two fingers, then one.
The camera’s red light blinks on.
Shinichi stares into the lens, his breath still uneven. For a moment, he struggles, his lips parting without words. Then, he steadies himself.
“We interrupt your regular programming for this breaking news…” He pauses, his eyes flickering away briefly before locking back onto the camera. “Good evening, I’m Shinichi. Most of you watching probably already know who I am, so I’ll… I’ll skip the formalities.” He forces a faint, humorless chuckle but quickly falters.
He gestures to the rubble behind him, his hand trembling slightly. “Tonight, we’re reporting from the remains of… well, what used to be our newsroom. As you can see, it’s—” He swallows hard, his throat dry. “It’s gone.”
The flickering overhead light casts eerie shadows on the wreckage. Twisted beams stick out like broken bones, and jagged shards of glass litter the ground. Monitors hang from their mounts by frayed wires, swaying faintly.
Shinichi looks back at the camera, his expression tightening. “This… destruction—it’s not just here. It’s happening everywhere near the Nurikabe.” He nods toward the monolithic wall in the distance, its black surface glinting faintly in the twilight. “That thing… The wall. The earthquakes… they’re connected somehow. They have to be.”
He straightens up, trying to project authority, but his voice wavers. “Each quake is followed by something worse—disappearances. People vanish without a trace, and no one knows why. No one knows what’s causing this. And the experts… they don’t have answers either.”
He rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. He looks down, breathing heavily. “Just—give me a second…” He leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees.
Conner’s voice whispers from behind the camera. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Shinichi mutters, standing upright again. His face is pale, but his gaze is steady. “Local authorities are telling everyone to stay back. Scientists, emergency teams—they’re all trying to figure this out, trying to keep us safe. But…” He trails off, glancing over Conner’s shoulder.
Conner shrugs, his expression just as puzzled, his brow furrowed as he adjusts his grip on the camera.
Shinichi glances over Conner’s shoulder, his eyes catching faint movement in the distance. Several dark figures are coming into focus, their silhouettes blurry against the fading light. He narrows his eyes, trying to make out more details, but his thoughts interrupt him.
Probably bystanders. Maybe journalists who got here before the authorities did. We’ll talk to them later.
He shakes his head, brushing the thought aside. There are more pressing things to worry about. “Doesn’t make sense,” he mutters aloud, more to himself than to Conner.
“What doesn’t?” Conner asks, tilting the camera slightly to adjust the shot.
“The sirens,” Shinichi says. “I heard them earlier. Now? Nothing. No emergency crews, no responders. It's like they just... stopped.”
Conner shifts again then says, “Maybe they’re stuck. Roads might be blocked or something.”
“Maybe,” Shinichi replies, unconvinced. His gaze flickers again to the figures in the distance.
They’re closer now, moving with a deliberate, almost methodical pace.
A faint unease creeps up Shinichi’s spine, but he shakes it off, forcing his focus back. “Anyway,” he says, brushing dirt off his tattered jacket, “let’s get this over with. People need to know what’s happening.”
He steps forward, placing himself squarely in the camera’s frame as Conner adjusts the focus once more. The figures linger...
Not now, he thinks, clenching his fists briefly at his sides.
Before he can continue, Shinichi freezes. His eyes widen as he stares past the camera. “Conner…” His voice drops to a whisper. “Behind you.”
Conner hesitates, confused. He turns slowly...
A man in a black suit steps forward.
A silenced pistol is already raised, the barrel aimed squarely at Conner’s forehead.
Conner’s breath catches. “No…”
Ffft.
The shot is muffled but final. Conner crumples instantly, the camera tumbling from his hands. It lands on its side, the view askew. Shinichi’s horrified face fills the frame as he staggers back, his hands trembling at his sides.
Two more men in identical black suits step into view. They glance at Conner’s lifeless body, their expressions unreadable. One of them turns to Shinichi.
Shinichi stares at them, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His chest heaves as he tries to form words, but none come. Tears well in his eyes, blurring his vision.
He looks back at the camera, his lips quivering. “No one knows… what’s going on,” he chokes out. His voice cracks as a tear slides down his cheek. “But I swear… I swear the truth will come out.”
The tears fall freely now, streaking the dirt on his face. His shoulders shake as he takes a deep, ragged breath. “This is your host… Shinichi… signing—”
The feed cuts abruptly to black...