Dust fills the air, catching the dying light of the setting sun as faint cries and distant screams 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 running across his forehead.
"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, clutching their side—a young analyst, their shirt torn and streaked with blood.
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, their eyes wide, hands fumbling at Shinichi's grip. "Wait, I—"
"You promised! This wasn't supposed to happen!" Shinichi interrupts, shaking them slightly before shoving them away.
The analyst stumbles back, holding their 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.
"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…"
Pfft.
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.
...
In the deep embrace of night, the city pulses subtly under the cover of darkness. A kid, his hair in natural locs, sits alone on a weathered bench in a deserted park. With the glow of a street lamp flickering nearby, he takes a slow, contemplative puff from a joint, its tip glowing like a small ember in the cool air. As he exhales, the smoke drifts upward, mingling with the murky city haze.
Looking up, his gaze meets the sky, where stars twinkle against the vast, dark canvas. These celestial bodies flicker with a rhythm of their own, some shining steadily while others appear to shimmer as if winking in and out of existence.
Around him, the city is a scene of quiet activity. The distant hum of traffic is a constant backdrop. Occasionally, the sharp honk of a car or the distant clatter of a late-night train punctuates the night, slices of sound that momentarily rise above the urban drone. Neon signs buzz softly at the periphery of his vision, painting patches of the night with sudden swaths of color—reds, blues, and greens that flicker and fade.
The cool breeze carries with it the faint, mixed scents of city life—exhaust mingled with the distant echo of ocean air and the occasional waft of fast food from a nearby all-night diner.
As he looks at the stars, the park around him is bathed in shadows and soft light. Trees line the walkways, their leaves whispering among themselves as the wind sifts through them, a natural symphony for any who take the time to listen.
"Hey Obinai, you okay?" Darren asks, his voice low and smooth as he approaches the bench. He's dressed in a faded hoodie and jeans, his baseball cap turned backward as usual.
The kid...Obinai nods absently, his eyes still fixed on the stars above. "Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking about stuff."
Darren sits down beside him, his eyes scanning the surrounding area before focusing back on his friend. "Stuff, huh? You're not still thinking about the test, aren't you?" He chuckles, nudging the kid playfully with his elbow.
Obinai's eyes refocus, and he hesitates at first but nods slowly. "...Yeah...I am. I don't know, man."
Darren, with his short, curly hair and ever-present baseball cap turned backward, has a mischievous smile that seems to permanently play at the corners of his lips.
"Man, Ms. Patterson really has it out for me, I swear," Darren complains, blowing a stream of smoke upward and watching it dissipate into the night air. "Every time I even breathe too loud in class, it's like I've summoned her wrath."
Angel chuckles, taking the joint from Darren. "Could be worse. You could be failing math like me. I just can't get those formulas to fuckin stick, man."
Darren snorts, shaking his head. "Dude, you're killing me. I'm surprised you didn't flunk it outright."
Angel pushes his hair away from his face, his voice a little quieter as he speaks. "Hey, I'm trying my best, okay? It's just...math, man. It's like trying to solve a puzzle with the pieces all mixed up."
Obinai, still looking on with a calm expression, offers his thoughts. "I think I get it, Angel. You just haven't cracked it yet."
Angel glances at him, feigning indignation. "What? No, I'm good at it. Just... not great yet, you know?"
Darren lets out a low chuckle as he takes the joint back from Obinai. "Yeah, yeah, future math wizard, we get it."
The conversation shifts, and Angel casually passes the joint over. "So, how's it going with Jenna? Still giving you the silent treatment?"
Darren lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning back. "Silent treatment? More like a full-on freeze-out. Tried talking to her earlier, but it's like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. I'm way out of my depth."
Angel chuckles, shaking his head. "Dude, you're such a romantic. Maybe you should just give up and move on."
Darren shoots him a mock-angry look. "Hey, I'm not giving up. I'm just...taking a break, okay? To regroup and recharge my romantic energies."
Obinai laughs, taking a hit from the joint. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're a romantic at heart."
They all laugh, the sound echoing slightly in the open air of the park. Finally, the conversation turns to something they've all been quietly pondering.
"Hey, have you guys heard the stuff about the wall?" Obinai asks, trailing off as he looks at his friends.
Darren stretches out on the bench, leaning back lazily as he flicks the ash off his cigarette. "You mean that Nurikabe… whatchamacallit?" He snaps his fingers a few times, squinting as though trying to dredge up the memory. "Yeah, I saw something about it online. Some LiveLeak video or something. I think they tried to shut down a news station covering it. Crazy shit." He shakes his head, exhaling smoke into the evening air. "Can't believe that's not getting more attention. You believe that? Weird stuff happening over there. Sounds like some real X-Files shit."
Angel sits cross-legged on the ground, rolling his joint between his fingers before taking a long, deliberate drag. He exhales slowly, the smoke curling upward like lazy ghosts. "It talked about disappearances and tremors, right?" He nods to himself, eyes half-lidded. "Creepy as hell. Makes you wonder..." He lets the sentence hang, his gaze drifting toward the stars peeking out from behind the clouds.
Obinai picks up the thread, sitting forward and gesturing with his hands as he talks. "And no one knows why it's there. Or what it's even made of. Imagine something that massive just... poof – shows up outta nowhere." He spreads his arms wide for emphasis, his voice tinged with equal parts fascination and disbelief. "What do you think it's for?"
Darren shrugs, his eyes fixed on the glowing tip of his cigarette as he rolls it between his fingers. "Secret government project? Alien landing strip? Who the hell knows, man." He chuckles, a dry, humorless sound. "Maybe it's just one of those things we'll never figure out." He glances sideways at Obinai with a sly grin. "Or maybe Obinai knows and he's just not telling us."
Obinai snorts, rolling his eyes as he nudges Darren with his elbow. "Very funny. Like I'd be in on some top-secret government conspiracy." He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "If I knew, I'd be using that knowledge to ace Ms. Patterson's tests. Not nearly failing like some schmuck."
Angel laughs, leaning back on his hands as he flicks his finished joint into the dirt. "Fair point. Though, honestly, with the way things are going, that wall could be anything. Hell, maybe it's a portal to another dimension." He shivers theatrically, his shoulders hunched. "Or… a giant alien ant farm."
Darren barks out a laugh, pointing at Angel. "Yeah, and those ants are probably smarter than half the people we know. Watch, they're just waiting for the right moment to take over."
"Great," Obinai mutters, shaking his head with mock seriousness. "First ants, then Patterson's next pop quiz. My life keeps getting better."
Darren snorts, shaking his head. "But seriously, an ant farm? What made you come up with that, Angel?"
Angel shrugs lazily, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "Hey, stranger things have happened. You've seen those documentaries about weird animal experiments, right? Why not a giant alien ant farm? Makes about as much sense as a wall stretching to infinity."
The group chuckles, the sound fading into a comfortable silence. The distant hum of crickets fills the pause, mingling with the faint buzz of a nearby streetlamp.
Darren, always the instigator, smirks as he shifts his weight on the bench. He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dirt, grinding it under his heel. "Speaking of mysteries…" He glances slyly at Obinai, his grin widening. "How about the mystery of Obinai busting his ass studying for that chem test, only to walk out with a C? Now that's a real unexplained phenomenon."
Obinai groans, leaning back against the bench and covering his face with both hands. "Oh, come on. You're never letting this go, are you?" His voice is muffled, but the exasperation seeps through loud and clear.
Angel grins, sitting up straighter. "Nah, man. Darren's right. It's like some Bermuda Triangle-level shit. Where does all that effort even go?"
Obinai lowers his hands, glaring half-heartedly at both of them. "It goes into keeping my sanity intact while dealing with Ms. Patterson's impossible tests. You try memorizing her seven-page study guides, then tell me how easy it is."
Darren raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin not fading. "Hey, no judgment here. I'm just saying, maybe the Nurikabe isn't the only unsolvable mystery we've got around here."
Angel laughs, elbowing Obinai lightly. "Don't worry, dude. One day, science will crack the code of why you can't get above a C. Until then, we'll just add it to the list of strange phenomena."
Obinai shakes his head, muttering under his breath as a faint smile tugs at his lips. "I hate you guys."
Angel bursts out laughing, leaning against Obinai and jabbing him lightly with his elbow. "Yeah, man, I saw you camped out in the library every single day last week! I was betting you'd ace it for sure. What happened, Einstein? Did all the facts slip out your ear the night before?"
Obinai rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face only widens. He snatches the joint back from Angel, taking a long, deliberate drag. Holding the smoke for a moment, he exhales slowly, the thin stream curling upward like he's buying himself time to deliver the perfect comeback.
"So, I got a C. Big deal," he says, smirking as he leans back against the bench. "At least I didn't flunk it like some people." He turns his gaze pointedly toward Darren and Angel, raising an eyebrow. "Seems like you guys couldn't even find the classroom, let alone pass the test!"
Darren barks out a laugh, slapping his knee as he shakes his head. "Touché, man. Touché. You got us."
Angel laughs along, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright! You win. The one time a C gets to be a badge of honor." He grins and stretches out, resting his hands behind his head. "Yeah, you're the king tonight, Obinai. The King of Cs!"
The laughter dwindles, leaving a veil of smoke and a momentary silence. Angel's face turns serious.
"Actually... speaking of strange things happening... have you guys seen Jasmine around?" he asks quietly.
Obinai and Darren sober up instantly, sensing the change in mood. "Jasmine?" Obinai echoes, picturing Angel's little sister.
"Yeah, Jasmine," Darren adds, his voice tinged with worry. "No, I haven't seen her. Why, what's up?"
Angel sighs, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. "She's... she's one of the people who disappeared after that last quake. The one last Tuesday."
Both Obinai and Darren recoil in shock. "What? Jasmine disappeared? But how did you find out?" Obinai asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and worry.
Angel rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his feet before meeting their gazes again. "It was weird, man. Late that night, right after the quake, some guys in suits showed up at our place. Like, Men in Black shit, you know?"
Darren leans forward, his curiosity piqued despite the grim topic. "Guys in suits? At your door? What did they want?"
"They said they were from some private government organization—didn't give a name or anything. They told us they're working to find her and that it's all top secret," Angel continues, his voice a blend of confusion and frustration. "They kept saying how they're 'working tirelessly' to find her and all that. It was all super hush-hush. Didn't tell us shit."
Obinai frowns, taking a moment to process the information. "That's insane, dude. Do they think it has something to do with the wall or the quakes?"
Angel shakes his head. "Maybe, they didn't get into details. Just kept saying they're on it and that we need to stay out of it for our own safety. It's like something out of a weird conspiracy film..."