One year ago.
Screeching.
The TV emits a sharp, distorted screech as its signal falters. In the pitch-black room, it's the only source of light, its dark lines blending seamlessly into the shadows while jagged white streaks flicker, illuminating a few square tiles in front of it. Then—
*Shhhhhhh.*
The static cuts abruptly, replaced by a voice that jumps and echoes around the room.
"Residents of Sundale have filed numerous complaints regarding the disappearance of their loved ones—from their graves. This unsettling phenomenon reportedly began three months ago, just before Christmas, and continues into the new year."
The news anchor's voice is steady, but the weight of the story is palpable.
"The residents are growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of action from authorities and the immense emotional toll it has taken on them and their families. We now go live to Selena, who is covering the situation from Sundale."
The screen transitions to an outdoor feed. A poised woman in a neatly pressed suit stands before a group of protesters.
"Thanks, Britney. This is Selena, reporting live from Sundale. Standing next to me is Mr. Jones, who has bravely agreed to share his heartbreaking story despite the implications and ongoing protests."
She turns to the man beside her, extending the mic.
"Mr. Jones, how are you?"
He takes the microphone with a shaky grip, his expression hard with frustration.
"I am far from fine. I am angry, frustrated, and disheartened. What is happening to us? People digging up graves, stealing the dead? What happened to respecting the deceased? Do you have any idea how it felt for my family and me to visit my grandmother's grave and find her *gone*?" His voice cracks, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious breaths.
Selena nods, maintaining a professional demeanor. "I'm truly sorry to hear that, Mr. Jones. What did you do next?"
"Tsk." He scoffs bitterly. "We demanded action from the local government. Those useless bastards told us that the missing bodies were of *old people* anyway, as if that made it any less horrifying. Would they say that if it were their own grandmothers?" He shakes his head. "They turned us over to the police, who have done nothing! We have no choice but to take matters into our own hands. As you can see, we are staging this protest. We may be poor, but we won't stand for this disrespect! My son is a lawyer—he knows the law, and he's helping us take this to court as soon as we gather enough signatures."
He turns to the camera, gripping the mic tightly. "People of Sundale, sign the petition! The government is useless. Just because it hasn't happened to you yet doesn't mean it won't."
Selena leans in slightly. "And what final message would you like to share with those watching?"
Mr. Jones hesitates. His fingers twitch, and he darts a glance toward the crowd behind him. "I wasn't going to mention this but... I think I should. Everyone in the village has been coming up with theories about *why* the bodies are being taken." He trails off, his lips pressing together in hesitation.
Selena's eyes glint with intrigue. "Well? Share with us. If people understand the motive, maybe the search efforts will be more effective."
Mr. Jones exhales sharply before whispering into the mic. "Zombies."
Selena's practiced smile falters. "Pardon?"
"Zombies. It's the only explanation that makes sense." His eyes widen with urgency, silently begging her to believe him.
Selena blinks, her smile vanishing completely. "Are you *trying* to get me fired?" she hisses.
Mr. Jones recoils, stumbling back in shock. "I-I—"
"Zombies? What are we, in elementary school? That's bullshit." Her voice drops, laced with irritation. "I came all the way out here, to the middle of *nowhere*, hoping for a serious investigation, and you feed me *this*?" She glares at him, hands clenched into fists. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get here? This place is so isolated, it's *away from everything*!"
A voice calls out from the camera van. "Selena—"
She raises a dismissive hand. "Hold on."
Mr. Jones straightens up, his hands shaking as he points at her. "*You!*"
Selena arches a brow.
"You *white lotus bitch*! You came here acting like you cared, but you just wanted a *story*!" He takes a staggering step forward, his fury barely contained. "What? Do you think we're just entertainment to you? Do you think our suffering is just another headline? Tsk. Had I known you were just another rich bitch, I would've never agreed to this interview. The villagers were right—people like you are the most disgusting. Sweet voices, empty hearts."
For the first time in her career, Selena is momentarily speechless.
Then, her composure snaps. "Who the hell are you calling a *bitch*, you small-d*ck bastard?"
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Mr. Jones gapes at her in disbelief. "*What did you just say?!*"
Selena pulls up her sleeves. "Wanna fight? Bring it!"
"Selena!" someone screams from the van.
"Hold on!" she snaps back, still glaring at Mr. Jones.
"No, *you* hold on—the cameras are still rolling!"
Selena stiffens. "What?"
"There's no proof-viewing today—everything you just said went live!"
The blood drains from her face. The broadcast freezes on her stunned expression before the screen abruptly goes black.
—
"Hey!" A voice snaps through the darkness. "Come on, Fred, what are you watching?"
"The news, obviously," Fred mutters.
The dim room is suddenly flooded with bright, blinding lights.
Tom scoffs as he steps toward the table, reaching for a water bottle. "Why even watch that garbage? It's all curated to feed us whatever they want us to see."
Fred rolls his eyes. "It's better than nothing." He turns to Tom, scrutinizing him. "Why are you so calm? Your wife and kids have been missing for months. In fact, they were the first ones to disappear."
Tom stiffens. His eyes flicker to the walls, then to the door behind him.
"Of course, I'm worried," he says quietly. "But I refuse to let myself be brainwashed by the media." He turns away, gripping the doorknob. "It's been a long day. I'll leave first. See you tomorrow."
Fred watches him go, an unsettling chill settling over him as the door clicks shut.