YEAR 2032:
Miss Yukimura tapped her pen against the table, barely stifling a sigh as the voices of her colleagues droned on through the conference call. The meeting had started as a discussion on the recent Olympic events in Los Angeles, but, as usual, it had spiraled into meaningless complaints. These so-called "industry veterans"—journalists who had been in the field long enough to confuse tired cynicism for sharp analysis—were more interested in blaming the government than engaging in any real investigative discussion.
"The whole event has been a logistical nightmare," one of them grumbled. "Power surges, security lapses, equipment malfunctions—this was supposed to be a world-class event, and it looks like a second-rate college tournament."
"The U.S. Olympic Committee completely dropped the ball," another chimed in. "They cut corners everywhere. The infrastructure wasn't even properly stress-tested before the opening ceremony!"
"And the blackout during the relay finals?" a third voice scoffed. "That wasn't just bad luck. That was gross incompetence. People pay thousands to be there, and they can't even keep the lights on?"
Yukimura resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sure, the Olympics had its fair share of hiccups, but this conversation was going nowhere. It was the same predictable criticism: blame the organizers, blame the politicians, blame whoever was in charge. None of them were asking the real questions.
Her fingers twitched toward the pile of notes she had been compiling on something far more intriguing—the Nevada incident.
Most people had forgotten about it, but she hadn't. Back in 2027-28, a massive power surge had taken down Nevada's entire grid for nearly a week. Official reports had written it off as an electrical failure, a freak accident caused by a cascading fault in the system. But while researching unrelated energy disruptions, Yukimura had stumbled upon some old Reddit threads from that time—wild discussions filled with speculation about government experiments, electromagnetic anomalies, and theories that something far stranger had happened in the Nevada desert.
Most dismissed it as conspiracy nonsense. But Yukimura had been in this business long enough to know that sometimes, the truth was buried in the craziest stories. And right now, those surges at the Olympics? They were suspiciously similar to what had happened in Nevada.
Glancing at the clock, she decided she had enough. Time to make her exit.
Clearing her throat, she put on her best apologetic tone. "Gentlemen, I'm so sorry to cut this short, but I have a family emergency. My... uh, my grandmother's cat is stuck in a tree again. You know how it is."
A brief silence followed before someone hesitantly responded, "Uh... yes, of course, Miss Yukimura. Family first."
Without waiting for further discussion, she disconnected from the call, exhaling in relief.
"Grandmother's cat? That's the best I could come up with?" she muttered to herself, shaking her head as she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the news station building.
She had wasted enough time. If there was a connection between the Olympic blackouts and what happened in Nevada years ago, she was going to find it.
Sometime later on the road
The summer heat pressed down as Yukimura was in her car, already running late for her next appointment. Sweat clung to her skin as she fumbled for her keys, muttering under her breath about the never-ending heatwave. The moment she turned the key, the engine sputtered and coughed before dying completely.
"You have got to be kidding me," she groaned, slamming her hands on the steering wheel.
Frustrated, she pulled out her phone to check GPS for the nearest mechanic, but the screen glitched and displayed "No Signal." She let out a sharp breath. The recent power fluctuations were screwing with everything, and now she was stranded in the middle of nowhere.
She leaned back in her seat, rubbing her temples. With nothing else to do, she decided to kill time the way she always did when looking for a good lead—by diving into conspiracy theories.
Opening one of the private Discord groups she lurked in, "Red Veil Theories," she scrolled through the latest discussions. Sure enough, there it was—people were already speculating about the Olympic power surges.
> user_omega: Look, I'm just saying—this isn't a "malfunction." We saw the exact same pattern in Nevada back in 2027. Sudden surges, unexplained grid failures, and then the official reports saying it was just a technical issue? Yeah, right.
> DigitalGhost404: If it's the same anomaly, we're talking about a cover-up on a massive scale. Nobody wants to admit they don't know what's happening.
> HollowScript: LMAO, y'all still think it's government screw-ups? What if it's something else? Like, something NOT human? The Nevada thing had reports of weird-ass lights in the sky before the blackout. Anyone see something like that in L.A.?
Yukimura frowned, scrolling back up. The Nevada incident had always been a mystery—an unexplained power surge that wiped out the entire state's grid for almost a week. Official reports blamed a cascading power failure, but underground forums like these had been buzzing with theories for years.
A fresh comment caught her eye.
> CipherNine: What's really interesting? The military's movement. If you check flight logs from 2027, there was a sharp uptick in unregistered aerial transport near Nevada RIGHT before the blackout. Now, look at the Olympic surges—sudden, unexplainable, and right after them? Military convoys start moving. Coincidence?
Yukimura's pulse quickened. She had noticed the same thing. The power surges, the increased government activity... it all felt too coordinated.
A sudden vibration from her phone pulled her out of her thoughts—her signal flickered back on for a brief second before cutting out again. "Great," she muttered. That meant no internet, no GPS, and no way to call for help.
Just as she was about to get out and check under the hood, a distant rumble caught her attention. She looked up just in time to see a convoy of military vehicles roaring past at high speed, kicking up clouds of dust.
Her journalist instincts flared.
Something was going on.
She quickly stepped out of her car, shielding her face from the dust storm left behind. As the vehicles disappeared into the distance, she spotted a few cars up ahead.
Relief washed over her as she hurried toward them, hoping to borrow a phone. Before she could reach them, one of the car doors opened, and a man stepped out.
He looked young—mid-to-late twenties, lean but athletic, with sharp eyes that took in his surroundings with careful awareness. His posture was relaxed, but there was something about the way he moved that made her pause. He wasn't just "someone passing through"—he was assessing the situation, just like she was.
She quickly approached him, putting on her most non-threatening smile.
"Excuse me! My car just broke down, and my phone's not working. Would you happen to have a signal?" she asked.
The man studied her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, here." He pulled out his phone and handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said, dialing for a tow. As she waited, she glanced at him curiously. "You don't seem surprised by those military trucks speeding past. Any idea what's going on?"
He smirked slightly. "You're the journalist. Shouldn't you be telling me?"
Yukimura raised an eyebrow. "So, you know who I am?"
"Miss Yukimura, investigative journalist for GNT News. Your reputation precedes you."
She gave a small chuckle. "And you are?"
"Arin," he said simply. "Just someone passing through."
"Well, Arin, 'just someone passing through'—I have a feeling there's more to this story than meets the eye."
He gave her an unreadable look but didn't respond. Instead, he leaned against his car and waited as she finished her call.
After confirming the tow truck would arrive in an hour, she handed his phone back. "Thanks for the help. Mind if we exchange contacts? Just in case?"
Arin hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "Sure."
As they exchanged numbers, Yukimura felt the familiar spark of a lead forming in her mind. The Nevada incident, the Olympic power surges, the sudden military movement—something connected them, and she had a gut feeling that there was more than let on.
And she intended to find out what.
Present:
Arin sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the sleek surface of his datapad. The blue glow of the screen cast sharp shadows on his face, accentuating the tired lines beneath his eyes.
Both Maya and his father, Rajiv, had gone to sleep hours ago, leaving the apartment wrapped in a deep, undisturbed silence.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple before shifting his focus back to the screen. His search was turning up little of substance—most of the archived files were either locked behind layers of security clearance or outright corrupted. Yet, the keywords were still there, fragments of a larger puzzle buried beneath redacted reports and erased logs.
Accessing archive logs...
The screen flickered as data scrolled by in a blur of numbers, timestamps, and half-intact reports. A loading bar hesitated, then glitched, forcing him to rerun the query. Finally, a partially recovered list of articles and incident summaries appeared.
Keyword: "Power Surge" - 2027-28 incidents
The information was sparse, but the key points stood out:
July 2027 - Nevada Grid Failure: Official cause: "Extreme weather conditions leading to infrastructure collapse."August 2027 - FAA Reports Unidentified Aerial Activity Over Nevada Prior to Blackout: Status: DismissedOctober 2027 - Civilian Reports of EM Field Disturbances, Devices Malfunctioning in Isolated Pockets: Status: UnverifiedNovember 2027 - Military Deployment Following Blackout, No Official Explanation Provided: Status: Restricted Access
Arin's fingers hovered over the screen, eyes narrowing. The pieces weren't adding up. Too many gaps. Too many contradictions.
His mind drifted back to a memory—one of the few times he had caught Rohan, his old colleague, chatting on Discord during work hours. At the time, he hadn't paid much attention, but now, the details resurfaced with unnerving clarity.
YEAR : 2027[ 3 WEEKS AFTER THE NEVADA INCIDENT]
Arin leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping absently against the edge of the datapad as his mind drifted to that moment years ago.
It had been late—past midnight—when he'd glanced over at Rohan's screen during a slow shift. The glow of Discord chat messages scrolled by in rapid succession, filled with the usual mix of tech banter and half-serious conspiracy talk that their group indulged in whenever work was slow.
At first, he hadn't paid much attention. But then, a specific message caught his eye.
[GhostByte]: "Look, I'm just saying—the blackout wasn't just a blackout. The timing was too damn convenient."
[SysReaper]: "Lmao here we go again. You think the gov shut down half a state for fun?"
[GhostByte]: "Not for fun. For containment. You saw the reports before they got scrubbed—unusual aerial movement before the grid failure. And then the power goes out, and suddenly there are military convoys rolling into Nevada like it's a warzone? No press coverage, no real explanations. Just 'infrastructure collapse.' That doesn't add up."
[ByteBounty]: "Bro, what even needs 'containing' in Nevada? A bunch of casinos and desert lizards?"
[GhostByte]: "Funny. But you tell me—why deploy troops after a power outage? Shouldn't the priority be emergency response? Instead, they sent in personnel like they knew exactly what was coming."
[SysReaper]: "You're reaching. There was a heatwave, the power grid couldn't handle the load. That's it. Move on."
[GhostByte]: "Maybe. But maybe we got lucky. Maybe whatever they were trying to stop, they actually succeeded. For now."
Present :
Arin had chuckled at the time, shaking his head at their paranoia. He hadn't thought much of it—just another late-night debate among bored engineers, spinning government cover-ups out of electrical failures.
But now, sitting in the dim glow of his apartment, those words held a different weight.
GhostByte had been right about one thing—the timing. The way the military had moved in, as if they had expected the blackout, as if they had been waiting for it.
His stomach tightened. His fingers clenched the edge of the datapad.
Had the signs always been there? And if so... what the hell had they missed?
And now, something else clicked.
Three days before the Shift, he had seen a similar pattern. Increased military convoys. Sudden airspace restrictions. Coded transmissions running through channels that were usually dormant.
At the time, it had felt like background noise. Routine operations.
Now, it felt like a warning no one had recognized.
Arin's jaw tightened. He scrolled back through the files, searching for any other patterns—anything that might connect those past anomalies to what had happened right before everything changed.
Arin exhaled slowly, staring at the fragmented logs on his datapad. Information digging wasn't his strength. He could pull old archives, bypass security where needed—but making sense of the patterns? That required someone with a journalist's instincts.
Someone like Yukimura.
He hadn't thought about her in a while. Their meeting had been brief—just three days before the Shift—but she had left an impression. Sharp, relentless, always chasing the truth. If anyone could help him untangle this mess, it was her.
But there was a problem.
Yukimura wasn't a journalist anymore. The world had changed. News stations had collapsed along with the old order—no satellites, no networks, no digital archives. What remained of civilization had adapted, scavenging new ways to stay connected in a world where the internet was just another ghost of the past.
She had adapted too.
These days, Miss Yukimura was a radio RJ, broadcasting from an undisclosed location. Her station was part news, part survival guide, part late-night confessional for anyone left with a working receiver. People tuned in for stories, for whispers of what still lurked in the ruins, for truths buried between the lines of her broadcasts.
If Arin wanted to reach her, he couldn't just call. There were no calls anymore.
But there were other ways.
She had built her network through coded messages—song dedications, listener requests, seemingly innocent chatter that sometimes carried a deeper meaning. If someone had something important to say, they found a way to say it through her.
It was risky. If he wasn't careful, the wrong people would hear it too. But he was running out of options.
His instincts screamed at him to be cautious. This was bigger than him. Bigger than anything he'd ever touched.
And yet, he needed to know.
Arin reached for a battered notebook beside his datapad, flipping through old scribbled frequencies. Somewhere in these pages was her station.
Now, he just had to find the right way to send her a message.
Arin adjusted the dials on his receiver, the static hissing and crackling as he fine-tuned the frequency. He leaned in, waiting for her voice to cut through the noise.
Then, finally—
"—and that was 'City Lights' for all my night owls out there. You're listening to Radio Free Dawn, your lifeline to the world outside. It's a quiet night—well, as quiet as it gets these days."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Arin's lips. Same voice, same calm confidence, even after everything. Yukimura had always known how to hold an audience.
"Got a couple of listener messages coming up. Looks like someone out in Sector 9 wants to remind their partner to check the western supply route—careful out there, folks. Another request from 'Blackbird'—always cryptic, aren't you? And a new one from 'Wayfarer.' First time I've seen that name. Guess we got another wanderer trying to find their way."
Arin's fingers hovered over his notebook. Wayfarer. That had to be someone trying to reach her. Was this how she filtered out serious messages?
He listened as she continued, waiting for something—anything—that might give him a way in.
"For those looking to leave a message, you know the drill. Right song, right words, right time—I'll be listening."
That was it. That was the key.
A coded request wrapped in a song dedication.
Arin exhaled, rubbing his temple. He needed to be smart about this. If he wanted to get her attention without drawing the wrong kind of ears, he had to pick his words carefully.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the soft hum of static filled the room.
Now, he just had to figure out what to say.
Meanwhile Somewhere:
Petrov adjusted his coat as he stepped into the dimly lit booth, the neon flickering above casting jagged shadows across his face. The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of a generator keeping the last remnants of old-world tech alive.
Lifting the receiver, he dialed a number from memory. A soft click signaled the line connecting.
"Sir! Got some menu," Petrov said, his voice low but steady.
A brief silence followed before the person on the other end hummed—a signal to continue.
"There's some kid at the construction site. He knows the Nevada sauce." His words were measured, careful. No need for details; the right people knew what it meant.
Another hum. This one slower, thoughtful.
"Got a plate too," Petrov added, his grip tightening on the receiver.
This time, a pause. Then a quiet exhale.
"Get the waiter with me," the voice finally instructed. "And bring me the plate."
The line went dead.
Petrov set the receiver back into its cradle, rolling his shoulders as he turned to leave. He had his orders.
Now, it was just a matter of execution.