Chapter 1201: Story 1201: The Last Broadcast (Series HS: ZE13)
INT. RADIO STATION – NIGHT
The air is thick with static. Rain lashes against the windows. Inside a cramped, dimly lit booth, DJ MARLA (32, sharp, jaded but cool under pressure) adjusts the mic, her hand trembling slightly.
MARLA (into mic):
“This is Marla Graves… broadcasting from WZRD-109. I don’t know who’s still out there. But if you’re listening, you’re not alone… yet.”
A low groan filters through the station walls. Marla turns, startled, then quickly turns the volu up on a nearby console to drown it out.
MARLA (cont’d):
“Power’s going out sector by sector. City Hall’s gone dark. Ergency responders aren’t answering anymore. I repeat: do not go to the shelters. They’re not safe. Sothing’s inside.”
She takes a shaky breath. The sound of sothing dragging across tal echoes faintly outside the room.
CUT TO: INT. STATION LOBBY – SA TI
A flickering light reveals blood sared across the front desk. The body of a SECURITY GUARD twitches—then rises, unnaturally. His eyes have a dull, feral glaze. He snarls, sniffing the air.
CUT BACK TO: INT. RADIO BOOTH
Marla grabs a cassette from a stack labeled “ERGENCY LOOPS,” but hesitates. She chooses instead to speak raw.
MARLA (into mic):
“I’ve seen people tear each other apart—literally. I saw my neighbor eat her dog… then her husband. This isn’t a riot. It’s… it’s like a virus, but worse. They don’t stop. You shoot them, they get up. You scream? They run faster.”
Another thud hits the station walls. Then another—closer. Marla grabs a baseball bat from beneath the desk, her eyes flicking to a half-broken door leading to the stairwell.
MARLA (into mic):
“If you’re near Westbridge, head north. There’s a convoy headed for Redgate. It’s not perfect—but they have fences. Guns. If you can hear this… run. Don’t wait for the lights to co back.”
A moan interrupts her—inside the booth. The glass window is sared with blood, a shadow behind it moving jerkily.
MARLA (softly):
“No… not yet.”
She clicks a switch, recording one final ssage.
MARLA (recording):
“To my brother, if you’re alive—don’t co for . Go north. Save yourself. And tell the world… we fought back.”
She hits “BROADCAST.” As the door bursts open, the recording loops her ssage. Static blends with the first blood-curdling scream.
FADE OUT.
[AUDIO LOOP – over black screen]:
“This is Marla Graves… broadcasting from WZRD-109. I don’t know who’s still out there. But if you’re listening, you’re not alone… yet.”
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