No Signal
- 2030, August 7 - No signal -
- 2030, August 8 - No signal -
- 2030, August 9 - No signal -
- 2030, August 10 - No signal -
- 2030, August 11 - No signal -
- 2030, August 12 - No signal -
- 2030, August 13, 12:05
A man stood in front of a makeshift barricade.
“So. Here it is,” he mumbled. “Wow, that’s a mess all right.”
He was not a tall man, just slightly shorter than the average height of Japanese men. Despite being only around twenty, his unkempt beard made him look far older.
His right hand held an iron pipe. On his back was a small backpack.
At the foot of the barricade was a pile of infected corpses. Too many to count.
Splashes of dark-green were splattered all over the concrete ground. The result of putrid fluids spraying from the infected, then drying over time.
The green trail led to what looked like a black circle in the ground, almost as if there used to be a puddle of water here. He turned his eyes upward and noticed a sharpened laundry pole pointing out from between the gaps of the barricade.
It must have been the weapon of whoever used to live here, considering the infected fluid dripping from its tip.
The man began to push off the mountain of infected corpses with his legs, kicking them to a spot some distance away one by one, all the while scowling from the stinging stench. Once the barricade was clear of corpses, he nodded in satisfaction and began to climb.
He reached the top without much trouble, jumped down to a nearby table on the other side, then continued forward.
In stark contrast to the outside, the area on the other side of the barricade was neat and clean. A piece of the old world that almost made you forget about the horrors outside.
The man began searching for anything he could use.
“The center of the world, huh.”
He remained vigilant during his search, trying to be as quiet as he could. If she was right, then there should be at least one confirmed infected.
As he stayed cautious of corners and shadows, his eyes darted around, almost like a curious tourist. Two bags of chips and three cans of mackerel, all unopened, sat on top of a table.
He was impressed. She had made herself sound like such a slob. Apparently she at least knew how to tidy up.
He continued his exploration until there was only one final room he hadn’t searched. A piece of paper was taped on the door. It read, ‘Broadcast Room!’ The piece of paper was taped at an angle, crooked to the point that most people would get an urge to fix it.
Whoever did this didn’t seem like the type to care.
He listened. There was a faint groan. An infected, for certain.
With a deep breath, he renew his grip on the iron pipe. A hint of melancholy tinted his expression.
He slowly turned the doorknob, his pipe ready to strike at any time, and pulled.
The door opened without a sound.
“Graagghhh…”
There it was. The infected.
It didn’t seem to have noticed the man. Other than the constant groaning, it wasn’t doing anything else.
It was standing in the room’s corner, swaying from side to side, its back to the door. Next to it was a fallen chair.
“Graagghhh… aarghh…”
He saw a microphone set in front of it.
“Graagh…”
The infected continued making noises in front of the microphone.
His hands trembled. Not out of fear, but of incredible grief.
In this world of darkness, she was the one to have brought the first ray of light.
He had nothing but gratitude for her.
It would be far easier to simply smash the infected in the head with a surprise attack. He didn’t do so.
“Hello, miss A,” he said. “I’ve come to fulfill our promise.”
Reacting to his voice, the infected turned around. It had found a survivor, and its instincts took over.
“Graaagghh!”
It reached out its hands in an attempt to grab the survivor and bite him.
“Thank you.”
He swung the iron pipe, and her head was crushed.
- 2030, August 13 - No signal -
- A note left on the Broadcast Room’s table -
“If you’re reading this, then I’m no longer in this world.
And done! It’s always been my dream to write a will that started with that line.
No regrets.
Regards, from the genius and prettiest girl, A.
Alright, enough jokes. The real will starts now, don’t worry.
I’m probably on the floor next to this will right now. If so, then you’ve granted my request.
Thank you for saving me. It means my broadcast had reached someone.
Thank you for being with me.
This sucks. Had I known this would happen, I would have said my location a lot earlier.
But it never was possible. I’m too cowardly, too afraid to ever do that.
Now, let’s get to business.
You must be a very kind person to have listened to my request, and so I have another one for you.
I know, shameless, right? It’s fine, you don’t really need to listen to me anyway.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please, grant my wish.
Would you continue the Apocalypse Radio in my stead, if it’s possible?
I’ve grown quite attached to it by now, and it’s just too sad to see it end.
As the previous host and also the best one ever, I might have left behind shoes too big for you to fill, but please. Do it for me.
It doesn’t need to be every single day. I’m happy if you’d just go on-air every once in a while.
Oh, but it would be nice if you can continue until the 100th episode.
I mean, look, it’s a hundred! A whole hundred! You get me, right?
The next broadcast is the 94th one, got it? It’s up to you now!
And over!
This has been me, A!
P.S. I really don’t like the idea of my corpse being left as-is, so please bury or cremate me if possible. I know, so many pleases, sorry for that.
P.S. of the P.S. Make my grave super cute.”
- 2030, August 14 - No signal -
- 2030, August 15 - No signal -
- 2030, August 16 - No signal -
- 2030, August 17, 17:02 -
“...Uhh, test, test, is this thing on? No idea… Ah well, let’s just assume it’s working. Umm, what was it again… Right. Hello everyone, it’s time for the Apocalypse Radio. I’m broadcasting from the center of the world, and I believe that my voice will reach you.”
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