7:31 p.m. – Channel 7 News HQ, New Orleans
The screen flickered.
Emily Bruce blinked. She was just halfway through the nightly broadcast—doing a segment on suspicious Wi-Fi routers exploding in suburban neighborhoods—when the monitors behind her glitched into static.
Then, the wolf appeared again.
But this time, it didn't just growl. It winked.
"What the—" Emily said on-air, just before the feed cut entirely. Every channel in the state—no, the country—suddenly flicked to a new program.
A man sat in a velvet chair, spotlighted like a game show host from the underworld.
LARSEN.
Dressed in a blood-red suit, sipping wine, and casually swirling a grenade like it was a stress ball.
"Good evening, America," he began smoothly. "And welcome to my TED Talk. Or should I say... DREAD Talk?"
Behind him, screens showed live camera feeds—streets, security rooms, even inside some living rooms. Chaos unfolding.
"This is not about money. Or power. Or revenge. This is about performance. About waking up the sleepy sheep of society. And what better way... than by hijacking every screen in your safe little world?"
Emily stood frozen in the studio, her mic still live, whispering, "Ryan... you better be watching this."
8:02 p.m. – ONYX CORE Command Substation, New Orleans
Ryan Bruce was already moving.
He skidded down the hallway of ONYX CORE's mobile command bus, still holding a half-eaten protein bar and a stun baton. "Tell me that's not live."
"It's live," Agent D'Angelo groaned. "He's hacked all public signal towers and… oh God, he's got memes."
On one screen, Larsen danced in front of an explosion while text read: "When you're the final boss and know it."
"Where's the signal coming from?" Ryan snapped.
"Triangulating. Somewhere near—wait… it's coming from our old broadcast station. The abandoned Channel 3 studio."
Ryan stuffed his stun baton into his jacket. "Of course it is. That building still has all the microwave towers, fiber optics, and probably six rats with broadcast degrees."
"Need backup?" D'Angelo asked.
Ryan smirked. "I've got backup. She just doesn't know it yet."
8:18 p.m. – Channel 3 Studio Ruins
Inside the dusty, decaying studio, Larsen twirled around like a Broadway villain. He clicked a button and behind him, old footage of ONYX CORE's darkest missions began to play. Grainy. Violent. Some with Ryan's face—blurred but obvious.
"This is the truth they hid from you. Heroes? No. Spies. Killers. Liars," Larsen said, voice growing harsher.
"And tonight, we tear off the mask."
Just as the final reveal started—a childhood photo of Emily Bruce with a red circle around it—the wall exploded.
Smoke. Screams. A grappling hook lodged in a boom mic.
Ryan crashed in with a roll and a punch, tackling a cameraman into a table of props.
"Live broadcast's over, Larsen!" he yelled.
Larsen turned, delighted. "Ah, Veltrix. Right on cue. Say hello to the viewers. They love a dramatic entrance."
Ryan looked straight into the main camera, smirking. "Hi, honey. I'll be home late. Again."
Cue: hand-to-hand combat in a studio full of loose wires, camera drones, and one confused weather hologram that kept forecasting doom.
The two fought across a green screen battlefield, fake war scenes flickering behind them. At one point, they crashed into a mock living room set from a canceled sitcom called "That's My Armory!"
"You still think this is all some heroic crusade?" Larsen hissed.
"No," Ryan said, ducking a flying microphone. "I think it's personal. You want to hurt me… through her."
"You figured it out too late."
Ryan paused, one boot on a light rig.
"Then let's finish this," he said. "Man to man. Spy to psycho."
8:31 p.m. – Channel 7 Control Room
Emily watched in horror as her husband and the madman battled on every screen in the building.
The nation watched too.
But only she noticed the blood on Ryan's sleeve.
And only she understood what that flicker in Larsen's eye meant when he smiled at the camera and whispered:
"Next time... I visit your home."
[To be continued…]