Part 1: Intertia

“Until then, this is David Bartleby signing off for Phenomen-X. May the Force be with you!”

The announcer looked down and arranged papers on his desk as the credits rolled. After thirty seconds the floor manager gave the all clear sign and the red “On Air” lights around the studio winked out one by one.

“David! What the hell was that crack about the Force?” Bill Matthews stamped out into the studio floor and stood in front of the news desk with his hands on his hips. Bartleby was pulling his collar open and trying to light a cigarette at the same time. He managed to smear his pancake makeup in the attempt, looking pathetic and old in the green cast of the fluorescents that came on as the crew turned of the filming lights. “Don’t forget who our demographic is, man. If they think we’re making fun of them, we’ll all be out of business.”

“Screw the stupid jerks!” rasped Bartleby, blowing a plume of gray smoke into the air. “And why the hell wasn’t I given that assignment in Colorado? Shires is a cheap little whore, not a reporter. I should have got that assignment.”

“You’re a washed up drunk, Bartleby. You’re lucky your voice has held out this long. Keep on smoking those damned things and she’ll have your job in here too. She’s just what those twenty something wankers want: A hot babe with nice tits and a good delivery.

“I’m sending her out with Fletcher and Hubbard. They’ll look after the technical side, and she’ll get the story. There’s something really nasty going on out there and I think we can get some good ratings with it. They’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

As Matthews spoke, the studio crew went about the business of closing down the newsroom set for another week. The clock on the wall showed the time as a few minutes past one o'clock in the morning - East Coast time. The cast, crew and field agents of the mildly popular occult slash paranormal slash reality TV show didn't really give a rat's ass about how the hinterland received their efforts. Their numbers were good where they played, and most of them couldn't even imagine working elsewhere. Whether they were begrudgingly grateful for a last gasp at the end of a mediocre career, like the ex-game show host Bartelby, or thrilled about having an actual job on real TV, like the newest research assistant Bobbie Telford, they paid very little attention to anything outside of their own world of deadlines and pay scales.

The opportunity to take part in a remote location shoot was an implicit sign of approval from the show's producers, and would usually lead to promotions and raises if the shoot went well. The crew that Matthews had selected for this assignment waited for him in his office on the second floor of the studio building. He wasted little time in pleasantries as he entered, fresh from his clash with Bartleby.

"Good. You're all here. Fletcher, this is your assignment. Shires is your on-camera talent, but you call the shots. Hubbard runs audio and tape. Meekes does the lighting, and Telford here is your researcher. She's the one that came up with the concept for this story, so I'm going to let her explain it to you.

"Come on, honey, tell us all about it. We don't have all night!"

He threw himself in his office chair as the young woman stood up. She looked tiny, barely old enough to drive, and her voice came out in a strangled whisper as the producer put her suddenly on the spot. He nodded in encouragement, however, and the others listened attentively as she started to explain how the story idea had come to her. Her voice became more assured as she continued.

"We received a video by email this morning. We get hundreds of them a day and one of my jobs is to watch them. Mostly they're just drivel, or badly done porn, but this one stood out. I'll show you."