Thursday, June 3, 2010

News Desk / Night Shift / The News / Breaking News

A newsroom. A night crew. A web editor, a photo editor, and sports. Quiet night. Discussions of the average days stories. Mockery of celebrity, dismissal of disasters, groan at government. Packing it up for the night. Last minute checking the wire.

A skirmish in the Middle East. Major casualties. Devastation. A city we've never heard of. Annoyance at having to work on a last minute story. Text editor reads the screen, a look of horror crosses his face. Cut to photo editor, from behind we slowly pan in, looking at the pictures of utter destruction from afar. Large clouds, shapes, a great distance. Sports guy watching Spike TV.

Step by step we have them yelling back and forth as new information comes in. The ticker stops, goes blank. A few minutes pass. They huddle around one computer, looking for more and more info. Twitter is the first with photos. AP. CNN breaks video.

Reports are starting to sound like it's one person who broke free and has gone on a rampage, but that's ridiculous. They discuss superhumans, comicbooks, life & death. Mental powers. The ticker kicks back on.

Worldwide state of emergency. The phones start ringing, the chaos of a newsroom erupts, the flow of information overwhelming. They try and figure out who has information and who just wants answers. Few and far between, they find someone with answers. Their boss Ethan. He's got information that the attack is being made by a flying man.

He's rushing and on his way, catching a cab from over by the UN where he lives. Blown up, the line goes dead as a rumble, a slight tremor shakes the room. They try and call him back over and over, when suddenly a video is shown on TV. A helicopter hovers over a destroyed UN, a being standing in the middle of a crater. We get a shot of the world's first superhuman, a middle eastern man, glowing and ripped.

A energy flame whips across the screen and the figure is gone. The reporters try to explain but aren't sure. They all begin to look up information. A twitpic here. Video on youtube. Viral information flow. Drawings of the man, interpretations, theories on the energy beam. Another superhuman?

A flash of light in the high windows, vibrating glass panes, they huddle up. The power goes out. They light their lighters and head towards the exit. The newsroom rumbles. They run out front, and look down the street. Right next the the Empire State Building they see an energy flame smashing into a golden glimmer. With each crash a pulse of energy shoots out. Car alarms go off. People are running down at the end of the block behind them, running downtown.

The energy swats the glimmer and it smashes into the Empire State Building and then into the Post Office, before skipping down the street towards them. The sports guy dives to the side, pushing them aside just as the figure smashes into the pavement.

An energy glow slowly lights up the scene a bit as the trio step closer to the crater. The light passes over them as a being drops down, drifting above the fallen golden figure. Their lights play off each other like competing flames. We see the creature as the photographer lifts his camera and we see in the viewfinder for a moment and it clicks.

It turns into a still picture with the newspaper logo on the cover which becomes a giant framed cover they put on the wall, and the text editor's byline is right on front. They're telling the story as they walk along, finally telling a wounded Ethan how the creature just poofed away in the end. The sports guy's eyes glow as they walk away, him with no glory. But he's okay with that.

Addendum - Underwater Lounge Open Bar

Whiskey open bar right around the corner, so I swing by. It's the exact type of place I fucking hate. Smooth electronic r&b and plush seats, douchey clinetele, and clueless losers behind the bar. Thankfully it's about empty so there's really not that much to despise at the moment. But the open bar runs til 11pm, so let me get shitfaced before anything resembling a crowd shows up.

The bartender and this jackass with a backpack have an exchange about the bartender's 'Where the Wild Things Are' t-shirt, which he assures us that he "bought before the movie came out" as if to proclaim his originality and non-herd mentality. Obviously he's 'old school'. Hah, he's barely 21 himself and I don't remember the book that well being 12 years his senior.

I get my whiskey on the rocks and rant on my handheld phone, as you are currently reading. The "DJ" is clicking away on his laptop, hitting us with dope jams, which is fucking pathetic. Lame muzak versions of hip songs from 20 years ago blare from the speakers as strobe lights slide across the "dancefloor". The Yankees and Twins duel on the flatscreen at the end of the bar to keep the simple minded male occupied as his girlfriend scans the room for a hotter mate.

A sad, old, bald dude sits on my left, swishing his straw in his drink. I imagine he wonders where it all went wrong. At least I look 25 and still am rocking a full head of hair. I'm not him, yet. But I could be, spend a few years stagnant, still scouring to make plans to get drunk for as cheap as possible. Still clinging to the remnants of a 'scene'.

But there is no scene. Not here. It's sad on an epic level. A hefty, sweatshirted heffer sits to my right talking way too loud to a tattooed dude who has his back to me. They have a cold plate of mostly devoured fries between them. I wonder if they are a couple, but I don't think they are, despite being unable to come up with another reason this guy could be sitting beside this beast on a Saturday Night.

Shit, I totally wrote Saturday Night on instinct, even though it's Thursday. Shows how fucked up my work schedule is. I have nothing else to even say about this place, that's how horribly boring it is. But they are providing me with free whiskey (one dollar tip) and I'll be damned if my broke ass will pass up that kind of deal.