The portal ripples shut behind Ethan. For a moment, everything is white — then color seeps in again.
Ethan (voice-over):
You're probably wondering… after we record, where does everything go? The footage, the sound, the moments we capture? Well… they come here. The Inner Zone.
The light fades, revealing a sprawling futuristic city floating under a calm blue sky. Hover-cars glide silently above smooth metal roads. Holographic screens shimmer on every corner. In the far distance, a colossal tower rises higher than the clouds — but the camera doesn't linger there yet.
Ethan (voice-over):
You might be shocked, right? We don't rule this place. We can't stop time here. We don't fly, or glow, or teleport. This is home — and home's just... home. Comfortable enough.
Ethan walks through a wide street lined with bright food stands and repair workshops. Empty benches. Parks with clean grass, no one sitting there.
Ethan (voice-over):
You'd think a place this nice would be full of life. But everyone's too busy editing, uploading, managing the next big story. We're the ones behind every tale out there. And that means no breaks.
As he passes through a crowd of tired workers, his eyes drift upward. The camera pans toward the huge tower in the middle of the city — glowing with golden lines.
Ethan (voice-over):
That's Nexus Tower. Every frame, every second we capture ends up there. Billions of stories stored forever.
(pauses)
Beautiful, huh?
He stares at it for a while — almost proud — until a familiar voice calls from behind.
Evan:
You're already daydreaming again. We just got back.
Ethan turns around to see Evan walking toward him, holding his sound gear slung over his shoulder. A few other crew members follow behind, chatting.
Ethan:
You know me. Just appreciating the view.
Evan:
You? Appreciating something that doesn't move? That's new.
Ethan:
Ha, funny. How bad was it out there?
Evan:
Could've been worse. You missed half the speedster's final lap, though. Author's office won't love that.
Ethan:
Yeah, I know. I'll fix it next time.
Evan:
You said that after the volcano thing too.
(he sighs)
Look, just... keep it together, alright? We don't want you suspended again.
Ethan:
Relax. I'm fine.
They reach a small junction where the crew splits off in different directions.
Evan:
See you tomorrow?
Ethan:
Yeah. Same time.
The two bump fists, then perform a quick, practiced handshake — their own small ritual. Evan grins and heads down the right lane.
Ethan (voice-over):
That's Evan. Sound guy. Best friend. Probably the only one who keeps me from getting fired.
Ethan walks down the left lane. Kids run past, kicking a small levitating football. The ball rolls to Ethan's feet.
Kid:
Hey, mister Ethan! Kick it back!
Ethan flicks it up with his foot, spins once, and boots it perfectly into the kid's arms. The children cheer.
Kid 2:
Nice shot!
Ethan:
Thanks, champ.
As he walks off, people wave and greet him.
Vendor:
Evening, Ethan! Another big rescue today?
Ethan:
You could say that.
Vendor:
Well, don't forget to rest once in a while!
Ethan:
Yeah, I'll try.
Ethan (voice-over):
Section Five. My part of the Inner Zone. Quiet, small, but it's home.
He and Evan reach two buildings that look almost identical, standing side by side.
Evan:
Alright, neighbor. Don't stay up all night again.
Ethan:
No promises.
They share a nod and head inside their houses.
Ethan closes the door behind him. The cheerful look on his face fades. The house is narrow, two floors, clean but empty. A soft humming sound fills the air.
A small, furry creature runs toward him — a dog, small and bright-eyed, with short white fur that has faint blue streaks glowing under the light. Its collar projects a hologram of its name: "Sally."
Ethan:
Hey, Sally. Missed me?
The dog barks happily and circles his legs. Ethan kneels and pats her head.
Ethan:
At least someone's happy to see me.
He flops onto the couch, switches on the TV. News flashes — statistics, headlines, hero highlights. He changes the channel to football. Watches for a minute, then sighs and turns it off.
He walks to the balcony and leans on the railing, watching the city lights pulse below.
Ethan thinks:
She wasn't even looking. Everyone else was shouting, cheering... and she just sat there reading. Why?
He picks up a small digital diary from the table. As it opens, holographic sketches and photos float above it — volcano scenes, burning forests, city rescues. Notes beside each one read "Focus error," "Wrong angle," "Paused too long."
He flips to a blank page, types the word "Mystery Girl" as the title, and starts drawing.
Lines turn into the outline of the girl — the café window, her tilted head, the open book. When he's done, the image looks alive.
Ethan (quietly):
What's wrong with me?
He taps the pencil against the page, restless. Then he slams the diary shut, grabs it, and storms out of the house.
Sally barks softly as the door closes.
End of Chapter 2