Mysterious Live Stream
2. Unfathomable symbols were scrolling rapidly across the connection monitor's screen. What the hell do they mean? Ah, this feels like something I don't want to mess with. Better ignore it. If fiddling with it might make things worse, ignoring it is the way to go. But then, with an unpleasant mechanical beep, the screen flipped entirely.
"Me?" Not just me—the landscape behind me was visible too. It's not a photo. It's moving, so it's like video footage. Is this a lens? Shooting in real-time through this tiny lens? I thought tech like this was long gone... no, wait. This thing's broken. Why the hell is it working fine?!
"Unnie! And I'm in it too!" Hope poked her cute face out from behind my back. Fascinated by being on the monitor, she waved frantically at the drone, grinning toothily at her own reflection following her movements.
"So cool. What is it? Why are we showing up on there?" Hope's childlike curiosity was in full swing. Ah, how do I even explain this?
"It's like a picture that comes alive, right? Back in the old days, people used these to record and share precious moments. Some even let you watch each other in real-time and talk."
"The picture moves?! UFO's amazing!"
"Yeah. Pretty amazing."
Some kind of camcorder? Looking closer, text scrolled by repeatedly: Screen adjusting. Chat preparing. Ah, no way—is this a broadcast drone? It looks so different from the ones I knew that I didn't recognize it at all. Man, nostalgic. Back in that other life, tons of streamers used these for broadcasts. But that's then, and this is now. Useless in this era. Even if I could use it for communication, there's no one left to receive it, no signal to catch—communications are impossible.
"Fuck," I blurted out at the sudden chat. Hope tilted her head, so I covered with a fake cough to play it off. No matter how startled I was, gotta hold back the swearing in front of the kid. More importantly, what the hell is this? Leftover text from before it broke?
But something's off. These chats seem to be reacting to my swear. It really feels like this is broadcasting live. But broadcasting from here? Impossible.
Really not broadcasting, right? No way. Signal connection? People? Too many things don't add up. Plus, I checked it myself—it was busted. But defying all common sense, the drone in front of me is humming along just fine. While I'm racking my brain, the drone holds its orbit on its own, circling us lazily. Then it returns to me, and the chat explodes in speed.
Hope staggers, eyes spinning from the flood of text.
These reactions—they're talking to us in real-time. More than joy that people exist somewhere besides us in this wrecked world, an incomprehensible terror creeps up first. I'm not hallucinating this vividly, am I? Haven't gone that mad yet?
Not just me hallucinating—Hope's staring at the chat too. Odds of us both snapping at once are nil. Her eyes wide, she asks me in an excited squeal.
"Unnie, unnie! Look at this. Super cool! What is it?"
"This is..." Drone headache aside, explaining to Hope from scratch is making my head throb. Keeping a straight face, I sort my thoughts.
New chats pop up reacting to us. Confirmed. Our footage is streaming live. Don't know why, but something's happening. Just as certainty hits, the drone beeps—beep beep—and the screen cuts out with a pop.
"Ah, it turned off." Hope sounds disappointed. I press power, but no light. Looks broken now.
"So unnie, what was that just now?"
"Beats me... what the hell was it?"
Whatever it is, power's dead now. Probably fine to forget it. But Hope tugs my sleeve.
"Unnie, what do we do with it?"
"Too sketchy to carry around..."
"Ehh~ Toss it? Just in case, let's take it. Pleeease? I'll take good care of it."
Care for scrap metal? I swallow the quip. Her sparkling eyes stare up. I get it, but touching mystery junk like this? Sketchy. A broken machine suddenly working is creepy enough. Most machines left are junk, no issue. But some still run—and some are dangerous if poked wrong. Once nearly died messing with "broken" junk hunting useful stuff. Still gives me chills; never again. Unlike my paling face, Hope's beaming happily.
"Really no?"
Her teary eyes tug at me. Kid's puppy-dog gaze is lethal. Even if it connected to survivors, no guarantee they're good folk. Rational to ditch it. But after that weirdness, my resolve wavers. Stupid, but... feels like fate? Rare chance in this world—better seize it than miss. More options, the better.
"Fine. We'll take it for now. Dump it if trouble."
"Yay!" Hope jumps for joy, arms high—then stumbles hard. No time to catch her with the drone; she faceplants into snow. Heart skips, but she pops up laughing, snow unbrushed. I hop down, dust her off lightly. That dumb grin pulls one from me too. What’s got her smiling like an idiot?
* The Kettenkraft plows endless snowfields, rubble piles flanking endlessly. Map says bridge soon. Back quiet, so I glance—Hope's hugging the drone, snoring angelically. Smile tugs my lips; eyes front, focus on driving. Bored of same scenery after ages.
"Bridge."
Far off, the grand bridge to the city looms intact. Lucky. Midway across after turning in, rustling from back.
"Awake? Sleep more."
"Yawwwn~ Huh? Wha—?!"
"What? See something?"
"Unnie, unnie...! The UFO's big again!"
I slam brakes. What the—? Rush back, huddle by Hope, stare. Lens lit, screen bigger. Chat floods again.
Twice now. Not coincidence.
"Huh? Unnie, doesn't the chat seem faster than before?"
"Yeah... speed's up from first time."
Faster chat means more viewers. If real broadcast, survivors exist—in numbers? Hard to believe.
"Ah, moving again."
Drone lifts slowly, circles us—then freezes toward the city we're heading to, staring long. Why there? What's it seeing? I look: dense buildings, once bustling city now shattered ruins, glory gone. Just deep loss and loneliness remain. Clear sunlight on empty streets amps the silence. Same old view.
Drone returns.
Chat frenzy. Hope struggles with unfamiliar text, looking pained, but past-life me keeps up. Their reactions still furrow my brow—something's weird.
"What else? Head to that city." Unnerved, I blurt without thinking.
Chats vary wildly.
Chat doesn't last. "Ah, off again." Beep, then dark. Hope pouts at still drone.
What the hell? More mysterious now. But no use dwelling—won't help survival. Drone's off; we keep moving.
"Bet it'll turn on again. Buckle up, we're going."
"Okay."
Grip wheel. Head for the city.