The Last Broadcast of Channel 6
A snowstorm alert is hijacked by a voice that echoes beneath the static like something trapped inside it.
The tape flickered on with the washed-out glow of an old newsroom. A faded banner at the bottom of the screen read:
CHANNEL 6 SPECIAL WEATHER ALERT
A storm hammered the windows behind the anchor, a middle-aged man with nervous eyes who kept glancing off-camera. His nameplate read ALAN HUGHES.
Indy leaned closer. “A news station? Why is this in a facility archive?”
Lara didn’t answer. She was already reading the timestamp. 03:02:19. Same night as the others.
On the screen, Alan shuffled his papers, voice trembling slightly. “Residents near the eastern coastline are urged to stay indoors. High winds, structural damage, and… possible animal disturbances have been reported.”
He paused. Blinked. Looked off-camera again.
“Are we… are we sure about that?” he whispered to someone unseen.
A woman’s voice hissed, “Read it, Alan.”
He swallowed. “Authorities have confirmed sightings of a large… reptilian animal moving inland through the storm.”
Lara whispered, “Oh no.”
Static rolled across the screen. Thick, heavy. The audio warped like someone dragging a metal pipe through water.
“I don’t like this tape,” Indy said.
The feed snapped back to clarity.
Alan leaned closer to the camera, voice dropping. “To everyone watching… if you can hear me… get away from the windows.”
The lights above him flickered violently. Something crashed in the studio hallway. A distant roar vibrated through the speakers, so deep the monitor rattled.
Alan froze.
Indy whispered, “That wasn’t thunder.”
The emergency lights flashed red. The camera swung slightly to the right, as if something hit the recording booth.
Alan stood abruptly. “Shelly? Shelly, what was that?”
A scream cut through the studio—high, panicked, brutal. Equipment toppled. Paper flew. A shadow crossed the frosted glass of the control room door.
Alan staggered backward. “God… it’s here.”
A massive shape slammed into the glass, cracking it like ice under pressure. A reptilian snout shoved through, teeth tearing at the frame.
Lara inhaled sharply. “That’s a… that’s a Ceratosaurus.”
The creature shoved harder, its single nasal horn snapping through the glass as its jaws gnashed for space. Muscles rippled beneath rain-soaked scales. It roared again, louder, deeper, a sound that hit the camera mic like a sledgehammer.
Alan fell to his knees, crawling backward as the studio door exploded inward. The Ceratosaurus burst through the frame in a shower of splinters and glass, its jaws snapping shut inches from his leg.
“Please—” Alan gasped. “Someone help—”
The beast lunged.
The camera caught the moment its jaws clamped around Alan’s torso, lifting him clean off the ground. His scream cut off in a wet crunch. The Ceratosaurus shook him once, twice, then hurled the limp body into a lighting rig.
The beast turned to the camera.
Its yellow eyes reflected the studio lights. It stepped closer, breathing heavily, nostrils flaring as if scenting the viewer.
Indy muttered, “Turn it off, Lara.”
The Ceratosaurus lowered its head, opening its jaws as if to bite the camera itself—
The tape glitched.
Static engulfed the screen.
Then: a final image.
The studio, empty. Chairs overturned. Blood smeared across the floor. A single emergency light blinked in the corner.
One last sound whispered through the static—something like a faint, rasping breath inches from the microphone.
Then the tape ended.
Lara exhaled slowly. “That wasn’t an accident. That wasn’t a glitch. That dinosaur was hunting.”
Indy sat back, shaken. “What else crossed into the mainland that night?”
Lara looked at the remaining tapes in the locker.
“We’re going to find out.”