INT. RADIO STATION – NIGHT The air is thick with static. Rain lashes against the windows. Inside a cramped, dimly lit booth, DJ MARLA (32, sharp, jaded but cool under pressure) adjusts the mic, her hand trembling slightly. "This is Marla Graves… broadcasting from WZRD-109. I don't know who's still out there. But if you're listening, you're not alone… yet." A low groan filters through the station walls. Marla turns, startled, then quickly turns the volume up on a nearby console to drown it out. "Power's going out sector by sector. City Hall's gone dark. Emergency responders aren't answering anymore. I repeat: do not go to the shelters. They're not safe. Something's inside." She takes a shaky breath. The sound of something dragging across metal echoes faintly outside the room. CUT TO: INT. STATION LOBBY – SAME TIME A flickering light reveals blood smeared across the front desk. The body of a SECURITY GUARD twitches—then rises, unnaturally. His eyes have a dull, feral glaze. He snarls, sniffing the air. CUT BACK TO: INT. RADIO BOOTH Marla grabs a cassette from a stack labeled "EMERGENCY LOOPS," but hesitates. She chooses instead to speak raw. "I've seen people tear each other apart—literally. I saw my neighbor eat her dog… then her husband. This isn't a riot. It's… it's like a virus, but worse. They don't stop. You shoot them, they get up. You scream? They run faster." Another thud hits the station walls. Then another—closer. Marla grabs a baseball bat from beneath the desk, her eyes flicking to a half-broken door leading to the stairwell. "If you're near Westbridge, head north. There's a convoy headed for Redgate. It's not perfect—but they have fences. Guns. If you can hear this… run. Don't wait for the lights to come back." A moan interrupts her—inside the booth. The glass window is smeared with blood, a shadow behind it moving jerkily. She clicks a switch, recording one final message. "To my brother, if you're alive—don't come for me. Go north. Save yourself. And tell the world… we fought back." She hits "BROADCAST." As the door bursts open, the recording loops her message. Static blends with the first blood-curdling scream. [AUDIO LOOP – over black screen]: "This is Marla Graves… broadcasting from WZRD-109. I don't know who's still out there. But if you're listening, you're not alone… yet."