3:00 P.M.
Goodison Central Park
Nightclaw City, Renia Province, Victriona
“Dawg, you gotta stop,” Jerry said as he used his garbage grabber to clean up the area around the park bench. “Like man, at what point do you think you’ll finally move on?”
Cleary sighed as he leaned back on the bench and looked up into the clear blue sky. He always stopped at this spot to relax at least once a day. Because Jerry worked seven days a week as park maintenance, they had developed a solid friendship over the course of the past two years. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” Cleary said with a yawn.
“Don't be like that,” Jerry groaned as he emptied his bag in the bin beside the bench. “And stop looking so sad, someone will think I killed your family or something.” A couple of joggers went by and waved at Jerry, who happily returned the gesture. Jerry had been working at the park for years now and had become a well-known pillar of the community. “Like, it's good you’re going steady at the SmartMart. You’ve been working for a full year, which is way longer than the rest of your attempts to be a contributing member of society. But you’re still not going full-time so you can waste time on recording those videos. How much sleep did you even get last night? I might as well paint black smudges under your eyes and do your body a favour.”
“It's more than recording,” Cleary murmured. “You have to edit as well. Create a narrative, make it watchable and fun, make it-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jerry cut Cleary off with a wave of his grabber. “Dawg, you make clickbait videos for kids. Chill.” Cleary clicked his tongue but didn't reply as Jerry went on. “Like, I get it. I mean I don't, but I can try to empathize, you know? You were huge back in the day, sure. Like, when I bring you up at parties people still get shocked and ask to meet you. Like of course they don't exactly like you but… you know what I mean. You made good money, were famous, sold merch, the whole nine yards. But it was four years ago, man. You were in high school.”
Cleary furrowed his brows and grabbed his green drawstring bag. Unaware, Jerry continued his rant, turning away from the bench to collect a crumpled water bottle. “Like damn, dawg, it makes sense that after all that happened you tried to salvage your career. Anyone would, I think. But you’re still trying.” Cleary quietly stood up and began walking away. “You could’ve had a degree or something by now, dawg. Like, you can still try and make something of yourself, you know? Go to like a vocational sch- hm?” Jerry turned back to the bench and noticed a distinct lack of Cleary. “Wha- hey, c’mon man!” He looked around and saw Cleary’s back as he walked to a nearby bus stop. “Dude, I’m just trying to help!” He shouted. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Cleary waved without looking back as he checked his phone for the next bus.
—
The bus stop closest to Cleary’s apartment was still a 20-minute walk. It was peaceful and quiet as he made his way to the ancient two-story apartment complex just barely within city limits. It looked more like a motel and Cleary was half-convinced he was the only resident, but he preferred it like that. The old landlady dropped by once a month for rent and was usually pretty good on repairs whenever he needed something fixed.
Cleary unlocked his door and had to give a few pushes to open it. He liked to think of the door's tendency to jam as an extra security feature. It was a small apartment. The kitchen and living room were connected, a small bathroom with a standing shower about the size of a coffin, and a single broom closet of a bedroom which Cleary used as his ‘office’ where he did some of his filming and all of his editing.
Cleary tossed his bag onto the kitchen counter and sat down on the mattress at the center of the living room. With the actual bedroom taken up, he had to make do. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his various social medias. Blueit, Chirper, Slowgram, everything needed to be combed through thoroughly. Leading hashtags, trending items, Cleary saw it as his job to stay up to date on all the current trends so he could implement them in one of his channels. The lights flickered as he doom-scrolled away.
—
Three hours and innumerable rabbit holes later, he finally put the phone down and thought through the ideas swirling in his mind. He had picked up a notebook a bit after he started his research and scribbled names, ideas, tags, and other various notes. There were a few things Cleary felt could be effectively worked into what he was going to film tonight.
Cleary slowly got up, stretching his arms above his head as he shuffled to the kitchen. Grabbing an energy drink out of the fridge, he spent some time preparing the dishwasher, praying it would work before going to get changed. He spent some time in the bathroom doing his hair, making the short black strands look just messy enough. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he grabbed his filming equipment- a decent camera, microphone, and some props- before putting an address into his phone.
“I feel it, this one will be good,” he muttered to no one as he hit start on the GPS.
—
7:38 P.M.
The Abandoned Construction Site
30 Kilometers South of Nightclaw, Renia Province, Victriona
The hour-long bike to the film site left Cleary huffing, but he did this often enough to know a bit of rest would calm his body. The rough terrain of the area was uncomfortable to sit on but he crossed his legs and sipped some water as he stared at the structure in front of him. A large, crumbling building with at least 15 stories and a caved-in roof towered in front of him. Jumping the rusted chain link fence was inconvenient, but not a huge problem. He fiddled with his camera settings before looking around. Everything within a few kilometres had been levelled as part of this project, but what was supposed to be the crown jewel of some poor sod’s life work had decayed and fallen apart.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The reason that LOC-B Construction had abandoned this project a few months before was simple enough- it became too expensive. Better opportunities arose and some bitter architect was left behind wallowing in their crushed dreams. Fortunately for Cleary, this old, crumbling building was just removed enough from the public eye to use it for a nice clickbait video.
—
“Hey everybody, it's Night here, and welcome to the Graveyard Shift! Today… shit, no good. Again,” Cleary sighed as he reset the video recording on his phone. His tailbone was starting to hurt from sitting on the concrete for so long as he tried to record a satisfactory introduction. He had originally hoped to get to one of the higher floors, but after the third floor, the stairs crumbled into nothingness.
He took a deep breath, sipped some water, and clicked record.
“Heyyyyy everybody!” he said with exaggerated excitement. Welcome to the graveyard shift! Today, I’ll be calling the spirits of the dead construction workers at this abandoned construction sight south of Nightclaw City at 3:00 AM!”
There were no dead construction workers. LOC-B was known for their safe building practices and used machines for risky jobs. However, his potential viewers didn't need to know that.
“Guys, it's actually so cold here, I think I can feel the spirits watching me,” he whispered, looking around to try and sell the act. “Anyways, make sure to like, comment on what you want to see next, and subscribe for more awesome videos!” He gave a thumbs-up before cutting the recording.
Cleary sat still for a moment, unsure if his face was heating due to embarrassment or some other external factor in his surroundings. Once upon a time, he would have spat down at anyone who made content like this. Not true creativity, driven by mindless greed, not worthy of sharing a platform with him. However, these values had become muted over time, replaced once the success of this ‘cheap’ content gave him the attention he had always desired. Ranking first on all trending charts worth considering was enough for him to cast all prejudices aside and embrace this form of work. Even now that it was all lost and he was simply grasping at trying to regain his old success, he couldn't bring himself to try and make something he was actually passionate for. Fear of failure was much stronger, and the voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that he had already tried doing what he was proud of and it failed. This was the only way to return to his former glory, to restore what was lost over a couple of pointed fingers and pitchforks.
Still, the shame bubbled up in moments like these. He scrunched his face, his hands balled in fists, and took a few conscious breaths to stop clenching his teeth. Setting his feelings aside, he got back to work.
—
Some 30 minutes later, Cleary had wrapped up his initial exploration of the building, taking multiple shots to give himself a wide array of choices for editing when he got home, and was preparing to film the climax of the video. He had planted a few props to make it look like some spirits were haunting him. The main prop was an old electronic skeleton Halloween decoration that made a bunch of creepy whispers when he hit a remote button.
He quickly ran through the plan in his mind before hitting record and putting on a scared facade. “Okay guys, I think the spirits are getting mad at me,” he whispered as he looked around. “It's getting colder and I totally feel like I’m being watched.” He paused before looking around. “Do you guys hear that? I think the spirits are trying to talk to me.”
Cleary sneakily put his hand in his pocket to press the button that would set off the Halloween props, making them start whispering when the ground suddenly began to shake. Fear filled him as his mind jumped to the conclusion that the decrepit building was finally giving out beneath him. Still being on the third floor, he had no hope to quickly escape. However, after a brief moment, the rumbling stopped. Cleary stood breathing heavily, afraid to move in case he set off the shaking once again. However, a flash of light from the left side of the building caused him to jump back in shock.
The sudden brightness subsided quickly but it took a few moments for Cleary’s eyes to readjust to the darkness. Once they did, he slowly moved towards the left wall to see if perhaps a security guard had arrived and he needed to plan an escape.
As he got closer, he began to make out two male voices. The wall was cracked and riddled with holes, allowing Cleary to peer out into the surrounding area. There, he saw two ragged figures facing each other. He pointed the camera at the men, still recording, as it was too dark for him to see the men without the camera’s special brightening settings.
One was a man who looked like he was in his thirties dressed in a torn and singed black kimono, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. In his hands was a silver katana covered in some dark liquid. The other man, a shorter blonde, wore some strange, black military-like gear that reminded Cleary of the Black Ops 3 combat suits players wore. He held a black broadsword, an older weapon which looked out of place considering the rest of his modern gear.
Is there some convention going on? Cleary wondered. He stared at the camera screen, increasing the brightness and feeling glad he had splurged on the newer model, otherwise he would have had to turn on the flash to brighten the recording.
“Give up,” the blonde man said through heavy breathing. “My people are on their way. Do you really think you’re going to escape? Your run is over, Malich. Out of respect, I will let you surrender with dignity.”
The man named Malich chuckled as he bent his legs and lowered his body, angling himself threateningly toward the blonde man. “You are not the first to say those words to me, Gonosi dog. Nor will you be the last.”
The blonde man scowled. “All legends must fall,” he said before taking a deep breath. “I’ll honour your life with a clean death.”
Malich smiled as he gripped his katana tighter. His eyes began to glow a deep blue as electricity danced across his body. A moment later, he suddenly appeared in front of the blonde man as if by magic, bringing his sword down. The blonde man quickly raised his own to defend, causing a deafening boom to shake the air as his sword became alight with black flames. “Let us see if you can stay true to your words,” Malich said as he jumped back. The blonde man wasted no time, charging forward with a furious roar.