A Little Horror Story I Wrote. (Patreon)

Wrote this story a few weeks ago and while I was initially going to post it, real world things kinda... made it a little too real. But I'm still very proud of it so read it at your own discretion! 

RADIO SILENCE.

“3… 2… 1… We’re live.”

Lalo and Cranston both swiveled 180 degrees on their spinny chairs to face their mics, as if this radio station had some sort of visual element their listeners could process.

“Hello and welcome to TSB AM! A good place to chill out and listen to some of the funkiest mashups by yours truly! Just chill to these beats!”

Lalo was the guy with the smooth voice and perfect pitch, Cranston was the funny guy with a quick wit. Together, they made a palpable radio duo that garnered a respectable audience of listeners.

“And while you’re chillin’ like a not-so-villain, don’t forget to use the promo code ‘TSB’ to get a 20% discount on your purchase of beefy eats! The only website to get a healthy handful of beef jerky for your mouth! That’s T as in Tyler, S as in succulent and B as in beef.”

“Tyler succulent beef, you tryna tell me something, Lalo?” Cranston ad-libbed, garnering a chuckle from his best bud.

“A dirty mind is a dirty kind, Cranston,” Lalo shot back in jest, somewhat of an unspoken catchphrase for him after so many years of Cranston’s lively taunting.

“I guess I can’t argue with that, heh. Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

With that, they tuned their voices out and let a remix of Adventure of a Lifetime and Out of Touch play, one of Lalo’s personal creations that served as a great early-morning vibe. The two of them then had another hearty chuckle to themselves before they were suddenly interrupted by a rather annoying noise.

“Ack, what the hell is that?” Lalo asked, ripping off his headset only to cover his ears in discomfort.”

“Dude, I think it's the fax machine,” Cranston replied, looking around in annoyance as he wasn’t sure where it was actually placed. “I forgot that thing was still plugged in. Who the fuck still sends faxes anymore?”

Cranston stood up with annoyance and hurriedly walked over to the opposite end of the small booth. Sure enough, being coughed out of the dusty machine was a single sheet of paper.

“Oh shit, you think the Government finally found out I’ve been jaywalking to work every day or something?” Cranston joked, ripping out the piece of paper and bringing it to his face.

However, his jovial expression soured almost instantly. What replaced it was not a face of disgust, anger nor sadness, but a hopeless fusion of the three that left him staring at the page for far longer than it actually took him to read the important parts of the document.

“W-what does it say, Cranston?” Lalo asked, concerned at his best friend’s lack of response. Usually, whenever fan mail was sent, no matter how weird, Cranston wouldn’t hesitate to share it for all the viewers to hear.

“Cranston, what does it say?” Lalo repeated, more urgency in his breath, but Cranston couldn’t take his lifeless eyes off what he saw.

When Cranston didn’t respond the second time, Lalo sucked up his gut and walked over to his Disk Jockey partner. Upon closer inspection, Cranston’s hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Lalo took a peak at what Cranston read and for a brief moment, it almost seemed like he wanted to hide what the paper read, only to second-guess himself and silently hand the paper over for Lalo to read.

As the second half of the radio duo let his eyes scan the document, he, too, was met with the same horrifying silence.

NUCLEAR DESTRUCTION IMMINENT. IN ACCORDANCE WITH UNITED STATES LAW, ALL LICENSED MEDIA AND RADIO PERSONNEL ARE REQUIRED TO INFORM THE PUBLIC OF THE UPCOMING DEVASTATION.

Lalo wasn’t sure how to react with his body. It was as if every different limb was being barked a different order and it led to everything getting lost in translation. All he could seemingly execute was the same action, reading and rereading the same horrifying statement again and again.

“What are you two waiting for?” came a voice from the door, snapping the two of them back to reality. It was their producer, Steve. He looked disheveled, to say the least. “Get to your stations, we have to warn the public!”

“Well, I’m surprised we have two working fax machines in the county, much less in the same office,” Cranston quipped dryly, trying his hardest to cope with the existential dread that was setting in for all three men. He began the trek back to his seat as he was told, but a steady hand from Lalo halted him.

“No, we can’t do that,” the man with the once-golden voice interjected.

“And why not!?” Steve shot back with anger in his teeth.

“I don’t think it’s the moral thing to do, Steve. We broadcast out to 500,000 listeners at least, right?”

“Yes.”

“And that nuke’s dropping whether we tell ‘em or not, right?”

“So?”

“So, then why fill their minds with anxiety right before they die? This is a radio station for relaxing, I think It’d be better if our listeners spent their last moments enjoying life, y’know?”

“But that is a direct order from the government,” he retorted, angrily pointing at the faxed note in Lalo’s hand.

“Yeah, the same government that likely got us into this mess,” Lalo responded.

“It doesn’t matter! Maybe they’ve got bomb shelters set up!? We have to try!”

“Yeah right, name one bomb shelter you can think of!”

Cranston, who had stayed in the background of the conversation, suddenly stepped forward. He placed both of his hands on his workmate’s shoulders, soothing the two of them.

“Guys, guys, listen. I don’t want to spend the last few moments with you gentlemen bickering.” He closed his eyes, preemptively wincing at his next words. “Now listen, Lalo, go set up for the script like Steve asked. Steve, go get us those beers in the fridge down the hall we were saving for that party we’re clearly never going to have. If we get it done now, we might just be able to spend the final seconds of our lives together in peace.”

They both looked at Cranston, understanding without a word that he’s ultimately right. Steve immediately left the studio and Lalo grabbed his mic.

Cranston then immediately walked over to the door and locked it before Steve realized what he was doing. The comedy part of the duo bore a dead serious expression on his face as he walked back to his seat next to Lalo. Then, his expression changed to that of a satisfied smile. Even in the end, he’s always had his partner’s back.

The two men exchanged wordless looks as Cranston reached into the desk in front of him and pulled out two of the very beers he was talking about earlier. A bottle opener was passed as they cracked open the caps. The two of them cheered their beers quietly as Cranston popped his feet up on the desk. Such an action was once considered unprofessional, but in a minute, it won’t matter.

Lalo turned on the mic, his grim face quickly morphing to a cheery one. “TSB AM is back after a brief intermission! A good place to chill out and listen to some of the funkiest mashups by yours truly! Just chill to these beats!”

The soundtrack overwhelmed all other audio in the studio as both Cranston and Lalo took a satisfying, bitter sip of their drinks. Steve’s furious knocking on the door was drowned out, incandescent banging reverberating throughout the halls, yet all outside sound was overwhelmed from the inside of the booth, as was its intended function.

Steve stopped banging, the futility of his actions hitting him like a truck. It’s too late now. Spending any more of his life’s last moments angry would be pointless. Those were moments he’d never get back now. Moments he could have spent calling his family and hearing their voices one last time.

Both Lalo and Cranston exchange glances. Their eyebrows full of nervousness, but their beaming smiles overcoming all negative emotions. As the clock slowly counted down to the final minute mark, the two of them knew they could think of no better way to go out with a bang.