I was on my way to school.
I was truly excited.
It was going to be the first time—the dream I had been waiting almost four years to return to. I was excited… I was going to become a reporter again. I imagined myself ten years from now, as a reporter on some news program, covering events, maybe a disaster, or even working as a presenter.
Imagining myself on TV or gathering important news was exciting.
A path I thought had completely closed in my life had opened again, and I was going to continue forward once more.
It was time to move on.
Even if it wasn't the way I had imagined.
—"Izel, would you like to eat something after school? They opened a fresh seafood restaurant nearby."
—"No, Izel is coming with me. We haven't seen each other, we're going to get pizza after school."
—"No, she's coming with me. We have things to talk about."
—"No, I'm her best friend. She's coming with me."
Iztli would be studying at the same school as me, and Iris… apparently her parents didn't allow her to study journalism, but they did allow photography and filming so she could become a camerawoman for programs. It seemed she had a friend working in the industry, and that was her hope to finally finish a career.
So even if it wasn't the same as mine, we would share several classes.
And when the two of them met…
the fight exploded.
—"Both of you, shut up or I won't go out with either of you! You know I have to work at night, so calm down. We'll go somewhere on the way, the three of us. The teacher is about to start class."
An older man, around sixty years old, was writing on the board without even introducing himself.
—"What is communication?"
The classroom fell silent until Iris raised her hand.
—"The ability to transmit information."
—"Not bad, but very textbook," the teacher said with a kind smile, continuing the question.
—"It's the ability to send something to another person," Iztli said, as serious and confident as always, though to me it felt childish, like he was trying to compete with Iris.
—"Not bad. But can you confirm one hundred percent that what you transmit is actually understood? And if the other person doesn't understand you, does that mean you're not communicating and are just making meaningless noise? Then, if one person understands you and another doesn't, is there communication or not? Tell me, young man."
The classroom remained silent.
It was a very important point.
What exactly was communication?
Dealing with other people.
—"Communication is expression… but with more steps," the professor said, drawing a person shouting on the board.
—"An idea becomes communication when it is shared. But when that idea is shared—no matter the way you express it—if there is another individual, then you are communicating. Why do I say 'individual' and 'expression'? A botanist communicates with plants, a musician speaks through melody, and even animals that make no sound send information through waves."
The class remained silent.
The impact of that idea was truly impressive.
—"But when the other person does not understand what is expressed, it means there are problems with clarity in communication, not that communication doesn't exist."
—"Now I'll ask you something: knowing that everything you do is communication with others… what information are you sending? And are others truly understanding it?"
After that, the teacher continued with the normal lesson, but that question stayed in my mind.
Even as the class went on, I kept thinking about what I was communicating… and whether the people around me understood me.
Time passed.
And I forgot.
When the bell rang, I went with Iris and Iztli to a food bazaar, where each of us bought something and sat at a table to eat.
—"Come on, Iris, don't make such a mess, let me clean you," I grabbed a napkin and started wiping Iris's mouth, which she had completely covered in sauce from the wings.
—"Hmmm…" Iris made little noises, smiling.
—"Cough, cough…" I coughed slightly.
Then I looked at Iztli.
He also had a stain of BBQ sauce on his cheek.
I didn't understand what he was expecting… he didn't expect me to clean him too, right?
So I just handed him a napkin.
For some reason, Iris smiled as if she were satisfied, and Iztli frowned.
—"Hey, Izel," Iztli said, "you mentioned that last time you took a break from work and that today you were going back."
—"Yeah… today I go back to work as a host," I said, a bit uncomfortable. Even though the fear had passed, I couldn't help but tremble slightly when thinking about it.
—"Can I watch your show? I'm really curious."
—"Well… I don't know, honestly," I hesitated. I knew it didn't affect listeners—or at least that's what Mictlantecuhtli said. When it happened, I asked him, but he said it was just a way to prepare me for the changes. When I tried to go deeper, he didn't let me.
—"You shouldn't watch it. It's a very bad show," Iztli said while grabbing another wing with perfectly clean hands.
—"Hey, if my best friend works there, it's not bad," Iris said, hugging me like a kangaroo protecting her baby.
—"Honestly… Iztli is right. I'm a radio host at a fantasy station. Are you sure you want to hear it? It's basically made up…"
I tried to dissuade her.
Nothing would happen to her, but I didn't like the idea that if there was even the slightest chance of getting involved in that world, she would.
—"I don't care, tell me, tell me," Iris insisted, giving me puppy eyes.
And the worst part…
it worked.
—"Okay… it's called Underworld Frequency. It's just nonsense. Supposedly, I interview ghosts and things like that, so don't watch it… it's just entertainment."
—"I still love underworld and horror themes."
—"Oh yeah? Then why did you cry when we watched the clown movie?"
—"That… is another story."
Laughter burst out.
The conversation stayed lively.
It helped me relax before what was coming next.
The afternoon passed.
And night approached.
And there it was.
Standing in front of the building.
Where I worked.
But it was different.
From the outside, I hadn't recognized it. The building looked perfect, but old. Now it looked renovated. A change of paint, designs, and engravings on the exterior. There was a neon sign that read:
Welcome to Underworld Frequency Station.
But that wasn't the only thing that changed.
The interior too.
More elegant.
More refined.
It looked as if money had suddenly been invested into it. It didn't look like a high-end facility, but it now competed with a mid-sized company.
But that wasn't the most important thing.
The people…
The people who once looked like ghosts working there…
now looked too alive.
What the hell was going on?