March 5th, 2028 - BBA broadcasting room, The Borderlands.

It’d been a rough morning. Sara’s one of the few people who still owns a car in the Borderlands, a rusted 1983 Toyota Pickup, but that doesn’t seem to free her from traffic during her commute. There’s always some other use for the roads. Plus the bridge collapsed again, and the only way around is always crowded by wagons and herds of sheep and motorcycles. She’s exhausted. Bad sleep, skipped making coffee, and today’s a Sunday, so they start the radio show earlier than normal. She shoves open the door, stuck like it always is, and steps into the crowded space.
David’s already here. Probably slept in the office, again. Sara could swear he knows the jumbled wires that run along the space like a spider knows its web, the way he can fix an outage in the middle of a broadcast without anyone even hearing a difference. The space itself is dark, lit mostly by blinking red and green indicators, thick power cables weaving through the ceiling beams and forcing anyone walking through to crouch slightly. David’s got a permanent hunch from doing just that, making him look smaller than he already is. The show can’t run without him, of course, but he acts like it can, like someone’s going to fire him if he screws up. That’s not going to happen, of course. They’ve only got 3 employees anyways.
Speaking of 3 employees, though, something’s wrong. It’s quiet. There’s a thousand different electrical hums, of course, and a fan is running somewhere in the background, but there’s no loudmouthed idiot greeting her from across the room. In fact, the loudmouthed idiot doesn’t seem to be here at all.
“Surely he’s not late again, right?”
“Um, well…” David gestures to the booth, a tiny space that manages to hold several microphones, chairs, display screens, and landlines. It contains basically everything needed for the job- except, of course, for their broadcaster. The show starts at 7:30. If he forgot about Sundays being earlier than usual again, Sara is going to kill him.
Thankfully for Jonah, he shoves the door open right before she can decide what to use as the murder weapon. “Sorry I’m late, horrible traffic, the bridge collapsed and you would not believe-” She’s not listening, just shoving him along, then rushing over to her place at the switchboard, getting ready to run the show like she always does. David nods at them both, flicks a switch, and the show begins.
“Hello, listeners! It is 7:32 AM here in the Borderlands, and today is Sunday, March 5th-”