A young tomboy meteorologist raised her glass outside her victorian room window, analyzing the small raindrops while attempting to predict the weather forecast in the upcoming matches. “Hm, just as I predicted. If there is a 55% chance of rainfall, then this feels like a storm is coming.” She thought to herself before setting her storm glass down on her workbench to write up her journal. She then, hunched over a vintage shortwave radio on her desk nearby and clicks it on. A low hum and static buzz fills the room. She adjusts the dial slowly. “Alright! Dial frequency 12.47… match the pitch, calibrate the antenna… and for the love of god, please don’t block the signal again.”

The radio crackle spikes, then evens out. A faint beep confirms connection. She sighed in relief and leans into her microphone to broadcast.

“Testing… this is Meteorologist Wendy Foote, calling from the west wing of Oletus Manor. Weather report is set for 0600 hours. Repeat—this is a test.”