The drone feed flickered slightly, a grainy image of the Deyor cityscape coming into view. What was once a vibrant, sprawling metropolis was now a smoldering ruin. Blackened steel beams jutted skyward like the skeletal remains of a giant, and the faint outlines of collapsed skyscrapers sprawled across the horizon, their shattered glass glittering like fallen stars. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of destruction lingering even through the screen.
“This is Marla Jensen reporting live from what’s left of downtown Deyor,” the journalist’s voice echoed, tinged with solemnity and disbelief. She stood amidst the ruins, her reflective jacket catching the muted sunlight that pierced the smog. Behind her, a team of workers clad in hazmat suits sifted through the rubble, their movements slow and methodical.
“The devastation here is unlike anything the city has ever seen. The riots, sparked by widespread unrest and inequality, culminated in what’s now being called the Deyor City Destruction. Entire districts were leveled as violence escalated over the past week, leaving thousands displaced and an untold number dead.”
The drone camera panned, zooming in on the jagged remains of a skyscraper that once scraped the heavens. It lingered on a particularly conspicuous section of the rubble—a twisted pile of metal and concrete that had clearly once been a penthouse. Emergency crews worked to extract something from the debris, their movements cautious and deliberate.
“Among the casualties confirmed so far is Christopher Reese-Ross Garvin,” Marla continued, her tone softening with practiced empathy. “A man once heralded as a pioneer in artificial intelligence, Garvin’s revolutionary AI code formed the backbone of many of the systems we use today. From cutting-edge video games to practical applications in everyday life, his legacy is woven into the fabric of our modern world.”
The camera shifted again, this time displaying a still image of Chris. It was a photo taken years ago, back when he was healthier and still smiled for the press. The faint sparkle of youth in his eyes contrasted painfully with the footage of his final resting place.
“Garvin’s body was discovered in a secure safe room beneath the collapsed remains of his penthouse,” Marla said, glancing down at her notes. “Rescue teams report that the room itself had partially caved during the building’s collapse. Tragically, his injuries and dehydration had proven fatal before anyone could reach him.”
The drone feed cut to another image—a distant shot of the collapsed building, the words DEYOR SAFE ZONE EVACUATION COMPLETE scrolling along the bottom of the screen.
“Garvin’s death comes at a critical time for Deyor, a city still reeling from the catastrophic events triggered by two escaped inmates: Dean Matroni and Jonathan Stokes.” The names hung heavily in the air, and the camera briefly cut to a grainy photo of the two men. Both figures looked disheveled and haunted, their mugshots eerily vacant.
“Matroni and Stokes, who recently escaped a high-security Caidanadian prison, are believed to have incited much of the chaos leading to Deyor’s destruction. Witnesses claim the pair exhibited strange, unexplained abilities during the riots—abilities some have described as ‘magical.’ These accounts remain unverified, though they’ve sparked widespread speculation and fear.”
Marla paused, her expression somber. “It is perhaps ironic that Garvin, a man who dedicated his life to creating artificial intelligence, should meet his end amidst the chaos wrought by what some are calling a new frontier of human evolution.”
The feed shifted again, this time showing an image of Jessica Garvin. Her face was partially obscured, a blurred silhouette as she walked past reporters at the evacuation zone.
“Garvin is survived by his daughter, Jessica Garvin, who declined to comment earlier today. Family sources confirm that this tragedy coincides with a deeply personal anniversary: the deaths of Garvin’s wife, Sylvia, and son, Marcus, nearly twelve years ago. It seems the echoes of loss that marked Garvin’s later years have followed him to their inevitable conclusion.”
The camera lingered on the wreckage of the penthouse for a few moments longer, the broken structure a stark reminder of the fragility of even the most fortified lives.
“This is Marla Jensen, signing off from Deyor. A city that once stood tall, now reduced to ashes and memory.”
The feed cut out, leaving only static and the haunting image of smoke rising into the sky.