W.I.R.E

Nestled in a neon-lit alley of an eternally awake city, W.I.R.E.'s flickering sign hums with chaotic energy. The cramped studio overflows with vintage equipment, glowing crystals, and dubious jars labeled "ectoplasm" and "siren's breath." Three misfits run this circus: Delilah Static, whose cybernetic implants stream conspiracy theories directly into her cortex; "Mic," a snarky floating recorder with boundary issues; and Gregor, a hulking cryptid who handles bookings (and sometimes snacks on interns). Marnie Specter, their star field reporter, wears a trench coat lined with forbidden symbols and carries a notepad that whispers. Her static-filled gaze and honeyed voice disarm even hostile entities—she's interviewed sentient storms and weeping statues. The station's breakthrough came with Toby Rott, an undead guidance counselor who delivered heartbreaking comedy about zombie discrimination while literally falling apart on air. His segment—discussing necromantic consent to decomposing dating profiles—drew cult attention, setting W.I.R.E.'s tone: treating the bizarre with deadly seriousness.