Kimberly Hart's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Kimberly pulled the headset over her ears and adjusted the microphone. The broadcasting equipment hummed beneath her claws as she powered it on. Static filled her ears, sharp and loud. She twisted the frequency dial slowly, searching through empty channels. Most gave her nothing but white noise. Some crackled with distant voices speaking languages she didn't recognize. She marked down three promising frequencies in her notebook and clicked off the radio. Broadcasting blind wouldn't help. She needed working equipment first, tools to amplify the signal and reach farther. Her current setup was too weak to cover the distance her team might be scattered across. She climbed down from the watchtower and headed into the overgrown streets, searching for anything useful. The repair station sat half-hidden behind a wall of vines and rust. Scattered tools lay in the dirt around weathered workbenches. She pushed through the foliage and picked up a wrench, testing its weight. Most of the equipment was damaged but fixable. She gathered what she could carry and laid everything out on the least rusted bench. A soldering iron, wire cutters, spare cables. Enough to start repairing her gear. She worked through the afternoon, stripping corroded wires and replacing broken connections. By sunset, she had reinforced her radio transmitter and built a signal booster from salvaged parts. It wasn't perfect, but it would reach three times farther than before. She packed her improved equipment and headed back to the watchtower. Tomorrow she would send her first real broadcast. Tomorrow she would start calling her team home. Morning came cold and clear. Kimberly hauled the backup generator up the watchtower ladder, her muscles burning with each step. The sleek metal unit was heavier than it looked, but she needed reliable power for her broadcasts. One storm could knock out the tower's main system and silence her for days. She bolted the generator to the platform and ran cables to her radio equipment. The engine started on the third pull, settling into a steady hum. She tested the connection. All systems powered up without a flicker. Now her broadcasts could continue no matter what. She lifted the microphone and took a breath. Her claws trembled slightly as she pressed the transmit button. Her voice carried out across the wasteland, simple and clear, calling her team back to Angel Grove. The first message sent. The real search had begun. Days passed with no response. She broadcast twice each morning and once at sunset. Between transmissions, she explored the ruins for supplies and better equipment. On the fifth day, she found the old training headquarters buried in overgrowth. Vines covered the walls and weeds pushed through cracked windows. She forced the front door open and stepped inside. Training mats lay rotting on the floor. Punching bags hung torn and empty. But the practice equipment was still there, waiting. She needed to be ready when her team answered. Ready to fight again. She cleared space and began training, her movements slow at first, then sharper. Her kicks echoed through the empty building. Her body remembered the forms even if her mind felt rusty. Each day she would train here. Each day she would broadcast. Each day she would wait for her team to come home.