“WBTV Channel Nine news at Six, Charlotte’s trusted source for the latest in local and national news, weather, and sports with Dan Padea and Rachelle Gutierrez-Meade.” A montage of graphics streamed behind the smiling faces of an attractive man and woman. It was the same show intro that had played for over five years, but today its viewership was drastically different.

The intro ended with a flourish of musical notes before going to the live feed with a woman who was not Rachelle Gutierrez-Meade. She was just as attractive, but she was younger and didn’t quite have the professional edge of a seasoned reported.

“Good evening, I’m Emily Breck, and we return to day two of coverage where we are continuing to try and give you the latest updates on what happened in the Queen City.” The shot broadened to show that reporter was standing at the foot of a giant pile of rubble.

First responders in uniforms ranging from local paramedics, to the FDNY, and even soldiers with the patch of the 82nd Airborne Division could be seen moving around in the background. Everyone had masks covering their mouth and nose. Dust and smoke was still heavy in the air even two days later, and the sound of construction equipment rumbling toward the sight would have drowned out the reporter if not for the small microphone she wore on her jacket’s lapel.

“First, I must begin with tragic news.” Emily Breck might be a young reporter, but she was able to summon up tears on command. “We received news at three-fifty-one this afternoon that our beloved anchor Dan Padea died of his injuries when the station’s roof collapsed during the still unexplainable event.” She stopped talking and took a deep breath to compose herself. “The prayers and wishes of the WBTV family go out to his family in their moment of need, and to the family of Rachelle Gutierrez-Meade who perished in the event itself.” Emily bowed her head for a moment of silence.

When her head came back up all that was left of the tears was a single one trailing down her cheek. “There is still no comment from the interim Mayor, Governor, or President about what exactly happened. The experts are still baffled by what was clearly caught on tens of thousands of cell phones and surveillance cameras two nights ago. Since no official comments have being made by the authorities, we at WBTV brought in some of our own experts to try and determine what happened. I spoke with Dr. Steven Gibbs earlier today.” The shot switched to an in-studio recording taken earlier.

“What we are seeing here is unexplainable.” The doctor was a middle-aged, balding, but looked very intelligent, which lent his words more credence whether he was ultimately right or not. “The footage speaks for itself.”

The scene changed to show cameras from the top of Bank of America Corporate Center, the tallest building in downtown Charlotte.

“As you can see the things fighting are under half the height of the building, but that doesn’t stop them from delivering untold destruction on the city. We have tentatively identified the one dressed like a knight with a sword and shield as Unidentified Giant One or UG-1. While the monster with the rotating faces and twin blades as Unidentified Giant Two, UG-2. Fencing expert have weighed in and comment on the two UG’s skills handling blades, especially UG-2’s mastery of dual wielding.”

The video played out as the two giants fought their way through the outskirts of downtown Charlotte. They simply walked through smaller buildings, or used them as springboards to strengthen their attacks. Those springboard buildings collapsed onto themselves one hundred percent of the time.

“What is truly astounding is what happens here.” Dr. Gibbs pointed to a stretch of footage from the Duke Energy Center – the second tallest building in the city.

It showed the two UGs fighting toward the building. They feinted, dodged, and block each other’s strikes. At first, each strike produced a visible shattering of glass around them, but at this point there was no glass left to break. UG-1 sidestepped out of the way of a vertical slash and slid around the base of the thick Bank of America Center. That didn’t stop UG-2 from horizontally chopping through the building. He only caught the edge of UG-1’s shield, who was easily able to deflect the attack, but UG-2 wasn’t able to pursue. It was the reason why, that Dr. Gibbs was referring to as astounding.

“Physics is pretty clear that a reaction should cause an equal and opposite reaction. What we should be seeing here is parts of the building exploding outward from the force of the blow as part of that reaction.” The video showed nothing of the sort.

The cut was as clean as having a slice of turkey cut at the deli.

“There are two explanations for this. The first is that UG-2 has fundamentally altered the nature of the universe. Personally, I think that is unlikely. The second explanation is that UG-2’s blade is impossibly sharp. Nothing manmade could do that, which leads me to my theory about all of this . . . aliens.”

“Thank you, Dr. Gibbs. I’m sure the viewers and proper authorities will take that possibility under advisement.” Emily ended the conversation before it got too weird.

Things were already weird enough. The shot returned to the present where the heavy construction equipment had reached the rubble.

“The number of survivors of this horrible incident are few and far between. The dead are estimated a fifty-thousand and that number continues to rise as rescue operations move forward. We might be looking at a six-figure death rate by the end of the week.”

“Hey, lady, move!” A firefighter with Boston FD in big yellow letters walked into the shot and yelled at the reporter and her crew.

“Excuse me, Sir, do you have any comment . . .”

“No! Now move it. This pile of rubble is unstable at best and I’d hate for something to slide off it and ruin your day.” The firefighter started waving his arms in a shoeing motion that succeeded in moving the whole crew away from the scene.

“Fucking reporters,” he swore to his partner as the crew moved away from the pile of the former ten-story building.

Its old brick made part of the clearing process simple, but it was never safe. The possibilities for cave-ins that would crush any survivors were always an issue. The ground-penetrating radar was a great help, but it wasn’t perfect. Dogs and their incredible noses filled in the gaps, and between the two of them the first responders did what they could.

It was slow going. It always was, and with so many buildings to clear they could only spend so much time before moving on. They were working against an unforgivable clock, and until more resources could be organized and transported there was only so much they could do.

“Smaller than the last one,” an army captain walked up to the firefighter. He had his weapon slung across his chest and was wearing his full battle-rattle.

A local National Guard company conducting their monthly drill weekend had been able to organize and respond to the disaster while it was occurring. All that was left of the military convoy was ash and a few scraps of twisted metal on the I-77. UG-2 had bathed the convoy in fire from hundreds of yards away. They hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds while the rounds from their fifty-caliber machine guns bounced harmlessly off the UG’s armor. The federal government had seized all footage of the incident and classified it top secret before hunting down all of the copies on the internet.

“Yeah,” the firefighter shrugged. They’d been doing this for forty-eight hours and just about everyone working the disaster was numb to the damage and loss of life. You had to be to continue to do your job.

Guys with FEMA windbreakers were operating the radar. They were moving slowly across the top of the pile and stopping frequently. The radars were great for finding people, but they were better at finding structurally unstable places for first responders to avoid. The federal workers planted flags at those spots and continued looking.

It was thirty minutes of tense waiting before they got a positive hit. “Got someone!” The announcement spurred a flurry of activity from the men and women around the site.

“Where?” The Boston firefighter, who’d helped out after 9/11, had plenty of experience with this, which was why he was the team lead.

“Only ten feet down. That’s one lucky son of a bitch.” The FEMA guy actually smiled.

A shallow dig in a spot without any structural weaknesses was cause to smile. It was also close enough to the edge of the pile that they were able to get the heavy equipment in without any trouble.

“Easy . . . easy . . .” The firefighter still wanted to take it slow. If there was one survivor their might be more.

It took as long to extract the survivor as it did the find him. Finally, the last of the brick was tossed aside and a man was lowered into the hole with an extra harness. The winch whined in protest as it started to bring up the survivor.

“Damn . . .” One of the FEMA workers – a woman – blushed so fiercely you could see it through the dust and grime.

The man hoisted out of the hole was naked as the day he was born. He looked like he was a linebacker for the Panthers, but a look at his face showed he wasn’t. He was still big, at least six-five, and well-muscled. He looked more like he was sleeping then he’d just been involved in an avalanche of brick and mortar. Despite that, there wasn’t a scratch on him. That in itself was a miracle.

“We’ve got a strong pulse!” A paramedic did a once over and confirmed he didn’t have any injuries. “He’s coming out of it.”

The guy’s eyes opened and he stared around him with blatant confusion.

“Sir, you’ve been in an accident. You are ok. What is your name?”

“Name?” The man worked his jaw up, down, back, and forth like he was struggling to understand.

“He could have a concussion,” the paramedic offered. “We should get him to the hospital.”

“Do you know where you are? What day it is? Who is the President?” The firefighter asked several questions as he removed his coat and placed it on the man’s naked shoulders.

“My name . . .” the man seemed stuck on that point. “G . . . G . . . it starts with a G.” He shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“It’s ok buddy, don’t worry about it,” the firefighter patted his back, “but close up the jacket, you’re making us all look bad.”

The man did as he was instructed.

“We’ll figure it all out. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

That was the only survivor the rescuers found in the wreckage. They moved on to the next building and the next building after that, and the next one after that. There were no survivors.

The reporter was right about one thing, they were well on their way to a six-figure death rate.