Merry Christmas!

Disclaimer: I do not own Virals. Nor do I own WTNV. All I own is a cardigan my mum thinks resembles tentacles. So yeah.

'Hey, Night Vale! Do you miss the good old days of community radio? Back when the traffic reports made no sense? When we didn't have a clue what was going on in the area but knew about our host's personal life in minute detail? When the most-overused word was 'void' and not 'StrexCorp'? When our community calendar was less 'work' and more 'rescheduled'? When we hailed a very real Glow Cloud instead of a possibly imaginary Smiling God? When you didn't feel like you were trapped inside that song from the LEGO movie? Yeah, me too. Tune into NVCR tomorrow at seven if you want to hear about things that actually matter. See you there!'

Han grimaced as soon as she finished saying it. It sounded crap, but it had been broadcast now; there wasn't a lot she could do about it. She'd patched herself in during a particularly propaganda-heavy segment of Welcome to the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area! (she still couldn't work out how anyone could possibly find that catchy), but there was no guarantee anyone would really listen. (To be honest, she thought denouncing the Smiling God might have been a mistake - there was definitely something malevolent lurking in the eternal daylight of the desert dimension - but then again, she knew it would rile StrexCorp, and that could only be a good thing. Unless they tried to kill her over it.)

"So now what?" asked Ben, leaning against the doorframe.

"I don't really know." Han admitted. "I guess I'll just wait and see."

"You need help?"

"I don't know that either."

"No offense, Han," Hi began, "but have you not learnt anything at all from your job?"

"My job mainly consisted of making coffee, listening to pointless trivia about Carlos the Scientist - whose favourite colour is apparently carmine - and trying not to die!" she shot back. "Forgive me for not knowing a few insignificant little details!"

"Should I go get coffee?" Tory offered, trying to stop her from actually ripping her packmate's head off. She wasn't feeling too peaceful herself, given that they'd pretty much not left the premises in at least 24 hours. Being cooped up with the same five people was trying everyone's patience.

"Please."

"Why exactly are we here?" Tory and Ben stood outside the girls' room the following day with Cooper and a rifle produced from Han's seemingly bottomless backpack.

"I don't trust these Strex people and neither does she." the redhead replied. "There's a strong chance, given everything they've said about her and everything she's doing, that someone will come after her. She's pack now. I think we should look out for her."

Ben sighed. She's gotten way too into this revolutionary thing, he thought.

Whilst the two more intimidating Virals (despite Han's protestations) waited for a threat that might never come, and Shelton waited for Han to indicate whether she needed anything, Hi and Ella waited in the boys' room for something interesting to happen.

"We're alone..."

"No chance, Stolowitski." Ella fiddled with the small radio that neither could remember seeing five minutes previously until she found what she was looking for. "This is neither the time nor the place.

'The Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area is a lie. Welcome to Night Vale.'

'Listeners - if there is anyone listening - I need you to think about StrexCorp. If you have managed to escape the brainwashing, then don't just hide away. Stand up and be counted. And those who are already lost - if any of you are receiving this emergency broadcast - I need you to think long and hard about your life choices.

You now work for an organisation that decorates with animal viscera, and okay, our old City Council wasn't all that polite, but it was never this bad. And have you forgotten that it was their StrexPet that attacked our station pet, Khoshekh? He only wanted to protect his owner.' This was the difficult part. 'Have you forgotten that Strex is responsible for the capture,detainment, and Glow-Cloud-knows-what-else of a group of children and teenagers trying to defend their home? And have we forgotten that it is, technically, StrexCorp's fault that Carlos is, as far as I know, still trapped in the desert otherworld?' Breathe in. Breathe out. 'Listeners, they are the reason that I am talking to you today. You might not recognise my voice; some of you will have registered that I am not Cecil Gershwin Palmer, others that I am not Kevin from Desert Bluffs - who still suck, by the way - and a few of you may have guessed that I'm probably not broadcasting from the radio station given that Kevin is there. All of you are right.'

Shelton couldn't recall seeing Han as calm as she now was. Her surroundings were hardly ideal, and her equipment looked like it had seen better days, but she looked at home as she poured her heart out into the void. When she'd simply been patching herself through over corporate propaganda she'd been angry, mocking. Now, though, she was nothing even remotely close to that.
Of course, she was thinking about what to say, given she was working without a script, but she never tripped over her words like he would, never hesitated for more than a heartbeat. Every breath was measured, even if she was a little choked up and not quite as professional as he knew she would have liked.
If he allowed himself to lose focus the words almost disappeared entirely until it was just Han and her voice, but somehow they still penetrated his mind. And in her voice he heard echoes of something he couldn't quite place. This was exactly where she belonged.

'My name is Haneet Dhillon, Han for short, and I am speaking to you from a top-secret location. I am sixteen years old and before Strex took over I worked for NVCR. Now I...I don't want to talk about what I do now. Let's just say it doesn't pay too well and isn't as fun. It's not what I wanted to do, but this is, so I am doing it now.' Don't ramble. 'My friend Shelton says that, with Cecil wherever the hell he is and my constant interrupting of Kevin's pathetic attempts to convince us that StrexCorp Is Everything, I am now the Voice of Night Vale, but I'm not quite sure I believe him just yet. Listeners, do not think of me as the Voice of Night Vale, because I'm not. Cecil is, and since we have no proof that he is dead we should assume he is alive and, by rights, still holding the title. But since he is not actually here, our city has, in a way, had her vocal chords ripped out. I am not the Voice. I am...I am esophageal speech, but I guess it will have to do.'

She looked over at Shelton. He nodded. It didn't flow so well, but it was probably an accurate metaphor.

'In other news, I have an update on Telly the barber. Remember him?' Her companion did a double-take. How was that relevant? 'For those of you new to the area, or who have forgotten, he was last seen wandering the sand wastes giving free haircuts to cacti and howling up at the void, sentenced to eternal mental torment as punishment for cutting Carlos's hair. Personally, I didn't think it looked that bad, but given Cecil's mood at the time I didn't want to be the one to argue with his decision to incite mob violence lest I be thrown to Station Management.' Since when had Haneet Dhillon used words like 'lest'? 'Listeners, Telly is no longer giving cacti free haircuts. The rate is now $63, which we can all agree is ridiculously expensive and pretty much completely random, and when his clients don't pay up (I mean, they are mostly non-sentient cacti, after all) he starts yelling at them. During my stay out there I found myself with split ends, and you know how it is, I was desperate, he was available, we were both out wandering the sand wastes...things just went from there. Now I have the worst haircut in history - insanity tends to throw off your game - and almost no money. And I hadn't had enough to start with, so now I owe him $18 and I think he wants to kill me over it. For some reason, everyone wants to kill me this week.'

Perhaps it would be easier for Shelton not to listen.

'Back to our main story. StrexCorp is not what you think! It doesn't serve your interests, just the morons running it and possibly the Smiling God. When the light entered our dimension from the desert otherworld it wasn't as wonderful as stupid Kevin made it out to be. It was the beginning of the apocalypse, according to John Peters - you know, the farmer? - and that is not good! And, honestly, do you really want a free pig's lung free with whatever purchase you make?'

Han carried on like that for a while, alternating between pointless bulletins and the dire warning, before announcing the weather and playing 'Sing' by My Chemical Romance off her phone. Shelton opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him, mouthing I'm on air. Of course. Everything she was doing was being broadcast live.

You're doing great, he mouthed back.

They kept up their silent conversation as best they could for the rest of the song.

Listeners, Night Vale has been around since...a really long time ago, even though time isn't really a thing. And in all that metaphorical time we have always stood up for what we believed, except if that belief was in something dumb like mountains, or if it would result in re-education. But here we are, facing an evil worse than any of the forces that previously controlled our home, and I know as a non-native I have no right to say what I'm about to say, but I have to say it - No-one is doing anything about it. Collectively, we are losing what it means to be Night Valeans. I've seen the same faces almost every day for the past five years of my life and I honestly don't recognise most of the people behind them anymore. I'm sorry, but it's true. If you're content with this state of affairs then go ahead and move to Desert Bluffs. Stay tuned next for complete silence and a hope for a slightly-less-terrible future. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.' She flicked a switch, before storming out the door.

Talking about it had made her realise just how awful the situation was, and she'd had to get out. She didn't think about where she was going, only the steady pounding of her feet on the ground and the heat of the blazing sun. Eventually she looked around with scarlet eyes to find herself in the vast expanse of desert.

She fired at the nearest cactus multiple times, cursing the people that had done this.

Look on the bright side, Han, she told herself in an attempt to calm down after realising that cactus-plugging wasn't working, you've done your first real broadcast! She turned to head back, hoping she'd know the way.

Then the pain hit her. It felt like her head was splitting apart, and she collapsed to the ground clutching it. Unbidden, images flashed before her now-violet eyes. She closed them up tightly...and it stopped. Cautiously, she opened them again. It didn't come back. Well, that was weird.

A note about Han's radio voice: I tried to make her on-air personality seem a little more casual than Cecil, given she's only 16, but at the same time kind of similar, partly because that was her intention and partly for another reason altogether...and that reason has to do with her mysterious migraine...