Fynn leaned over the microphone for his father's antique radio. After the Shadow Legion landed in the area, his parents confined him to their village. He'd been using the analog radio to chat with a friend who lived further up the valley. "This is Gustad-1 to Neu Turbach. Neu Turbach, do you copy?" "Hallo, Fy … - .. .-.. .-.. parents are .- .-.. .. …- . so boring." Fynn frowned. Normally their channel was clear, but some strange interference had started interrupting their transmissions. The boy wondered if the invaders had something to do with it. "Erich? Erich, are you there?" Fynn fiddled with the dial in an attempt to clarify the signal. "Ja, Junge. I can barely .. -. … .. -.. . What do you -. . - .- - - - - .-. -.- static?" "Erich, can you hear me? Useless piece of junk!" Fynn shoved his chair back from the table in frustration. He swatted at one of the many paper cranes hanging from the ceiling of his room. "Man, I .. -.. .. - - - - anything. Let's try -.- .. -.. … you later!" The radio transitioned to smooth static—Erich had signed off. Fynn let loose a long, groaning sigh. Why, he lamented, did nothing interesting ever happen in this tiny, stupid, boring village?