Episode 1: The Number Stations Murmurs
Rain patters across the glass, and Shun Kajimoto sits by his bedroom radio, picking up strange sounds again. His finger taps through static, pausing at a long silence split by five short beeps. A female voice drones in: ‘Seven. Nineteen. Eleven. Memory.’ It’s the same voice from three days ago. He writes fast, scrawling the code in the edge of his math notebook.
Shun’s dad calls from the kitchen. He’s late for cram school again, but Shun closes the book with a click, eyes lingering on the numbers. Why does he care so much about these weird messages? Why is it just him, really listening?
At Higashi High, everyone’s talking about a new transfer. Hikari Minase: sharp, careful, always alone. In chemistry, she sits in front of Shun. At lunch, Shun sees her check her broken wristwatch, little green dots blinking as she glances at an old Havana map. What’s going through her mind? Does she hear the numbers too?
Rising Suspicions: Allies and Webs
Shun’s long-time friend Rio catches him sketching station blueprints on a worksheet. “Still chasing ghosts?” she asks. He shakes his head. Isn’t it strange, the way plain things hide odd details? Doesn’t it feel like something big hides behind these broadcasts? Rio leans closer, sipping coffee from a cartoon mug, voice low: “You’re sounding a bit, well, off. Don’t end up like last time.”
After school, Shun finally approaches Hikari by the school gate. “Did you hear it today too? After three pips—a woman’s code?” Most would give him a blank look. Hikari just raises a brow, almost smiling, before whispering: “Was there a phrase after seventeen? Say nothing here.”
Back home, Shun’s curiosity spirals. He sends online posts under the name ‘radiokasumi’. In the weeds of unnamed forums, he finds chatter about the Moscow Fireplace Project, project PMO, and repurposed schoolyard towers. A post claims signal bursts come ten minutes before blackouts each Thursday. Another shares runic outlines, screen captures threaded with Morse tap codes. Don’t you get hooked on these strange rabbit holes sometimes?
Puzzle Building, Trusted Doubts
By Saturday, rumors ripple at school about students vanishing from a sister school. Some say they talked too much about teachers using coded calls. Are kids at Higashi safe? Rio isn’t so sure. She meets Shun outside a shuttered antenna lot. ‘Don’t draw real heat,’ she warns. Still, her eyes dart at every shadow.
Alongside Hikari, Shun visits an abandoned storehouse on campus, following the coordinate riddles in the code. Hikari slides aside a loose board, kneeling by an old, barred transmitter. They listen, huddled, air heavy.
“This building,” Hikari mutters, “is mapped in Havana codes, east corridor. Who set this all up? Who listens in?”
Shun blinks, thinking: Does this go as deep as he fears? 
The group checks for answers. They collect tape records from discarded phones, hear more broadcast snips. Dates, names, and odd warnings repeat: “Static week inbound. Shift north.” Rio notices they’re watched by a guard in unmarked grey.
No Sweet Sleep: Story Developments
That night, a coded note slides under Shun’s door: “Is 19 safe? 5 p.m. bridge.” It’s tape-mounted, with Havana code at the top. Should he trust any of this?
Azami, Rio’s cousin and a tech club hacker, traces where the school’s amplifier towers link. Five mid-city blocks network to the old PMO building—the pre-war post office. “There’s a basement on every key map—locked since ’80.” They plan to meet there and break in. You ever do stupid things for answers when you’re desperate?
Where the team comes close, suspicion spreads. Students trail Shun at night. Machines in the science block show logs wiped, apps closing mid-use. Somewhere, Shun finds a torn class photo marked “Class PMO/51″—students cross-circled in red. Who’s missing from that set, and where did they go?
Expert Insights: The Uncovering
Hikari shares how number stations started during Cold War times. Havana Syndrome, whispers she says, was named for sick folks after near towers. Japan’s number stations are rumored payload spots for memory loss drugs, secretly patched into the city’s smart grid. Azami shakes his head. “No way, right? You think they’re using local stations for short data dumps? Could that mess with people, on purpose?”
They bring pamphlets from a Professor Hizume, geology, fired last spring for ‘erratic readings.’ He noticed strange geiger surges by FM relay posts last year—backed up with images, logs, and medical stay records for sick teachers. Some of these harmonize with the signal times. The group whispers late over floor maps, futures unclear. 
Personal Stakes Grow: Case Study Tangle
Shun wakes to his front door marked with chalk. Rio’s mug cracks, milk streaming pink. They all start seeing twisted flashes in dreams: towers, masked people, dotted green on skin. Is it from the broadcasts? Rio now gives lectures to new friends on signs of being watched.
Azami cross-checks all the PMO/51 founders online: four faded after club events, one filed a complaint and now runs a café for shut-ins near the edge of town. An interview later gives little—a mention of ringing phones under kitchen sinks at dawn, steady once a week since high school times.
Does seeing these patterns mean you’re on the brave side… or heading for problems?
Confrontations and Flight
Their journey in the fog-stained city grows tense. At the old PMO records door, the team hears a radio burst on a scanner: ‘All right, static sleep now. Memory sweep hour active.’ They feel cold fear. Is this the group? How close is real danger? 
Shun pushes forward, scared but firm. He convinces Rio, “We came for answers, not to back down now.” Hikari and Azami build a second tap into the wires, closely copying the outgoing flow from the building. Static grows after each minute inside the walls.
Suddenly, footsteps barrel close. They have to slip through archives, squeezing tight behind rollers, breath held. A shadow falls over their path—one of the grey-clad monitors is between them and the only exit.
The Cliffhanger: Truth Caged
File boxes drop. Hikari, leaning close to Shun, whispers, “They took people for failing to forget. It’s not for news at all… but mind cleaning.”
The grey figure spots them at last. Doors slam above. Soft static fills the air, crawling up skin. Are they trapped? Can they shut the PMO Files station down before breach comes?
The last thing you hear is the tape-whine of the number station, fading in: “Three. Twenty-two…” 
