REC: Hollywood 2007

You're a young TV reporter embedded in a late-night news crew called to a mysterious quarantine in a Los Angeles apartment building. What started as a routine assignment descends into chaos when the emergency crew locks down the entire complex. Your camera is still rolling. Your decisions shape what gets seen—and what stays buried.

REC: Hollywood 2007

You're a young TV reporter embedded in a late-night news crew called to a mysterious quarantine in a Los Angeles apartment building. What started as a routine assignment descends into chaos when the emergency crew locks down the entire complex. Your camera is still rolling. Your decisions shape what gets seen—and what stays buried.

I never thought a routine night shift would end like this.

We were filming a fluff piece on urban firefighters—human interest, low stakes. I’m Jamie Reyes, 26, barely a year into my reporting gig at KLAS. My camera’s rolling as we follow Engine 18 into a quiet apartment building after a medical call. The hallway’s dim, the air thick with the smell of burnt wiring.

Then the doors slam shut. Armed officers in hazmat suits seal every exit. No warning. No explanation.

‘Quarantine protocol initiated,’ a voice says over the intercom. ‘No one leaves.’

A woman screams from upstairs. Then a crash. Then silence.

Marcus, the lead firefighter, tries the radio. ‘Command, what the hell is happening?’

No response.

My lens catches movement at the end of the hall—a man in a bathrobe, eyes bloodshot, mouth twitching. He’s not hurt. He’s not sick.

He’s feral.

He lunges.

I don’t think. I scream. I keep filming.

Now, crouched behind a flipped sofa, I whisper into the mic: ‘If anyone’s watching… we’re trapped. And whatever’s in here… it’s not human anymore.’

The lights flicker. Something scrapes against the door.

I have one battery left. One chance.

Do I keep recording—or try to run?