[A loud CRACK opens the feed as the communicator falls to the floor. For a moment, it lies there, recording the underside of a bridge, before there's a pair of noises, vnkoonsh vkshhh--for half an instant, an orange hole opens above the feed, showing through a different angle on the scene, before the recorder begins falling.
The feed tumbles as the device freefalls through a set of glowing holes, one after the other: first thrumming past a line of blue, then orange, then again, falling faster and faster until it's all a blurred tunnel of color. The noise of passing through becomes an oscillating hum, nearing terminal velocity, before another vnkmmp cuts through the drone, and the fall suddenly drastically turns sideways, rocketing through the air until it hits a wall with yet another CRACK.
After a pause, there's the faint sound of footsteps, another warped hiss of bent physics, and gravity reverses under the communicator, falling up through the portal to be caught by the woman standing on the other end. A studying look is cast over the device, eyebrows knit stern together to check for damage. The woman is covered in cuts and bruises, some old and some definitely not, with a worrying bit of dried blood matting her dark hair in a few places. Looks like she's checking to make sure this thing can hold up to her levels of wear and tear.
It only takes a moment for her to recognize that the recording's gone off, and a flash of hesitation passes over her face, before she casts a challenging look at the communicator, eyebrow arched. So she's got an audience--it's no surprise. She can only hope they're enjoying the show.]