"This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct from Network 23…"
The main control room of the TV corporation Network 23 buzzed with its usual action, taking all the steps that were needed to make sure the live broadcast ran smoothly, like clockwork. Idle workers fell out of pace with the machine and faltered, lingered behind to watch the network's star reporter onscreen. Most of the workers, though, were too busy with transmission to focus on anything else. They could not stop to enjoy the picture because they were working hard at making sure the picture came through in the first place.
Two near-permanent fixtures of the network control room sat and stood, respectively, at ease in one of the far-flung corners of the room. Theora Jones, Network 23's most talented controller, sat oblivious to all but the world within the TV screen that she peered so intently at, watching and listening to every mere detail of the news broadcast. Behind her stood Murray, the network's producer, his stance and countenance less relaxed and his eyes equally glued to the screen, murmuring words of criticism or of praise every now and then to the person on TV. Their rapt attention was synonymous, their gaze and even their breaths beginning to fall into place as they were captured and captivated by the person on which the entire broadcast hinged, their friend and fellow Network 23 employee Edison Carter.
Theora's favorite part of live broadcasting- and really anytime she was working as Edison's controller while he scouted out stories, or went on assignment- was the visceral experience it provided, the sense of being connected so closely to another person. She saw through the eyes of Edison's camera, heard everything that his microphone picked up. And on the flip side, if she spoke into the headset she wore at all times when working, Edison would be able to hear her and reply. As long as she wore the headset, and he wore the microphone, they would always be able to communicate. It gave Theora an odd comfort to know exactly where Edison was and what he was doing at all times, just in case of the occasional danger.
The story for today's broadcast was the aftermath of one of those occasional dangers, one that had frightened the populace of the city for several weeks and, even while currently quelled, still had the potential to flare up any moment. Theora gazed with passive indifference upon Edison's familiar face, the red letters in the top left corner of the screen blinking with the sole word of hope- LIVE. In a commanding, enrapturing tone that was sure to draw viewers to their TV sets, Edison began his opening authoritative spiel. He had walked out of Network 23's station rehearsing it just fifteen or so minutes ago.
"Today marks the beginning of the end of a sudden era of violence among the streets of our city. For weeks our citizens have been afraid to walk alone at night, for the threat of a blade at their back and a lecherous hand at their hip. A rise in organized gang activity has caused us to password-protect our doors and peep out from behind our curtains. Today, the Metrocops have finally uncovered the lair of these young evildoers."
Theora watched rapturously as Edison rose to his feet and lifted the camera onto his shoulders, treating the audience of surely thousands to exactly what was going on in the city. On the opposite side of a dusty street in the Fringes from where Edison was standing, a swarm of Metrocops marched countless young boys out from an abandoned building, blocking the criminals' attempts to escape with quiet apathy. Each boy struggled with all of his might to break free of the bonds clamped around their wrists, writhing and shouting obscenities to their guardians. Their overdramatic screams for help were so loud that Theora winced before remembering how dangerous they were. "Shame on you, brothers!" one boy was heard crying, twisting in the Metrocop's grasp. "We will oobivat you all when we break from the Staja! Are you slooshying? WE WILL OOBIVAT YOU!"
"What the hell is he saying?" Murray muttered quietly under his breath, a comment that somehow reached Theora's ears. "What language is that?"
"I've got no idea," Theora admitted, watching as Edison moved forward across the street with his camera, zooming in on the murderous eyes of the teenage vagabonds. He narrated the spectacle with a paradoxically detached, yet impassioned tone.
"For two weeks now, these delinquents have hidden away in a run-down warehouse, dragging their female victims back here for rape and occasionally bringing other victims here to hurt them as well. The criminals are all male, and all are teenagers. Their behavior is something that cannot be explained by our modern society. Where have these individuals, some of them just barely out of boyhood, learned that such sickening cruelty is acceptable? How are they not pacified by the simple thrill of watching TV? The animalistic behavior of these teenagers suggests that our city could do a better job of confining potential violence, nipping gang activity in the bud. Or perhaps there are higher forces at work here." The camera zoomed out to reveal the tenth and final criminal being led into a waiting Metrocop van.
"That's our Edison," Murray commented. "Managing to find something suspicious even on mundane assignments."
"This assignment can hardly be considered mundane," Theora replied softly. "The apprehension of criminals is an event that will affect our society completely." Personally, she was highly relieved that the boys' lair had been found, and not only because it meant fewer all-nighters at work.
Just before Edison closed out with his final repetition of the words that had opened the broadcast, the tenth boy in line suddenly twisted in the grip of the Metrocop that was leading him forward. "Let me GO, you bratchny!" He tried to lunge forward out of the reach of the Metrocop, but his bound hands made it harder for him to maneuver. The remaining men standing guard rushed forward, and Edison's camera zoomed in closer.
"I think this is the most action we're going to see all night," Murray said. "Still makes for good viewing, though."
And then the boy spat a sentence that changed not only the course of the night, but the course of the following weeks as well. "STOP! I want to govoreet with Edison Carter! I want to govoreet with the chelloveck over there!" Onscreen, Theora could see his hand flailing before the group of authority figures, singling out Edison from all the other people in the rapturous crowd that the event had drawn. Boos rose up as the boy struggled against his captors.
"Did you hear that too, Control?" Edison murmured into his microphone, his voice showing less surprise than interest.
"Heard it loud and clear, Edison," Theora answered.
The next thing she knew, the camera's image began to move forward- Edison was walking past the throng of people, past the guards who blocked the citizens from getting too close, and heading straight for the violent young man who was swiftly being recaptured by the Metrocops. There was only time for Murray's despairing "Oh, hell," before the boy was tossed roughly into the back of the police truck and the back was closed up in no time. The crowd burst into cheers that drowned out whatever Edison was going to say. He made sure to say it, however, and say it loudly as the cheers died down and the truck rumbled to life.
"Hey!" It was apparent from the image on the camera, though Edison would never accidentally jostle it, that he was speeding up, racing towards the van that was preparing to leave. "He wanted to talk to me! Don't go away! HEY!"
"Why is he getting hung up on this?" Murray said aloud. "It's not the first time someone's talked to him while on assignment!"
Theora had no answer for Murray. She watched helplessly as the Metrocops descended, crowding around Edison and stopping him from getting any closer to the van. "Dammit-" she heard him swear, and the screen filled with the faces of the Metrocops ever so politely telling him to stand back with their ever so polite strong arms. "That kid said he wanted to talk to me!"
"Edison, you're making too big a deal out of this," Theora said to him before Murray could. Hands were reaching for the camera, making her stomach drop, even though she knew rationally that they weren't really there.
"Cut it off," Murray muttered, right before the screen went black and the word DISCONNECTED popped up before Theora's eyes. Someone had shut the video camera off, for better or for worse.
"I wonder what that was all about?" Theora mused, turning around to face Murray and lifting her headset up off of her head. Murray's only response was to shake his head and sigh.
"I wish Edison would have better sense than to run off after a criminal in the middle of a broadcast." He looked away, agitation flashing in his eyes. "Let's just hope that he makes it back here safely, and doesn't stumble across any potential stories on the way back."
Theora allowed herself one giggle and then gazed expectantly upwards as Murray continued, "As soon as Edison gets here, you can go home. Take the night off, rest up a bit. You need it." He blinked and amended his statement. "Hell, we all do."
"Thank you, Murray," Theora responded, running her fingers through her tousled brown hair. She had been looking forward to finally catching the teenage gang- no more worrisome nights sitting at the controls in the TV station, following Edison as he stalked the dangerous streets trying to find the source of the crimes. At last, she had time to sleep safely.
Murray nodded idly, and then sighed once more. "You wanna bet how pissed off he's going to be when he arrives here?"
"I'd bet, but I'm not sure about the odds," Theora said, pushing herself up from her seat to clear her workstation. That was when, minutes after Edison's face had disappeared from the screen, he was replaced by his more dramatic, occasionally insufferable virtual likeness. In the blink of an eye, Max Headroom dominated one of Theora's smaller computer monitors, wearing a put out expression and ready to complain in a demanding tone, "C-c-c-can I c-c-come out now-now-now?"
"Hello, Max," Theora greeted the frustrated CGI.
"Oh, d-d-d-don't you hello-hello-hello M-Max to m-m-me-me," Max groaned. "D-d-do you know how l-l-long I've b-been waiting-waiting-waiting for Ed-Edison to f-f-f-finish his br-broadcast-broadcast? T-t-t-too long if you ask-ask-ask me! I tried-tried to re-re-return to Network-Network-Network 23, but all the- all the- all the damn mo-mo-monitors were taken over by my l-l-lesser half! And ev-ev-everyone in the ci-city was watching-watching. The most exci-exci-exciting place to b-be was B-B-Bryce's, and he's w-w-working on some project-project-project and s-said I c-c-couldn't distract-distract-distract him."
"The whole city was watching? That'll be great for the ratings," Murray muttered, while Theora tried to pacify Max on the screen. "I'm sorry, Max, but Edison ran a bit overtime… was there anything you wanted to say to us?"
"On-on-only for Edison-Edison-Edison," Max pouted. "I-I-I have a few ch-ch-ch-choice words for him-him-him when he gets b-back here!"
"You never complained about this before," Murray turned to tell Max, obviously already fed up with his presence.
"Th-th-th-that's because-cause I've ha-ha-ha-had it now-now!" Max declared angrily. "I'm t-t-t-tired of b-b-being tied to one-one-one network-work. Su-sure, I can c-c-c-cruise down whatever-ever ch-ch-channel I w-want, but it's 2-2-23 that always-ways-ways relies on me to p-promote them. And-and here I am-am-am, waiting not-not-not so patient-patient-patiently to sp-spe-speak with you-you-you, and you w-watch Ed-Ed-Edison over m-me-me-me!"
"I hope this isn't indicative of Edison's true feelings," Murray told Theora.
"I H-H-HEARD THAT," Max glared directly at Murray, who stared back as if he just wasn't sure what to do with Max- which, come to think of it, was the way he stared at Max more than half of the time.
"We have no other choice but to watch Edison," Theora pointed out. "It's our network's job. You'll have to learn to wait your turn when you want to speak with anyone here."
"Max, were you watching Edison's broadcast?" Murray asked, cutting into the conversation. "Do you know why Edison wanted to talk with the boy that called his name?"
"Oh, gr-gr-great!" Max grumbled. "N-n-now you're leaping-leaping-leaping to conclusions! I-I-I wasn't w-watching Edison's br-br-broadcast-broadcast! How c-c-c-could I have been-been-been? J-j-just because I-I-I can vis-visit any TV-TV-TV that I w-w-want in the ci-city, d-d-doesn't m-mean that I should-should-should-should know about every-every-everything that go-goes on! I-I-If-f-f you're only-only-only g-going to use-use-use me as a source-ce-ce of infor-infor-information, I m-m-might as well say adieu! Adieu! Adieu!" With that final word of French, Max disappeared from Theora's screen, to be replaced by television static.
"My, he's certainly gotten testy recently," Murray said. "I hope this doesn't mean a revolution is in our midst."
It didn't take very long afterwards before Max's flesh and blood equivalent showed up. Edison burst through the doors of Network 23, full of trembling energy and powerfully sweeping eyes. Theora noticed, from her refuge behind the computer, that if she and Murray had made the bet, the money would have fallen in her favor. Many times Theora had seen Edison stalk into Network 23's headquarters, quivering with rage, and rush to find Murray so that he could explode at him. On every occasion, the room would fall quiet with hushed whispers as the eyes of every employee turned towards the disgraced reporter. Now, Theora could see that Edison was a bit annoyed, from the clenched fists balling up his coat, but his purposeful stride suggested that he was less irritated with the Metrocops having prevented him from speaking with the teen criminal and more focused on dreaming up ways to launch his next assignment.
Praised as a top-notch reporter with a strong sense of ethics by his allies. Hated by his enemies for always getting the last word or finding a fresh angle on their reports. Called out as a cad, a playboy, in his younger days, and still bearing the subtle smirk and sarcasm to all his friends. All of these qualities flashed from Edison Carter's lacerating brown eyes, everything that he was to Theora, with one essential element missing, a line that she refused to cross even as it grew thinner every day. He swept across the floor in the direction of Murray, while various network employees gazed at his back. They had realized that something had gone on after the broadcast, and were hungry for details, but none of them dared to ask just yet, knowing that any discussions to be had would be met with and approved by Murray firsthand.
"You're not angry?" Murray asked as Edison reached him, halting in the middle of the floor, and up close Theora could see that Murray was wrong even before Edison shook his head. Murray didn't have as close a tie to Edison, not being his controller and linked by a shared aural and visual connection, and most likely was not used to reading Edison's body language as Theora was. Now she could see that his eyes were bright with excitement, not sparks of frustration, and his lips were twisted in an intense half-smile rather than a grimace. Anyone else could have misread these signals, but Theora understood exactly what was going on in Edison's mind. She stood up and crossed the room to properly greet him.
"No, Murray, I'm not angry per se," Edison was explaining as Theora reached him. "They were right to pull the plug. I just wanted to know what that boy had to tell me. It might have been important."
"It's nice to hear you realize someone other than yourself was right for once," Murray said, though his words held no barbs, and Edison gave him a mock eye-roll. "Don't make too much out of this."
"You did a good job tonight, Edison," Theora took the opportunity to say, and he shrugged off the compliment with a smirk in his voice. "All in a day's work."
Murray gave Edison humble congratulations as well. "It was a simple wrap-up, but you handled it well, all up to the point where you rushed off." He met Edison's scorching gaze levelly. "Tell me, why did you want to talk to that boy so badly?"
"Well, didn't you hear him?" Edison said, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "He wanted to talk to me. I said already that it might have been important."
"I'm not sure," Theora said. "I wouldn't trust any of those criminals any farther than I could throw."
"Which is how far exactly?" Edison ribbed, glancing over. Theora folded her arms across her breasts. "I'll have you know I'm not as weak as I look, Edison. Growing up surrounded by boys in foster homes taught me a thing or two about throwing, especially throwing punches…"
"Hm," Edison muttered humorously, but his mind had turned onto other topics. "We'll see about that someday. Anyway…" He returned his attention to Murray, who was saying goodnight to an employee, and waited until Murray was facing him once more. "I asked the Metrocops to call me on the viewphone if the boy they caught has anything to say to me. They're probably going to call here, so I think I might as well stay a bit longer tonight."
"Oh no, you're not," Murray started to protest, before Theora, in an attempt to quell an ensuing argument, jumped in with "You don't have to stay any longer than you normally would. I'll stick around down here and monitor the m- computer until the call comes through." So much for her beauty sleep, but if it was for Edison's sake, she couldn't complain.
"You need to get some rest," Murray finished his sentence. "It's been how long since the two of you had a full eight hours of sleep?"
"Aw, Theora, you don't have to stay up all night for me," Edison said, lowering his tone of voice a hair, and Theora gazed helplessly at him for a moment before reprimanding herself in her head and blinking to clear her mind. Sometimes after a broadcast, it was difficult to distinguish the televised image of Edison from the real life version. Such things became even murkier when Max decided to make an appearance. She was sure that if Murray or any other network employee had offered to stay awake working for Edison, he wouldn't have denied them. This wasn't the first time Edison had shown special preference and lenience towards Theora, and though she hated to admit it, he still had the power to weaken her resolve.
"I thought you'd love to keep me up all night," Theora teased, turning the statement into a joke- how had Edison not seen the bait? He needed to keep his wits sharper than that. Edison blinked, and a wry grin filled his face, his voice slipping into a naughty tone. "Why, Theora, I didn't think you had it in you."
"You've known me for too long for me to believe that," Theora dismissed his comment, and Edison looked ready to retaliate with a playful jab before Murray announced, "Children, please…" The two turned their attention back to Murray and sulked like the kids they had been called out as. "Edison's right; it's not necessary for you to stay here tonight, Theora. You both have been working hard enough throughout the past few weeks and you need to go home and take some time off tonight. I'll stay behind at the TV station and forward the call to Edison if they drop by here."
"But you've been working harder than either of us, Murray," Theora tried to say, before the nearby viewphone came to life, projecting the face of a Metrocop to all that could see. "Edison Carter, are you there?" The trio turned around, and Edison went immediately to the viewphone, sitting down to get a clear view of the Metrocop. He took the call. "Yeah, I'm here. What is it?"
"Looks like none of us will have to stay behind," Theora whispered in Murray's ear. He only muttered something incoherent and moved away to listen to Edison's conversation while standing out of view of the Metrocop on the other end of the line. Theora, for her part, chose to merely hover behind Edison's shoulder.
"About the kids we picked up tonight…" the Metrocop began. "Well, none of 'em are talking to us. They're just sitting there with their mouths clamped shut, facing the wall. The ones that do talk are using some weird made-up language that we can't figure out where it comes from. And the only one that's speakin' English just keeps demanding to talk to you, over and over."
"Will you let me see him now?" Edison asked, a hint of irritation breaking through his composure. The man on the viewphone nodded. "He said the only way he'd get the boys to fess up to their crimes is if you're the first to hear his story. Don't ask me why. Maybe he has a thing for network television."
"Could be," Edison murmured, and the Metrocop stepped away from the viewphone, to be replaced by another Metrocop leading the same scrawny, blond-haired teenager with defiant eyes from the arrests that had happened only an hour ago up to the device. He was forced to sit down and then stare blankly into the screen, at last murmuring in a creaky voice, "Hi hi hi there, my brother."
"Hello," Edison greeted the boy, starting to slip into his interviewing mode. Theora stepped off to the side like Murray and watched the screen from afar. "What's your name?"
The boy raised his chin high. "My eemya is Les, oh my brother," he said. "And you are Edison Carter, one of the most like great and high lewdies of this modern age of like network TV."
"What slang are you using?" Edison questioned right off the bat. "I've never heard anything like it before."
"It is called nadsat-talk, my dear brother," Les replied, his eyes flickering about restlessly as if he was watching someone nearby. In the background, Theora could hear cries of pain, followed by guards or Metrocops harshly barking, "Move it!" She shivered and tried to keep following the conversation.
"But," Les continued, "I won't skazat another slovo with you unless you promise to do my like bidding. I have viddied you many many times on the TV, oh my brother. I know that you can be like trusted with a story. And because of this, I have asked my brothers to like bind their tongues and not skazat one malenky slovo to any of the millicents until I have like told you everything there is to know about our crimes. What you do with the like information is not any of my like business, but I would like to know if you decide we deserve to be convicted for very very long."
Theora saw Edison narrow his eyes, and she knew he was doubting Les's authority. Sure enough, the first thing he said was, "It's a nice sentiment, Les, but either way you look at it, I have no real say in the matter. If your story convinces me to fight for your cause, great, but there's no getting around the fact that we know you've robbed unsuspecting citizens, defaced public property, and beaten up and raped many of the people living in our city. That kind of rap sheet doesn't get you a mere year in prison, kid."
"All I am trying to skazat," Les wheedled, "is that you slooshy my side of the story, oh my brother. Think you can do that?"
Edison nodded. "As long as you don't try to deny the acts you pulled off."
With no introduction, Les launched straight into his story. "My brothers and I come from a mesto across the river. The like city is called London." His light eyebrows arched above his forehead. "I am like convinced you've heard of it."
"Of course," Edison said, his tone suggesting that he wished Les would just cut to the chase. "It's Britain's capital. Everyone knows that."
Les snorted. "You think!"
"Why did you decide to leave London and come to our city, Les?" Edison questioned, and the boy twisted his hands together, gazing resentfully away as he answered. "It was not a like decision that I made all on my oddy knocky, oh my brother. We were told to go as a group- all of my brothers and I who are now so sadly committed to this vonny mesto known as the Staja." The flicker in his eye hinted that Les wanted to make Edison feel sorry for him, but Edison would have none of it and merely stared into the viewphone, waiting for Les to continue. Finally the boy drew a dramatic sigh from the depths of his lungs and went on with his tale.
"What I want you to pony, oh my brother, is that we did not like arrive here in your fair city out of our own free will. No! Instead, we were like told to come here by a truly like higher authority. He ordered us, and we could not disagree. It is for him and only him that we carry out these like meaningless and senseless acts of violence!" The melodramatic tones of Les's voice made Theora want to laugh. She half expected to see him tremble with passion and throw his hand over his forehead, palm up.
Edison, however, was not to fall for the weak excuse. "I sincerely doubt that you were brainwashed into acting against your own nature," he said in a massive understatement. "Come on, Les. Why did you commit the crimes that you claim to be guilty of?"
For a moment Les actually shut up, contemplating his words, and although Edison left his reasons for wanting to know unsaid, Theora could guess both of them. For starters, it was clear to anyone who had been watching Edison's broadcast an hour ago that none of the boys in the gang were going to get a fair trial in court, and that they would all be convicted. No one else wanted to know why the boys behaved so violently. All that mattered was that they were locked away, their crimes soon forgotten, the horror erased from the public's memory.
The second reason, Theora guessed, was more her own curiosity than Edison's. She wanted to know what would drive Les, who seemed, under other circumstances, to be a decent young man, to rape defenseless women and beat innocent people to death. Such actions were a relic of the past, as Edison had just discussed in his broadcast. No modern human with a balanced mind and a TV set would dare to brazenly defy the laws of the city. Was it out of anger that Les attacked- and if so, how could such anger sprout in his mind at a young age? Or did he truly enjoy hurting others? Was it just a result of peer pressure from his older brethren?
At last Les's mouth twisted into a smirk, and he settled back heavily in his seat, the rough hand of the Metrocop still on him. "You are not the first to want to know," he told Edison, glancing up at the man who was holding him captive in place. "But you are the first I will tell. All of my droogs, the malchicks I regularly hang out with, began to govoreet one day of a great veck they had slooshied about, who had committed every crime known to man at the age of fifteen. Eventually I met this veck, and he was so like compelling, my brother- so unlikely to know that he did all those vesches and was only thrown in the Staja like once! So now that we were all in great great awe of him, my brother, he had the complete power to like control us and tell us to do whatever he wanted, to go wherever we wanted." Suddenly Les grinned a wild grin, shrugging his shoulders. "But the idea was just appealing, I suppose."
"Okay," Edison said, setting his hands down on the table before him and getting to the crucial question. "Who was this man?" Theora could see then that Edison had become less interested in trying to possibly clear the names of the teen criminals, and more interested in the man who had controlled Les and compelled him to commit senseless acts of violence in the first place. He was looking to attack the evil from its source, or at least lead the MetroCops to the root of the gang activity.
"I cannot like give that away, oh my brother," Les declared in a sing-song voice. "If any of my droogs and I skazat the eemya of our fair leader, he will damn us."
"According to the law, the crimes you've committed ensure that you're already damned," Edison informed Les sternly, his voice tight. "Now tell me his name."
Les sighed, as if he'd been expecting Edison to pull that trick on him, and at last replied reluctantly. "His name is Alexander Burgess. If you're looking to find him in the city's files, you won't, because he lives in London." He bent his head, mumbling, "At least you can't prosecute him…"
"Excuse me? Why can't he be prosecuted?" Edison asked, but Les only raised his head to meet Edison's gaze, staring so hard at him that Theora almost felt like Les was in the same room. "What are you going to do about me?"
"Prosecution," Edison said smoothly, standing up. "I'm sorry, Les, but you're going to have to do some time. There are no laws that condone the murder of innocents." His hand moved as he got ready to end the conversation, and Les cried out at once, seeing his chance of freedom slip away. "Hey! I thought you were going to help me!" he roared. "I thought you were going to make sure I got free!"
"I never implied that," Edison said. "I'm sorry, kid. I would have helped you if ou were innocent, but the law is the law." Theora wasn't aware that she had inched closer and closer to the viewphone until Les, snarling, leapt at the screen as if he could reach through it and sink his fingernails into Edison's bare throat. At the sight of the sudden attack, Theora lurched backwards, retreating to the depths of the shadows beside the viewphone. Edison glanced briefly at her, and then returned his gaze to the screen as the Metrocop led Les away, the boy still howling in nadsat-talk all the while. A few moments later, the man came back empty-handed and sighed.
"We're gonna throw the whole lot in jail by tomorrow. There's no time for You The Jury- it's pretty clear what our citizens would unanimously agree to." He reached towards the disconnect button on the viewphone. "Thank you for standing by to listen, Mr. Carter. Take care."
"There's one last thing I wanted to know," Edison said, and the Metrocop sighed, pausing his hand inches away from the disconnect button. "Can't it wait for tomorrow?"
"Are you going to follow the crime to London?" asked Edison, his eyes peering inquisitively into the image of the Metrocop's until they almost seemed to burn holes in the viewphone's screen. The Metrocop shook his head. "Once the crime's done with here, it's out of our hands in any other city. Now you have a good night." The screen blinked with a DISCONNECTED symbol, and Edison blinked up at Theora.
"What did you make of that?" he asked.
"It's a lot to take in," she responded. Behind her, Murray came out of the shadows.
"I can't believe they're going to let the story end there," Edison said, getting swiftly up from his seat. "Not when there's another criminal out there causing these boys to harm their fellow citizens and brainwashing them into violence."
"Edison, you didn't seriously believe all of Les's story…" Theora began.
He looked up to pierce her with his gaze. "Why would he have given us a name if he was lying? It doesn't add up…"
"But chasing a criminal to London is not our concern at the moment," Murray said, briefly passing a hand across his face. His guard had dropped somewhere during the conversation between Les and Edison, and he now looked as if he needed sleep as badly as Edison and Theora did. "Our concern right now is to take the night off and rest. The story's finished, Edison. The Metrocops will handle any crimes that pop up in London."
"But if we're to prevent this from happening in our city again, this Alexander Burgess from London must be apprehended," Edison said with a note of challenge in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Theora saw Murray out of the corner of her eye rubbing his temples, not wanting to continue the conversation. "Like I said, the London Metrocops will handle it. It's too late to be arguing about this, Edison. Let's all just go home."
"Hear, hear," Theora cried, making for her workspace to clear away whatever items she had brought during the day. Murray gave a slight nod and made for the exit. "Goodnight, team. I'll see you tomorrow. Remember, just because we finished a story tonight doesn't mean there won't be any stories to find tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Murray," Theora and Edison called in contrasting tones. Once the producer was out of sight, Theora turned to her workstation and cleared off her few personal belongings, while Edison watched behind her back. His voice rang out- "You need any help?"
"I don't need someone to walk me home, if that's what you're asking," Theora said, whirling around again and pushing past Edison. She threw him a sparkling glance over her shoulder. "Thanks to you, there's no more danger on the streets."
"Maybe," Edison murmured. "Maybe not." He raised his voice as she walked away. "Goodnight, Theora."
"Goodnight, Edison." Theora pushed her way out the swinging doors and made for the elevator.