(( A/N: The book "Groundbreaking Science" mentioned here is Gohan's textbook on how to use ki (as referenced in Dragon Ball Online), and can be found on my profile. You don't need to have read any of it, but it's there to read should you wish to. For those that have read it, this chapter takes place between publications of section 1.10 and 2.0. ))

"Wait! Wait!" At least once a week Marron found herself holding ZPress's elevator doors for Berbere. Always in the morning, always in some kind of disarray and always sprinting the length of the lobby to get there if she had to - kitten heels clacking on the marble and drawing the ire of everyone in reception with an as-of-yet-unsated caffeine addiction.

There was never any reason to run - these encounters were at eight-thirty sharp and meetings throughout the building didn't start until nine thirty to accommodate parents of school-aged kids. No one had to clock in and out (a blessing and a curse) and she'd never heard of an elevator taking an hour to return. Marron could ask what the hurry was of course, but she'd found some minor mysteries were better left without the exposé.

Still, each time Berbere would call out in desperation, ever the hero Marron would 'save her life', they'd chat and then rarely bump into each other outside this context. It had been this way for years; like the clockwork emergence of political scandals and the economic up and downturns that sent them all into a frenzy, it was just another rhythm of the building.

But today would be the day that beat finally changed. Upon recognising Marron her gaze dropped. She entered the elevator with some hesitation, beat Marron trying to be helpful to the button for her floor and stood ramrod straight, intently reviewing the safety information. No start of a chirpy inquiry after her week so far or a launch into an excitable retelling of petty third floor drama. The doors closed and they, for the very first time, were plunged into a deep, awkward silence.

Something was, evidently, very wrong. Marron wracked her brain. Was this unusual? Sometimes Berbere would keep her chit chat subdued if the elevator was crowded, though today they were completely alone. Had Marron caused offense? It couldn't be to her, although maybe she had ties to others as part of a clique. But Marron couldn't dredge up even the most minor transgression she'd made in the last week to warrant avoidance from anyone. Was Berbere the type to be awkward around bad news? What bad news? Whilst this building absorbed gossip as its lifeblood false rumour rarely travelled, so that wasn't it. The change in Berbere's demeanor was so abrupt, so unexpected, in shock Marron spent the entire ascent running through every possibility like a rolodex, meanwhile waiting for their standard conversation to begin, as though Berbere had just glitched out.

But the elevator pinged for the third floor and Berbere stepped out without a word, leaving Marron in the dark. Then, as though remembering the social convention that they should at least exchange some form of pleasantries, she spun on her heels.

"Why do you take the elevator?"

"You t- sorry, what?" That was not Berbere's usual parting line. She jammed her foot in the door to prevent Marron's upwards escape. Whatever had been on her mind finally tumbled out.

"Running up the stairs should be easy for you, right? It's only six flights. So. Why do you take the elevator?"

And then it dawned on Marron. After all these years it had finally happened. They knew.

Her breath caught in her chest. For a passing acquaintance on another floor to know news must have spread like wildfire overnight - the burning bush the network of smartphones that connected every journalist in the building, Marron sleeping in the centre without so much as a warning shout and waking too late, surrounded. What would happen first? Would she be burned to death by her editor or merely suffocate under the glares of her colleagues? In a moment she remembered every time she'd lied to them. She was praying they didn't.

"So it is true." Berbere had quite correctly surmised the meaning of Marron's stunned silence. Journalists. Well, two can play at that game, and there was only one surefire way to win this one.

"Off the record - yes," Berbere's face lit up hungrily; she'd be able to work her way around the paltry disclaimer to find a better source no problem, "But to save you your morning - Red wants the byline on this one, and you know how he gets."

Her shoulders sagged in understanding, but her pout belied her frustration. "Oh. Well. Let me know if you want a profile at some point, anyway. As a token of our friendship I'll let you have copy approval, unlike these other hacks." She removed her foot from the protesting elevator. "Nice to see you."

"You too…"

The doors rolled shut, and Marron was left staring at her blurry and pocked reflection in the indifferent steel.

Crap.

Whoever had found the serialisation of Gohan's book on ki-use, whether they'd been passed updates as part of an investigation or were already a paying member of the Pan Fighting Network, they hadn't bothered to fact-check with her before mass-messaging the building. But from the dribs and drabs mentioned in the book about a superpowered Marron you didn't need to be a investigative journalist to work out she was that Marron. It could have been anyone sparking the ensuing firestorm.

With so few people in the world officially able to read the book 'Groundbreaking Science', after a jumpy first few weeks post-release she'd stupidly started to relax. Gohan had said the news of identities would take a while to percolate, that there'd be enough warning through online chatter for her at least to get ahead of it at work. She was an idiot to trust a mere scientist over her own intuition. Trunks' name was the biggest reveal in the book, that and Gohan's hinting about the Cell Games. She knew it, her identity would be dragged along with the breaking excitement. She should have come clean from the first chapter - why did she have to be such a chicken?

She was thankful she'd dressed smartly today, knowing she wouldn't need to visit contacts for story leads. It gave the impression she was prepared. Her hair was loosely tied over her shoulder and for a moment she was pleased she'd be able to hide behind it. No. Tutting at herself she quickly twisted it to an updo, removing the temptation to shrink away.

Marron wondered whether adding lipstick stripes across her cheeks would help her feel braver, too.

As her ascent slowed she grabbed her phone. Book's hit office. Her thumb hovered over send, before gliding back to the keyboard. Not feeling great. Sent.

Goten's reply popped up in moments. There's always the window.

Despite her butterflies, she snorted. Months ago he'd suggested that if she was going to make an acrimonious exit she may as well make a show of it.

The elevator pinged for her floor and Marron took a steadying breath to try and bring her stomach back up. The laundry list of apologies she needed to give distilled. There were going to be too many questions at once to handle everyone correctly and someone was bound to get upset. But in the end though, only one opinion truly mattered. She stepped out.

Marron had breezed into the open offices every weekday for years. Someone of the broad team of forty of so would look up and nod, or smile, or wave, or toss across messages and letters that had found their way to the wrong desk. But as half empty as The Cave was now, never had she struggled to get passed the threshold from the sheer weight of eyes. It felt like walking late into class - no, worse, those eyes would look away uncaring after a moment. This was walking onto a stage late and choking on your lines. Some deliberately averted their gaze and she was grateful but the ripples of apprehension would have been palpable even to someone unable to read ki.

She parted the usual suspects near the stock tickers without so much as an excuse me , the silence unnerving her further, making her way to the smaller team of investigative journos at the back. A tunnel of attention enveloped her journey to the cluster of desks and it took every ounce of her self-restraint not to speed up to cover the last few metres.

Duran was there first as always, the familiar shock of blue hair clashing with his coveted bright red noise-cancelling headphones - didn't he run a fruitless investigation into the city's Hero Liaison a few years back? One she'd scuppered on the sly? Completely oblivious to the room he only spotted her as she ducked into her chair.

"Marron!" He yelled, a sensible volume on any other day but the only effect now was to silence what conversation had already returned in her wake. This was her tipping point. The heat rose in her face and she sank down from reflex. Undeterred he stood to see over the low partition, attracting the full attention of everyone in the room again. "Marron," he sang, his impish grin unrolling itself, "heard you've been holding out on us! You really could arm wrestle the Bear!"

Laughter rang out, the tension in the room snapped -

THUD

- then snapped back with a vengeance. The class whipped round to the noise. One huge, grizzly paw had slammed open blinds onto the corner office glass, two dark eyes now glaring out. The silhouette of a looming bear - an unsubtle reference to Marron's impending doom she numbly noted - framed them. Red didn't even have to point for Marron to know she was being summoned. Thankfully he broke eye contact first, twisting the slats shut again. She finally exhaled and turned to Duran, his headphones now on kilter and slightly perturbed at the crowd he'd unknowingly attracted.

"While I'm in there," Marron whispered, "could you find me a cardboard box?"

Duran shook his head. "He's not gonna fire you."

"Want to bet?"

"Lunch," no discussion, there was hardly ever a discussion for bets over Duran's lunch, "across the way at the South City place."

Marron nodded, swallowing the rising fear, hand going absentmindedly to her capsule pendant. Five steps and she was pushing open Red's set ajar door, blood in her ears.

Red didn't look up from the morning papers straight away, circling and highlighting up key stories in the financial section of the The North Star taking all his attention. The Bear had been Marron's mentor then editor on-and-off since she started in the industry eleven years ago, fresh from college. He'd tried to drag her away from Satan City on every one of his sidesteps and promotions, the highest praise he could ever give, but she'd stubbornly stayed near home. He'd always come back though, citing one weak excuse or another. As formidable and daring a journalist as he was, like her - she guessed - something was keeping him tethered.

Her deception was always going to be uncovered she knew deep down, and the longer their working relationship the harder the day would be.

After a minute or so he gently closed the paper, smoothing it with his great paws and gestured for her to sit in the oversized chair in front of his desk. She loathed that thing. Sitting all the way back in it was fine for another bear but it made her legs dangle and her feel like a child. However she had no choice to refuse him, so she perched on the edge where she could ground her feet, preventing any nervous twitching.

Red took a moment to consider then began what Marron knew to be their parting words. He spoke softly.

"Marron. When I am not the first to hear news I may as well be the last. Particularly concerning one of my own team, no less. Do you know how that makes me look?"

The long pause meant she was supposed to answer. She steadied herself and looked up at him. "Not great?"

"A damn fool." He pulled out a stack of webpage prints from under his papers, held together with a bulldog clip. The book! He idly flicked through the pages, a number of them with his infamous sticky notes - watching him apply them with his huge but dexterous claws was always engrossing for an anthropoid like herself. She never thought she'd be more terrified of the notes than the claws but here they were. "I'm behind on my routine as I spent all night reading this. And do you know what I found? You. If not on every page some reference or tidbit that drew lines between your many eccentricities and work. 'Why does she shy away from some stories and connections I know she could chase? How does she always have an oar in hot-spot locations? What kind of self-delusion affords her such confidence in the field?'"

He dropped the pages shut. "I am going to ask you a series of questions and you are going to answer them completely honestly and off the record. Do you understand?"

He looked down at her again then, a delicate yet inscrutable gaze. She swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Are you currently, or have you ever used information gained in your position here, whether through your own procured contacts or in story pitch meetings, to aid Capsule Corp in any way."

That threw her.

"N-no," oh God, no, "only ever to swerve discussion of-" she waved at the printouts "-everything in there. And I never passed that information on, they had no idea." Red blinked once with skepticism. "Honestly! We fell out over it for a while, when I wouldn't tell him about the weapons factory in-"

"Him? Trunks?"

"Yes."

"The arms smuggling story I put you on?"

"A few years back," the guilt of that betrayal found her again, even though she'd been in the right. "I couldn't declare the conflict of-"

"I remember you trying to back out." His paws were together now, a hulking mass leaning over the desk in thought, seams of his shirt fit to burst. "You were acting out of character and I was insistent. I believe you." He grunted, decision final. "Next. Are you a Shadow."

This is more what she was expecting, and she was almost relieved to answer. "Yes."

"Who?"

She took a deep breath. "Even with the serialisation it's still our policy not to speak or give away identities outside of uniform as it's more than just us now-"

"Marron." A little sharper. "Who?"

From her hesitation he'd probably already guessed. Her eyes rested on one of the many framed front pages covering the wall, the candid shot of her silhouetted in black and cradling a child, the school fire blazing behind them. The story that had given her her moniker.

"Auntie. Auntie Shadow."

The silence stretched.

The office outside had almost returned to normal; almost - she could sense an inordinate amount of attention winding its way through the glass. The view was lovely from up here, too. She could definitely dive out those windows. Then she wouldn't have to see that impossibly saddened face.

"Auntie Shadow," he repeated. In Red's deep voice it came out almost a growl. "We have much to discuss."