Chapter Four

"Well, some things never change," I muttered to myself, as I took in the view. "Pocket D is as bad as ever."

I had been hit on no less than three times in as many minutes from three different people. All Tankers, judging by how they looked, but then again, you can never be too sure in Paragon.

I made my way to the Blue Bar, which was frequented mostly by Heroes, and put down my Paragon Times I.D.

"I'm looking for someone." I yelled over the music.

"Ain't seen him." The barman replied.

"Her."

"Ain't seen her."

I sighed inwardly. "I'm not a cop. I just want information."

"Ain't got any."

"My friend does."

"Shame. Ain't seen her."

I took out my purse, and slowly, deliberately, took out fifty dollars in tens, pushing the five notes towards him. He pocketed the cash quickly.

"Who you lookin' for?"

"Her name's Groundwalker."

He shrugged. "Don't mean nothing to me."

"Sarriss Groundwalker?"

The barman looked at me for the first time. "Whiskey?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's what we call 'er around here. Whiskey. She's a whiskey drinker."

"So you've seen her?"

He grinned. "Got any more notes?"

I pulled out another fifty dollars, and palmed it to him. He checked the notes carefully, taking his time, definitely making a show of it. Or stalling.

"So…" I said, as casually as I could. "Have you seen her?"

"Nope."

I got up from my stool.

"Order a drink."

I turned back to the barman. "Excuse me?"

"I said, order a drink. From Isaac downstairs. Whyren's Reserve."

I scowled. "I would, but someone just emptied my purse."

He shook his head. "Did I say 'buy' a drink? I said order one."

"So, if I order a drink here, I won't get it?"

The barman looked at me, a pained expression on his face.

"No wonder this place is going downhill."

I stood with a smirk, and made my way past the vomiting men, kissers, ravers, and Superpowered beings, to the downstairs bar.

"I'd like to order a drink."

"Well, honey," this new barman grinned at me. "You've come to the right place."

"Oh?"

"Well, this is a bar." He gestured across the countertop. "And I, as a barman can facilitate your need for beverages, alcoholic and otherwise."

I chuckled. At least this guy was friendlier than the money-grabber upstairs.

"I'd like a Whyren's Reserve."

The man's smile vanished.

"And why would you like that? It's a rare type of whiskey."

"It's for a friend." I said carefully, never breaking eye contact.

"Ah."

'Ah?' I didn't sign on to join any club, or anything. I didn't expect passwords or secret phrases.

"She's…"

"I know your friend. She's unavailable."

Okay. Weirder and weirder.

"What's your name, Miss?"

"Daniels. Susan Daniels. I'm…"

"A reporter. Paragon City Times. Not a bad one, either." The barman leaned in close, and smiled. "Although, to tell plain truth, we don't know why you're suddenly writing for the society pages."

How did he know who I was? And who was 'we'?

"I'm not writing for the society pages."

"You're following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he's wearing, where he goes, what he does? You're a gossip columnist, in my book."

I stared at him.

"Look, when will….my friend…be available?"

He shrugged. "I'll let her know you asked. She'll be in touch."

Sighing, I made my way to leave. 'Bunch of useless…'

I suppose I didn't watch where I was going, but I collided into a man, and nearly knocked him off his feet. Grabbing his shoulder, I looked at him.

"You okay there, old timer?"

"Old timer?" The man blinked at me. "Oh, right."

He was obviously two or three sheets to the wind, so I let him alone, and started to walk off. I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I spun around, the same old man was there.

"I know you."

"You do, huh?" 'Great' I sighed to myself. 'Another wino trying to hit me up for cash' .

The man nodded. 'Here it comes…'

"You were at the funeral for that Hero last month. The Fire Guardian, right?"

"I….yes."

"The Mayor's friend."

I scowled. "Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life."

The old guy held his hands up. "Okay, okay."

Embarrassed that I had jumped down the man's throat, I tried to change the subject. "So, you were at the funeral, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Tucker was a nice guy."

"You knew him?"

"I…" The man froze for a second. "I knew of him. His Foundation used to do good things."

"It still does." I reminded him. He laughed at me, which gave me pause.

"The Foundation's diversifying since the last time I looked." He grinned at me slightly, and hobbled away, before I could ask his name.

Great. My best contact's vanished, and has set up some elaborate way to leave her messages, and some old guy was being cryptic about an organisation which helped people out of debt, misfortune, and now, thanks to the Mayor, practically ran the…

Wait.

The Tucker Foundation…owned Paragon. To be more precise, the man who owned the Foundation ran Paragon, but…still…

"You're following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he's wearing, where he goes, what he does? You're a gossip columnist, in my book."

I don't follow him around everywhere.

I don't know what he does.

"The Foundation's diversifying since the last time I looked."

'Founder's Falls is looking pretty run down these days…' I remembered. Exactly what was The Foundation doing?

I hurried out, to get back to the offices. As I opened the door, a blast of cold wind shocked across my face, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. Glancing around, I saw the Monorail station in the distance, which would take me back to the office, back to the research computers, back to…

A knife at my throat?

The woman struggled in his grip.

'Good' , the mugger thought to himself. 'A woman with spirit.'

"Please," She stammered. "I don't have any money."

"That's a shame." The mugger grinned into the woman's hair. "We'll have to find some other way for you to…pay me."

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…"

The mugger chuckled. This was definitely going to be more fun.

He glanced around an nearby alley. Dark, murky, filled with shadows…perfect.

'Although, ' he suddenly shivered ' …why is that one shadow moving '

I felt the mugger shudder behind me, and then, with one strong push, he shoved me away, and spun around to face an alley.

"Who's there?" He yelled out, waving the knife in front of him.

Part of me wanted to run. To scream, and hide, and never, ever come back this way again. However…I'm a journalist. I like a good story, and this was definitely a good story. So, despite part of my mind screaming at me to move, I stayed still. I stayed quiet. Watching. The mugger moved into the mouth of the alleyway, and I stared, transfixed, as…absolutely nothing happened. He laughed loudly, and turned back to face me.

"Now, bitch, where were we?"

Before I could say, or do, anything, the alley erupted in light, and a burst of fire shot out…

No, I realised. It was a Fire Sword!

The Sword came down, and sliced open the man's arm, burning as it went, causing the mugger to drop the knife with a scream. He spun back to face the attacker, only to be met by a headbutt, from a dark, hi-tech looking helmet. The mugger collapsed on the floor, unconscious, and I got a quick glimpse of a tall man in dark armour, with a red cloth mask covering his entire face. Just before the Sword was shut off, I swore that I saw a glint of a large, metallic flame emblem on his chest, and then…nothing.

It can't be. It just can't be…

I ran into the alley, and looked around blindly in the dark. Fumbling with my handbag, I pulled out a gift from my parents a few years ago, a credit card sized torch, which provided terrible illumination. As I peered down the alley, I saw nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Something made me glance up, and, for a moment, I saw…something. More a shadow than a person, and it seemed to be looking down at me.

"Mr….Mr Tucker?" I managed to get out. "You're supposed to be...well…dead."

Oh, that's smart.

The figure stayed where it was for a moment, and then slipped away, moments before a police drone arrived.

This, I realised, was going to make a very interesting article.