Chapter 3
Darkest before dawn
Emily got her phone out as she left Lena's apartment. The sun hadn't come up yet.
"Bwrauwr…"
"I know I'm looking sleepy, it's not like I have a choice."
A sigh left the redheads lips as she unlocked the screen. It was 3:55 am, a dreadful time to go to work. But that was the reality of newspaper journalism when the new edition came out mere hours later.
There was a new message. A smirk stole its way onto her lips as she read through it.
Sica: "Didn't u wanna finish chapter 8 yesterday? Whats uuup Miji I need mah fix! ლ(´ڡ`ლ)"
Always so impatient. I guess it's flattering?
Sica was a fellow Widowtracer author. The two of them started out commenting on each other's stories a few years ago and before too long they found themselves chatting about all kinds of things. Now 'Miju' was the most popular author in the genre while 'Sica' was on the third spot.
Emily started to tap away at her phone.
Miju: "Something came up."
Woah, Sica's typing now. Does she ever sleep?
Sica: "Yeah saw the riots! I hope u are okay? I won't forgive u if something happens before u finish 'Unlikely Lovers'!"
So selfish!
Miju: "I'm fine, just a bit tired."
Sica: "What didya do?"
Miju: "I took Lena home. Yes, the one you're thinking about."
Emily had a big grin on her face and almost managed to hit a lamppost, if it weren't for CA1 beeping at her.
Sica: "No way! Ure joking right?"
Miju: "It's true! Her leg was hurting; I couldn't just leave her there."
Sica: "Wow! Did you two…?! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)"
Of course, that's the first thing she thinks about. Not very surprising with all her stories being lovey-dovey and smut.
Miju: "Almost, I think... Don't tell anyone, okay? I don't want her to get into trouble or anything."
Sica: "Almost?! What's that supposed to mean?! Come on u know u can trust me bb"
Emily wondered about that. She always felt stupid talking to Sica, in a funny way.
Miju: "She pulled me into bed, but I kinda landed on the leg that was hurting, so…"
Sica: "U bailed?! (눈_눈)"
Emily flinched.
I am that easy to figure out, huh.
Miju: "I bailed."
Sica: "Woooow… U missed out big time Miji! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ"
Miju: "Maybe I'll get a second chance… she said she'll invite me for cocoa some time."
Sica: "Awesome! U go get her girl! ( ﾟヮﾟ) "
Miju: "Yeah, go me!"
Sica: "Lol, u know what? U actually almost killed Widowtracer today."
Miju: "Huh, that would be|
She didn't finish the sentence. A cursor still blinked at the end of the unsent message.
Killing Widowtracer, huh?
The thought hadn't occurred to Emily before. It felt incredibly heavy. Writing stories about those two had been practically all of her passion. She delighted in thinking about ways they would come together, how they would fulfill each other.
These thoughts were with Emily for years. She stopped for a moment to avoid tripping because of the sudden dizziness that was washing over her.
It's only stories... why is that bothering me so much?
Emily was irritated at herself, probably because she never realized just how much she valued spending her time on this hobby.
Miju: "Don't be stupid. Even if there was something between us, I'm just a nobody no one has to know about."
Emily shook her head and continued on her way.
Sica: "Oh ppl would definitely find out…"
Miju: "So what? Somebody else will eventually do her! Tracer is cute and awesome and totally deserves a loving girlfriend. Let's face it; Widowtracer has about the same chance of happening as me becoming the queen of England."
Emily felt weird typing that, as if she was betraying everything she stood for.
Sica: "YOU DIDN'T JUST WRITE THAT!"
Miju: "Yes I did."
Sica: "UR NOT MY FRIEND ANYMORE!"
Miju: "Yes I am."
Sica: "… okay u are but don't say stuff like that again! o(╥﹏╥)o"
Miju: "Just because you ask so nicely. :) Look, I'm almost at work. Let's talk later."
Sica: "Don't forget chapter 8! I'm starviiing…"
Emily shook her head and put the phone away.
Slowly her eyes blinked themselves open. Lena stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was still dark, apart from the night lamp on a stand beside her bed. Her throat felt incredibly sore, her head was about to burst and she didn't quite remember why right now.
"Finally awake, are we?"
"Sure am."
Her words came out a bit slurred, but it would do. She recognized Angela's voice and could somewhat piece together what happened yesterday.
"Gosh, my throat…"
Her words came out as a croak more than anything else. Lena looked to the side where Angela sat in a white polo shirt and jeans. The doctor was reading a health magazine with one hand and handed her a glass of water with the other.
"You apparently screamed until you lost consciousness. That's a first, even for you."
Lena took the glass and quickly gulped down the liquid. She could taste an aspirin in the water.
"I suppose I did, heh… thanks for the medication, I don't deserve you Angie."
Angela smiled slyly down into her magazine.
"You don't. You're just lucky that I do not decline patients as a policy."
Lena acted as if an arrow had been shot through her chest.
"Ack! So cold!"
The doctor shook her head with mild bemusement and closed the magazine.
"Maybe you could have someone warmer here. For example if you wouldn't try to pull cute girls into your bed on the first date."
"S-She told you?!"
"Of course. She had to explain why you went out cold screaming into a cushion. Actually, she said something about accidentally falling on you. I take it my version is closer to the truth, judging from your reaction."
Lena went red as a beet from embarrassment.
She's even tried to lie for me! So nice!
"I-I couldn't help myself! I was like, totally delirious and stuff and…"
"…she was kinda your type, I get it."
No use lying, Angie knows me too well.
"…y-yeah."
"So, now that you are finally awake, tell me where it hurts please."
The doctor stood up and sat herself down next to Lena on the bed. She took the blanket away and began feeling the leg that Lena had fallen on. She went up and down and Lena flinched at a certain point.
"There!"
Angela took a few more moments to feel around until she finished her examination and turned around to fish for something in her tool bag.
"You're lucky that you found a nice girl to bring you home. If you would have forced your way alone, you'd be bedridden for weeks. This doesn't look too concerning. Your leg needs a few days of rest. You can walk around in a splint, but only walk. No running, you hear me?"
While talking, Angela put on the mentioned splint with routine motions.
"Whatever you say, Mum~"
The doctor made it a bit tighter than it needed to after that quip, prompting a yelp from Lena.
"So mean!"
"Listen."
Lena blinked a few times. Angela's tone of voice indicated seriousness.
"That Emily girl of yours is either a saint, or went out of her way to help you because she likes you a lot. She also seemed more concerned about you than troubled about what you did."
The blush returned to Lena's cheeks as she intently listened to her friend. She shivered a bit with relief.
So, I didn't ruin it entirely.
"Still Lena, do beware. She is a journalist working for the Evening Standard. Worst case she'll try to make a story out of you."
"She wouldn't do that!"
The words had left her mouth before Lena really thought about that, but then she kind of wandered with her eyes, thinking.
"But she really didn't tell me, huh?"
"Either she has an ulterior motive, or she didn't want to draw your ire. I guess agents and journalists are bound to be skeptical of one another."
The little Brit listened to the words and could somewhat make sense of that. She tried to think, looking out of the window.
"I wouldn't have minded though. She could've been a darn Talon agent and I'd still think of her as awesome."
Angela watched her patient for a while, finally shaking her head with a light chuckle. Then she slowly stood up from the bed and packed her things.
"I'll have to catch some sleep before an operation at noon, so I'll leave you to it. Remember, don't overdo it, or I'll make sure you're tied to the bed after my next visit."
"Uuuh, you're into that stuff? I guess that's a Swiss lady for you!"
The doctor rolled her blue eyes.
"There's a note on the nightstand."
With that, Angela left, closing the bedroom door behind her. Lena heard the front door closing, too, as she curiously turned to see this note.
Emily's London address was written on it.
Even her handwriting is sweet!
Beside the address was a goofy illustration of a fat, sleeping rabbit who had little "Z"'s floating above his head. She read the message underneath out loud with bubbling excitement.
"Looking forward to the cocoa."
Lena squealed and rolled around her bed in a fit of cuteness overload.
The redhead had just come through the door with CA1 floating closely behind. There was a little office kitchen off to the side of the entrance. She came across a small lady with the habit to lisp and a coffee can in hand.
"Good morning Mish Emily."
"Good morning Martha. It's nice to see that nothing has happened to you!"
Martha was in that age range where her body began to wrinkle and shrink. While the many decorations in the offices of the Evening Standard were imitations, Martha was the real deal. She had worked for the newspaper since way before the Bernstein family acquired the property.
"Oh, those hooligansh would have to try a lot harder!"
Emily was honestly surprised.
"Did rioters actually come in here?"
A male voice answered the question.
"You should've seen it Emi! Good old Martha was bashing a guy over the head with her purse over and over when I came in, heh."
Anderson stopped by on his way to the kitchen, probably to make his own coffee. He was a bit smaller than Bernstein, but otherwise had a 'Mister Fantastic' face with lofty black hair and a 3-day beard. He was wearing a suit without the tie and tended to have the two topmost buttons on his shirts unbuttoned.
Anderson's sleepy, like always. Ah well, not like I'm complaining. I got the Mondatta story because Mr. Sleepy lost his flight.
Martha nodded with grim pride.
"I showed that one! He's gonna tell his friends to shtay away, he is."
Then she addressed Emily directly. Anderson just stood there, yawning uselessly.
"Oh, before I forget. I'm so forgetful these days, golly… Mishter Bernshtein wants a detailed report, the camera footage and you in his office in 20 minutes."
"That fast?"
Martha acted like she didn't hear that. Or maybe she actually didn't. Either way, the old lady had said all she wanted and wandered off. Anderson playfully punched her on the shoulder.
"Geez, I'm relieved that you covered the Mondatta story instead of me. That'll be a lot of work! Good luck Emi~"
Emily sighed.
"I guess I have my work cut out for me… but first: Coffee."
"Hear hear."
Anderson's yawning finally proofed to be contagious, as they both did so in unison. Together they walked into the kitchen like a pair of coffee-starved zombies.
It was an exhausting morning for peacekeeping. The riots had ended an hour into the night, so the streets below were pretty calm all things considered. Bob saw smoke rising from all other parts of London in the distance.
"Delta, got some punks with Molotov's on three o'clock."
"Roger."
His com link flared up occasionally with colleagues in a mile vicinity.
Something like this always happens days before retirement, doesn't it? Such a cliché.
Luckily, Bob had a calm part of town under his watch. It was so quiet that only he and Ted were stationed around here. He liked to think that the police chief was considerate with good old Bob.
There was only this one time where some lost punk had entered the newspaper offices on the other side of the street. It hadn't taken long before the guy was hounded down the street by a small grandma armed with a purse. He could still hear how the old hag screamed after the poor sod.
AND YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS TO SHTAY AWAY!
That had been about the most exciting part of the last few hours. He liked to think back to that highlight every once in a while, chuckling heartily to himself.
Yawning, the old patroller opened a com link for a closer vicinity.
"Hey Ted, wanna go to Dublin Donuts when the shift's done?"
Bob waited a while, but didn't receive an answer. He looked over across a few houses where is colleague was supposed to be stationed, but couldn't find him.
Did that bastard take a nap or what?
A clunky sound echoed before him, as if metal had hit solid concrete.
Suddenly a tall lady in a bodysuit jumped on top of the roof right in front of him. The old patroller panicked, fidgeting with his com link and was put down before he could set off an alarm.
Bernstein's office could be described in one word.
Neat.
Everything was where it was supposed to be and polished to the highest degree, just like its main inhabitant. Bernstein was sitting at his mahogany desk with folded hands, clearly waiting for her. Emily nervously closed the door behind herself.
"Good morning Mister Bernstein!"
"Good morning Miss Emily. You look dreadful."
Always the charmer.
"The report?"
She quickly made her way over and presented a few sheets of paper to him. She had hacked away at the keyboard to finish the report in time. It was written without great care for sentencing, just to get the details across. Bernstein liked it that way.
He scanned the sheets for half a minute, then looked towards Emily with his usual stern demeanor.
"The camera footage of Cassy has been retroactively cut off at precisely 21:23:41 pm. Why is that?"
Bernstein activated an on demand holo-screen behind himself. It showed the last moments of the Talon aircraft leaving the scene, presumably the moment of the cutoff. Emily nervously alternated between looking at it and Bernstein.
He doesn't waste any time.
"Nothing newsworthy happened after that. I actually helped a girl home that got injured and didn't want to intrude in her privacy."
Emily had tinkered for hours on this answer.
No lies. He knows when I'm lying.
Even still, Emily gave him an incredibly nervous smile that would be the death of her. Bernstein examined her for agonizingly long moments before he continued.
"Do you mean this woman?"
Another holo-screen activated to the other side of her boss. It showed satellite footage of a redheaded reporter, helping a girl with orange spandex pants and a pilot's jacket.
Crap.
"Y-Yes, that's her."
"Do you consider this person not newsworthy?"
There was another moment of agonizing silence. Emily lowered her head, defeated. She didn't know how to answer that, so Bernstein continued.
"I don't appreciate being led up the garden path, Miss Emily."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You can go home for today."
Emily looked up again, thoroughly baffled.
"B-But the story..."
"You proved yourself too biased to work on this incident with the necessary objectivity."
"Biased, sir?"
Bernstein didn't answer. He just looked at her with firm disappointment. Emily took the hint and lowered her gaze again.
He's probably linking me deleting the footage with the draft of chapter 8 he saw yesterday.
"Who… who will write the story? "
"Your report will go to Anderson."
Emily felt horrible and devoid of willpower. This had been her chance to show her superior that she was still serious about this job. Especially after the debacle of yesterday. But that plan had gone to flames because Emily wanted to protect Lena's privacy.
It's so unfair...
She wanted to cry, but tried desperately to avoid humiliating herself further. Emily's eyes were already glistening with tears despite her efforts to keep it in.
"You are neither fired nor demoted, Miss Emily. Get some rest and come back in tomorrow. I'll have a new assignment for you then."
Bernstein sounded like he, too, wanted to avoid her having a breakdown in his office.
How considerate.
Emily swallowed her bitterness and forced her own words out with as much professionalism as she could muster.
"Thank you, Mister Bernstein."
Then she stood up and left the office. Once outside, Emily did her best to soldier on straight through to the exit. Her colleagues thankfully held respectful distances.
Nathaniel took off his horned glasses to rub his eyes.
"It's not like I enjoy doing this."
He was talking to himself. Nathaniel knew that this was not an entirely healthy habit, but he came to terms with it. He just needed to reassure himself out loud sometimes. That's also why his office was laid out to be sound-proof. He could do without his employees thinking of him as having a few screws loose.
"If only she would just own up to her decisions. I can't stand dishonesty."
He sighed and slowly stood up. With a steady pace, Nathaniel Bernstein left his office. His secretary Martha was right outside. There was a sad look on her face.
"You didn't have to make her cry, Nathan boy."
"Spare me, Martha. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow."
He put up with being called 'boy' since he inherited the position from his father. Martha had been working for the newspaper since way before his family had anything to do with it, so she possessed the privilege of experience in his eyes. It also helped that she was an excellent secretary despite her age.
Nathaniel went on and approached Anderson's office. He knocked twice on the door and heard some sudden shuffling on the other side in response.
Napping, as usual?
A brightly smiling Anderson greeted him on the other side of the door. The imprint of a pencil was temporarily stuck to his cheek.
As usual.
"What's up Nathaniel?"
"Mister Bernstein."
"Oh yeah, Mister Bernstein, sorry. "
Nathaniel almost regretted sending Emily home. At least she never disrespected him like this.
"I have a job for you. The Mondatta assassination and the riots of last night. The camera footage is already in the database."
Nathaniel put Emily's report on Anderson's desk, who was staring at the sheets with a puzzled look.
"Wasn't Emi supposed to write that story?"
"She was. Now you are."
"What happened?"
"That does not need concern you. Make sure to have a draft ready by half past six."
Anderson slowly nodded at that, looking at Nathaniel like he had just killed a puppy. With a nod in return and the usual 'I'm counting on you', the editor-in-chief returned to his own office.
After closing the door, Nathaniel breathed through deeply.
"They look at me as If I have committed high treason. Ridiculous."
Nathaniel wanted to move to his desk, but after just one step something hit him on the side of the head with force. His vision blacked out for a second. Way out of balance and unable to hold onto anything, Nathaniel fell to the ground.
A sultry, female voice broke through the ringing in his ears.
"I don't know what you have done, monsieur, but let's just consider this repentance."
His thoughts were in shambles. Nathaniel wasn't good at processing things that weren't a reasonable possibility before. He felt a head-splitting headache approaching. A high heeled stiletto painfully pushed down on his shoulder until he was lying on his back. Then he saw a gun barrel pointing towards his forehead.
"The Widowmaker? I am honored."
If Nathaniel was good at something, it was keeping his composure.
Maybe that'll be the death of me.
"You should. I don't point Widow's Kiss at just anybody."
Nathaniel straightened his tie while lying down.
Might as well do it with some dignity.
"What have I done to deserve this visit?"
"There is one employee under your care called Emily. She has drawn my attention."
It's good that I sent her home after all then.
"I guess because she helped that Tracer character?"
Widowmaker didn't answer immediately. It seemed to him that she wasn't quite aware of that fact.
"None of your concern."
"Miss Emily has left for the day either way. I am sorry to disappoint."
"It would surely be a trivial matter for you to tell me where she has gone, yes?"
"Impossible."
Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at that answer.
"Such insolence."
"My apologies."
"I suppose you are bound by duty to protect your employees or some such?
"Just so."
"Absurdité."
"Au contraire."
Widowmaker rolled with her amber eyes and put Widow's Kiss back on her shoulder. Then she kicked him across the face with her steel-capped stiletto. Nathaniel grimaced from the pain and breathed harder. His nose was bleeding now.
"Don't go cute on me. I suppose I should just ask her colleagues instead. They might be more susceptible to pain."
It has come to this. I am sorry, Miss Emily.
"No need, I will talk."
"There we go. Was that so hard now?"
Nathaniel didn't dignify that with an answer.
"How does she look like and where does she live? Don't think up anything funny. If I don't find her off this, I'll be far less tolerable on my next visit."
"There'll be security by then."
"Ask Mondatta what he thinks about London security."
"…touché."
"Now talk, before I lose my patience."
As Nathaniel was an honest man, he talked truthfully. His guest thanked him by ramming the butt of her rifle into his face.
"Merci et bonne nuit."
The world around him went dark.
Notes:
Absurdité ~ Nonsense
Au contraire ~ On the contrary
Merci et bonne nuit ~ Thanks and good night