Chapter Summary

Previously, Clark and Meryl began traveling together to December, getting to know one another. Clark is still recovering from his encounter with the Grand Worm. The next day, Zazie appeared with more warnings.

Now, Clark gets a clue on Mxy's whereabouts, learning about the LOLL's involvement. Arriving in December, Clark's powers begin acting up. Meryl heads to Bernardelli and meets with the Chief and her new partner.

—

"Oh, by the way, we didn't happen to pass a 'Plant Station' yesterday while I was asleep, did we?" Clark asked, breaking another quiet hour of listening to the satellite radio.

Meryl's bored gaze lingered through the jeep's windshield and on the nonexistent road to that city she'd mentioned—December.

"No, but we should reach a station in less than an hour. Why? Got your appetite back already? I have some snacks in the backseat if you want." She thumbed behind her.

"Ah… No, I'm okay…thank you, though. It's just that there might be someone I know there waiting for me. At least, I hope he is…" Clark rubbed his forehead, tipping his brimmed hat as he did. He was trying not to worry, but the sudden appearance of that strange Zazie character earlier had put him back on edge.

"Sort of an odd meeting place... But I was planning on stopping anyway. I gotta refuel the van and fill up the water tanks." Meryl tapped a knuckle on the glass panel with the fuel gauge. "Better safe than sorry, you know?"

"Haha, oh yeah. I ran outta gas once driving to the city. Haven't forgotten to fuel back up before running that low ever since."

"Huh, as is gasoline? I didn't know the greater Augusta region had tapped into any viable crude oil deposits to make it worth converting to gas-fueled engines." The reporter sat straighter in her seat almost with a bounce at the surprising news. She grabbed a notebook on the dashboard and pulled out the pen from the spiral binding. With one hand still on the wheel, she jotted down a few shorthand notes.

As she wrote she continued, "Would be beneficial for taking some of the burden off the Plants if we could discover more natural resources. That'd be a good story to follow up on."

"R-right," Clark replied. Good job, Kent. I can't say anything without sounding clueless. This Meryl is as bad as Lois. She's gonna have me cornered in no time.

Less than fifty minutes later, the Plant Station appeared on the horizon. Clark perked up, seeing the familiar sign, eager to find Mxy, finish their mission, and get back home.

Meryl pulled up the van to the recharge pump. Clark hopped out of his seat to head into the station's attendant shack. He heard Meryl mumble something along the lines of "gonna be hard getting the masses to transition off of plant energy for anything" as he walked away.

Instead of the sound of flowing liquid gasoline, he heard the steady almost inaudible buzz of electricity flowing into the car's battery. He found it curious that the woman would be excited to have vehicles switch from electric power to fossil fuels. On Earth, the opposite was ideal to reduce emissions and help the environment.

He shook off the train of thought as he stepped inside the station building.

A white-haired woman in thick glasses sat in a chair behind the counter, knitting. When the little bell over the door chimed, she pushed herself up and welcomed him in.

"Good morning, ma'am. I was wondering if you, um, happened to see a really short man, ummm, kinda sickly bluish skin, purple coat come by sometime yesterday?"

Okay, just saying that aloud he felt ridiculous. But how else was he supposed to describe a clearly not human being like Mxy?

"Ah, you must have meant that poor little gentleman who crawled in here just about dying from thirst," she cooed, shifting her glasses.

"My eyesight isn't what it used to be. I couldn't tell much from the description, but he was definitely on the shorter side." As she came around the counter, she squinted up at him. "My, but you must be three times the lad's height. You must make quite the pair!" She chuckled in that stereotypical old lady-like way.

Clark didn't even bother not rolling his eyes but he did manage to hold in his exasperated groan. "So, he left? Do you remember when?" Clark asked, worried he wasn't still there.

"Oh, he said he would rest here for a while, so he took a nap in the sitting area. Not long after that, a couple of young hooligans came barging in and chased the lad out.

"Hooligans…? Do you know who they were?"

"Gosh, no. We only get travelers a couple of times a day. Not usually a familiar face 'round these parts. Perhaps my husband could give you their descriptions. He and I were back in the living quarters when it happened." She hobbled off to the other room.

While Clark was waiting, the bell above the door rang, and his traveling companion walked in with one of the empty water tanks. She placed it down and then began looking at the rack of supplies travelers could purchase.

The attendant woman came back a few moments later with a taller, elderly man wearing a flat cap and green overalls.

Clark turned back around as the man spoke up. "Murial says you're lookin' fer a friend o' yers?"

"That's right," Clark replied. "Is there anything you saw that might help me find him or the other group of people?"

"I wasn't on duty with Murial when yer friend was here, but I got a good look at them troublemakers. They certainly were an unusual bunch. They were wearin' some kinda uniform, like the ones them military police or the Federation officials wears. Even had some Lost Tech weapons—unless my mind was playin' tricks on me." He frowned as he tacked on in a mumble, "Hadta been somethin' funny with the batch o' wam-tabacca…"

"Lost Tech weapons?" Clark asked, hoping it wasn't too odd of a question.

"Ya know, like those from way back when—the spacefaring age. Stuff only them rich families or the government can git their hands on."

"Mhm… Gotcha… How many people were there? What about the uniforms? They looked like military police but weren't, you're saying? Can you describe them?" The questions just spilled out. He didn't even pause for a breath of air.

Okay, Kent. Get it together! Take a breath and chill. One question at a time.

The man and his wife stepped back slightly. "T-there were, I think, five? A couple of them looked like women, kinda hard to tell, very slim and short hair. One or two, I'm fairly certain, were men. Three had the same tan skin, and two with dark brown skin."

Then, the man raised a hand to his chin, tilting his head as he tried to recall more details. "I 'member the uniforms being purty tight fittin'. Mostly blue and black an' some white on the sleeves. Oh, it had a design that went across like this." He drew a line over his own chest from the shoulder downwards and then across the middle.

Clark pictured the uniform's description in his head. The L shape was the final key. He gasped as he realized that could likely be the uniform of the League of Lois Lanes.

"Thank you, that's very helpful. One last question. Do you remember if you overheard where they might have been heading or saw which direction they went?"

The man hesitated for a moment. He scratched his head, making his hat bob up and down. "Ya ain't gonna believe me. Ain't sure I believe what I saw myself. It was like a bright circle of light filled da air, and they just, uh, they kinda just leapt at it and vanished."

Now Clark was confident the League was back to chasing Mxyzptlk. Three Lois's and two Jimmy's, maybe? That was a bigger squad than even last time.

"You've been very helpful, sir, ma'am," Clark said, his worry now mixed with a slight sense of relief. Maybe if he ran into the League, he could get their assistance. Despite their not-so-great last encounter, he'd take any help he could get.

"You're welcome, sonny. Take care on the road. It ain't safe these past few years," the older woman said, patting him on the forearm.

"Appreciate the concern. You folks do the same. And thanks again," Clark replied.

Once he finished questioning the couple, Meryl went to the counter to purchase a handful of supplies and fill the water tank. Clark offered to help with the water tank, to which she was grateful since they got pretty heavy.

Meryl, with a bag of supplies, and Clark, with the water tank, headed back to the van, dropping both into the trailer.

With that done, the pair hopped back in and got on their way.

—

"So. No luck finding your friend?" Meryl asked as she drove the van out of the station.

"Sounds like he was there yesterday. But I got some clues that might be helpful in tracking him down," Clark answered. "He's, uh, been sorta on the run lately. A group of people he, uh, isn't in good standing with caught up to him before I did. If I can find them first, they'll lead me to him, I'm certain."

"I see. Those descriptions the couple gave were a little unusual, huh? So, where to now, then? Still gonna head to December with me?" Meryl asked. She must've been worried about taking him in the wrong direction.

"I suppose heading into the city is my best move." He shrugged. "I'm sure I can make my way from there. Though, if it's not too much to ask, could you show me my way once we get there? I haven't been there before, so…"

Clark hoped his powers would be fully recharged by then, but a head start would be helpful.

"No problem. Actually, with how our 'friend' Zazie was talking, I have an obligation to make sure they don't bother you again while on my watch."

They both were quiet for a bit before Meryl spoke up again.

"You're the type that attracts trouble like a magnet, aren't you?" She glanced over, likely to gauge his reaction. He flinched, and knew he had the worst poker face.

"W-what makes you say that?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Hah! I knew it." She smirked, and he just dropped his jaw and started floundering.

"No, really… What makes you say that?" he prodded.

"One, anyone who says that in response is exactly what they're accused of. Two, reporter's instinct. Three, I knew a guy or two who always attracted trouble, so I can recognize the type."

"I'm glad only one of those was my fault," he mumbled.

Meryl grinned. "Well, at least you're in good company. The Chief threatened to send me to the insurance branch the other day for all the gray hairs I give him. Said I'd make a good Disaster Mitigation & Claims Agent." She scoffed at the idea.

"I-Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Clark genuinely wasn't sure.

A good-hearted laugh came from the woman reporter. "I'd prefer to stick to journalism, but I think I'd make a pretty good insurance claims agent seeing as how I'm good at following trouble's footsteps. Not sure about the mitigation bit."

Clark chuckled as well. "I don't blame you. I'd rather stick to journalism, too. Not sure how much sense of adventure you'd find doing insurance."

"Tell me about it," she agreed. She paused briefly before asking, "So, if you don't mind me asking. What is it that you do—for a living?"

Clark faltered. I knew she'd ask! Why didn't I come up with something to say earlier? Think Kent! Just say, oh yeah, I'm a reporter, too? On the side, I do a little superhero-ing? No comment? Would you believe I'm an interdimensional peacekeeper and disaster mitigation freelancer?

"Well, um, for a while, I worked on my family's farm back in Kansas. I just recently finished some studies and am now kinda trying to figure out what I want to do in my future. I've been dabbling in two or three things."

Yes! Smooth answer, Kent! Two truths and an omission.

"I'd say you'd make a pretty good reporter. The way you were interviewing that couple. Asking all the right questions."

"Is-Is that so?" Clark replied, voice raising in pitch. He was not having a mini internal panic attack, nope.

"There are plenty of opportunities in December. I'm sure you'll figure it out sooner than you think," she replied, gently tapping his arm with her fist.

—T&J—

Meryl didn't sense anything off about his answer. He did hesitate a bit, but the words sounded honest enough. Plenty of young folks worked the family business, but the yearning to find their own path usually won out. What he was currently up to was a little vague, but she didn't want to push that subject.

She was dying inside to keep prodding her companion. Everything was just screaming alarm bells. They weren't necessarily threatening alarm bells, but more like the ones she heard when a big story was in front of her.

Something was different, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

At times, he seemed so unfamiliar with the world. Plus, he was looking for someone on the run. Someone being chased by a strangely uniformed group armed with Lost Tech weapons.

She'd have to dig more before he went on his way in December. Maybe she could invite him to the Bernardelli office. She'd suggest using their resources to search for leads on his friend or that uniformed group. Surrounded by other reporters, he might squeal or at least reveal something juicy.

Meryl could even ask one of the research assistants to look into him. Maybe he was wanted, or was someone high-profile who was just trying to stay undercover.

Heck, what if he was secretly one of those Vash imposters? Nah, funnily enough, he didn't fit the profile—despite the fact that he did remind her a little of the real Vash.

Or maybe she was just being a suspecting weirdo, and the guy was completely normal. A normal farmboy looking for adventure and his place in the world.

—

The first signs of the city of December peaked into view after another day and a half of nothing but the usual desert landscape. The jagged silhouette of buildings stacked upon the ruins of the SEEDS ship carved an unnatural line into the sky.

The towering wall of the crashed colony ship remained mostly intact and surrounded a large portion of the city. The almost quarter-ile wide wall had been a vital means of defense in the earlier decades after the Big Fall. Since then, the Second City continued to grow, becoming a safe haven for refugees from iles away.

A large portion of the original city could be found within the ship's interior. The ship's belly had provided protection from the elements while the earliest settlers salvaged the wreckage and worked tirelessly to build shelters for themselves.

December's military police had been organized decades ago to protect not only the citizens but also the most valuable of the city's resources—the Plants. Fortunately, the majority of December's Plant Ship was still functioning a century and a half later—another reason the city had boomed over the years. December boasted a sense of civility and progress that many other cities and towns on No Man's Land could only wish for.

"Wow, th-this is incredible. I've never seen a city quite like this," Clark said, leaning forward and staring wide-eyed like a young boy through the windshield.

If Meryl wasn't wrong, she'd imagine this was the first of the big cities he'd seen. She wondered if he hadn't passed through any of the others, like Augusta. It'd made sense if his town was north of the Fourth City. The only other city between there and December would've been JuLai.

The descriptions in newspapers and on the radio probably couldn't even begin to paint as good of a picture as the real thing for someone from a small town.

As they entered the city proper, the view rose above them, only reaching higher in the near distance.

"Welcome to the Second City of December! Largest of the Seven Cities! Home to roughly nine hundred something thousand, one hundred thirty-seven Plants at last count, and the one and only Bernardelli Conglomerate. And, of course, my tiny little apartment—which is probably covered in a feel of dust," Meryl announced in her best radio host-slash-tour guide voice, waving a hand out the window.

She rested her arm on the window ledge and turned her head to her travel companion. "I'll need to stop by the News Agency office. You're more than welcome to join me. Unless you have somewhere I can drop you off?"

"Oh, well, there's nowhere in particular that I had in mind…" Clark looked back out the passenger window. "If you're offering, it'd be rude of me to turn you down. Might even be able to see if your colleagues know about any leads. Reporters always have the best scoops, right?"

Meryl smiled, learning that he wanted to join her, just as she planned. And she didn't even have to push the issue. After overhearing the way he interviewed the couple at the Plant Station and other bits and pieces she'd learned along the way, he'd probably fit right in with all the other reporters at the office.

"We try. Ever since they got the satellite network up and running, it's been harder to compete with radio. But we're stubborn folk, journalists. We dig deeper than those radio news wannabes."

The closer they drove downtown, the more structurally sound the building became. Each block featured a hodgepodge of architectural styles as neighbors built up over the decades.

The contemporary-style apartment buildings along the last couple of streets rose a couple of stories. Small balconies and windows covered by linen curtains dotted the brick exteriors.

Locals dressed in all sorts of attires meandered along to their destinations. Street vendors chatted with customers and attended to their wares. Packs of children chased each other haphazardly down the sidewalks weaving in between adults to find somewhere to play. A few would be carrying a ball or toy under their arm.

"So, have you been working on a big story?" Clark asked. You said you were a field reporter, right? That's why you were traveling?"

"Just gotta finish the Lost July anniversary article. I interviewed several people who were there to pay their respects…" The sight of the crater flashed in her mind. She pushed back a rising wave of melancholy. "It was the second time I've gone to the memorial…"

When she came to an intersection and had to stop, she reached behind her and pulled out her notebook from her bag. The book contained all her notes for the story and quotes from her sources.

"It must've been hard hearing all of their stories…" Clark said just above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes behind her sunglasses not betraying her expression. "It is. But, it's also part of the job." She flipped to the pages where the interviews began and handed it to Clark.

He skimmed some of the stories she'd jotted down for a few minutes. His shoulder hunched, his brow furrowed, and a deep frown formed where a smile usually rested.

Shifting the subject slightly, she said, "My usual beat is following up on rumors and sightings of Vash the Stampede or covering stories on other wanted or recently incarcerated outlaws. The higher the bounty, the bigger the story. For the last couple of weeks, we've been hearing rumors of Vash and a group of ruffians down in Kasted City. About six hundred iles southeast of July."

"What are the chances the rumors are true?" Clark asked, looking up from her notebook.

Meryl wasn't surprised that he was curious about the supposed localized disaster of a man. Everyone had an opinion about Vash one way or another.

"Trust me. The rumors are never true," she scoffed. "If someone is using the name, he's just taking advantage of the notoriety to get away with whatever vile criminal acts he commits."

Meryl turned the van onto a wider, busier street. The buildings took on the recognizable appearance of businesses and offices close to where she worked.

"You seem pretty sure about that," Clark challenged.

"Believe me. I've seen so many imposters I can practically smell them an ile away." She smirked.

"I wanted to head down that way, but I gotta train this Thompson woman. The Chief gave me an earful about getting back on the double. Once I pick up the newbie, we'll head back to the frontier. And if the Kasted City rumors are still worth investigating, it'd be quicker to take a sandsteamer than driving anyway."

At a busy street, she honked the horn, urging pedestrians to get the heck out of the way. She grumbled, debating whether to yell out the window or not.

"A sandsteamer, huh?" Clark said, sounding unsure.

"Mhmm. Probably better to take an Orca class. Last time I rode on a Humpback, it was a bit of a disaster…" She recalled the steamer being overrun by the Bad Lads Gang and then almost crashing into Hopeland.

"You must have a very eventful life in your line of work," Clark said, giving her a goofy smile.

Meryl chuckled, grinning back. "My friend, you haven't even heard the half of it."

—L&P—

As Clark's companion drove them through the bustling streets of the business district, the noises of the city began to bombard Clark's ears. He winced as the sharp stabbing of sensory overload grew more intense.

He covered his ears with his hands—although he should've known it wouldn't help—and squeezed his eyes shut.

He must have gasped out loud because he felt Meryl lay a hand on his shoulder.

"H-hey, you okay?" he thought he heard her call, but all the other noises drowned out her voice: thousands of people talking, footsteps reverberating off the sidewalk, cars honking and engines roaring, construction sounds crashing like cymbals over his head—everything.

Clark tried focusing on one noise at a time, trying to block out all the other ones like he'd learned to do as his superhearing first developed. He tried not to freak out, barely understanding why it was out of control again. Did it have something to do with his powers being drained and then returning?

He couldn't tell how long it had been, but after an agonizing amount of time, he finally got his hearing back under control. He breathed heavily, and a coat of sweat slicked his face. A persistent ringing filled his ears, but he could now make out Meryl's shouts to him more clearly.

"CLARK! C'mon, Clark! What's going on?!" Meryl said, shaking his shoulder gently. She had apparently pulled over after he had gone unaware of his surroundings.

"Ughhh… Not so loud. I can… I can hear you…I-I'm okay now." he groaned in a whisper.

"Geeze, newbie… What the heck happened? You are not okay," she stated, only the tiniest hint of relief in her gaze.

"Uhhmm, a m-migraine? I think?" Clark said, trying to sound just as unsure, which he sort of was.

"That was a hell of a migraine. I don't know if I have any meds for that... maybe we should stop somewhere and get something…" Meryl said, scanning out the windows, perhaps looking for a pharmacy.

"N-no, that's okay. I'm really fine now. It happens sometimes…Not often though, don't worry." Clark rubbed the back of his neck. He even gave it a bit of a massage for good measure.

"I'm already worried!" Meryl huffed. "Here. At least drink more water. You're probably dehydrated." She reached back and grabbed another fresh canteen. She shoved it against his chest, not taking no for an answer.

"Yes, ma'am…" Clark mumbled and took a big swig without protest.

Meryl sighed loudly, relaxing back into her seat. She closed her eyes for a moment before starting the van back up.

"Alright, change of plans. I'll stop by the Bernardelli News office by myself. You rest up in the van. Then we'll get you set up at a hotel. Sound good?"

Clark repeated, "Yes, ma'am." He closed his eyes and tried to will away the ringing in his ears.

—T&J—

"Oh ho ho! Look who's finally back from the badlands. Mad Meryl has returned to civilization." A wavy-haired blond woman teased Meryl as she walked into the bullpen and passed her coworker's desk.

"Ha. Ha. Nice to see you too, Karen…" Meryl replied, stopping to talk. "The Chief in?"

Karen gave the shorter woman a flat look. "When isn't the Chief in? You know the man practically lives here."

"You never know. Maybe he finally got back in his wife's good graces?" Meryl shrugged. She knew the Chief was married to his work, which caused problems with his actual marriage.

"Yeah, right. When Thomas fly." Karen rolled her eyes, then waved Meryl away and turned back to her typewriter. "When you're done, I want to hear all your wild tales of the frontier!"

Meryl returned the gestures.

"Alright, Stryfe, off to the lion's den…" she whispered under her breath.

Gulping, Meryl stood outside the frosted glass-paned door. It read "Terry Wright, Editor-in-Chief" in a traditional, serif font.

Meryl raised a hand to knock on the Chief's door, but a looming figure knocked her over instead. The figure was that of a very tall, brownish-blond-haired woman.

A large stack of papers went flying all over the hallway. Apparently, she hadn't seen the uncommonly short woman.

The tall woman wore a simple, loose-fitting white button-up blouse with a red tie and brown trousers. Not only was she at least six feelz tall, but she was also rather broad in the chest and shoulders—her loose clothes didn't help to slim her.

Except for that, she was quite doll-faced, with crystal blue eyes and the friendliest of smiles. Her long hair framed her face charmingly and curled up at the ends. Her locks bounced cutely when she tilted her head.

The tall woman yelped and bent down, flustered about whether to start picking up the papers or help Meryl up.

When the two caught each other's eyes, the woman lit up, eyes sparkling and mouth in a wide open smile.

"Oh my gosh! You're Miss Meryl Stryfe, aren't you? I'm terribly sorry for bumping into you, silly me!"

The taller woman grabbed Meryl with both hands and pulled the shorter woman back to her feet as if she weighed nothing.

"I just can't believe I ran into you! I hoped to meet you yesterday, but the Chief said you caught trouble on the road and would be a day late. I do hope you are alright, ma'am! The roads are a very dangerous place to be all on your own." She shook a pointer finger at Meryl like a mother would a child.

Meryl straightened her clothes and brushed them off. "Um, yes, I'm just fine. Uh, have we met before?" she asked, struggling to recall the exuberant woman.

"Oh, no, silly me! My name is Milly Thompson." She beamed and stuck out a hand eagerly. "I've been reading your articles for a few years and requested to be your junior partner. I want to learn from the very, very best! I'm very excited to begin working with you, Miss Meryl!"

Meryl took the taller girl's hand, and Milly shook it so enthusiastically that Meryl's arm felt like jelly once she got it back.

"Likewise. It's nice to meet you, Milly. I was just about to speak with the Chief, but perhaps we can talk afterward?"

"Oh yes, I would love to! I have a little desk over there in the far corner." She pointed to the crowded section of the floor where the interns and junior reporters were assigned desks. "I should be over there unless someone needs me to run an errand or get them coffee or refill the paper tray—" She listed her daily tasks on her fingers.

"Alright. I'll come over once we're done," Meryl said, interrupting.

"Okay! Good luck with the Chief!" Milly said with a bright smile as she bent down to begin picking up all the fallen papers.

Milly seems like a handful... very cheerful, though. Oh, boy. This'll be…interesting, Meryl thought.

She took a big breath in and out, knocked, and opened the door when the Chief called for her to come in.

The office was hazy from the man's cigar smoking. It smelled like a mix of leather and wood. Plus, the scent of printing press ink.

Soft, slightly warbling Old Earth music from a well-worn, antique vinyl played on a record player in the corner. The Chief had gotten both as a work anniversary gift from the staff a year ago.

The man's shirt was wrinkled and had noticeable ink stains around his cuffs and elbows. It looked like he might've worn it at least two days in a row. His red tie hung loose a bit crookedly. His brown hair, peppered with gray, was a little disheveled—a common sight despite the fact he usually had it neatly combed for all of two hours tops in the mornings. A heavy stubble indicated he hadn't shaved in maybe a week or so.

"Stryfe. Good to see you back in one piece. Sounds like you met Miss Thompson. She's an excitable one, she is." The man's voice was gruff from years of smoking and had a hint of a Southern Hemisphere accent.

"Yes, I could tell. She, um, was not what I was expecting. A sweet girl like that interested in braving the badlands chasing Vash rumors and outlaws with me? Are you sure she's up for the job, sir?" Meryl asked, slowly approaching his desk.

"I happen to remember a twenty-three-year-old woman taken under the wing of a veteran reporter about two years ago. She was innocent to the ways of the Outer but eager to see the world and make a name for herself. Jumped at the chance to chase dangerous fugitives. Remind you of someone?" he retorted.

Meryl sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, and took a seat opposite his desk. "I see your point, sir… I'm just worried for her. I don't want to see a nice girl like that getting hurt. It's more dangerous outside the Seven Cities than ever."

"Did something happen on the way back from JuLai, Stryfe?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and intertwining his fingers. He looked over his glasses, silently saying, 'You better not lie to me this time.'

"Nothing that I couldn't handle," she replied, sitting up straight and returning the stern look.

The Chief sighed and rubbed his eyes. "That's not the answer I want to hear, Meryl."

He continued, "Are you sure you don't want to take some time doing the city beat? Louisa is going on maternity leave in a month. We could use a good reporter like you here in December instead of on your wild goose chase (Whatever a goose is)."

"Absolutely not! You know I'm not dropping my story until I can prove what I know and saw. If I have to keep unmasking these imposters and debunking these baseless rumors, that's what I'm going to keep doing."

"Damnit, Stryfe, if people weren't so hungry for tales of the Humanoid Typhoon, you'd be off these stories in a heartbeat." He smacked an open palm to his desk, causing a number of paper stacks to teeter precariously.

"Then, in the meantime, I might as well give the good people of the Union what they want." Meryl crossed one leg over the other and sat back in her seat with a grin.

The Chief sighed and spun his chair around, grabbing and cutting another cigar. He took a long inhale and then an equally long exhale of smoke into a nearby vent.

"So you still plan on heading down to Kasted City then?" he asked more calmly.

"I have a few things to attend to while I'm home. But unless a better lead comes up, that's the plan. I'll look into sandsteamer departures and let you know."

"Alright, Stryfe. You keep that newbie of yours safe and don't teach her any of the bad habits you picked up from Roberto or came up with on your own. Show her the ropes. Keep things by the books. I think Miss Thompson will surprise you—give her a chance."

"Thanks, Chief. I'll do my best." Meryl turned to leave his office. Just before she opened the door all the way, she turned over her shoulder and said, "Make sure to go home once in a while and apologize to your wife. A happy wife makes a happy life."

She smirked, seeing his gruff scowl. A huge plume of cigar smoke spilled out of his mouth, and he waved her away.

—L&P—

Milly Thompson was overjoyed getting to meet her journalism idol. She'd followed Meryl Stryfe's work ever since she wrote the first front-page article, "Weeping for Lost JuLai One Week Later." It moved her to tears—a true masterpiece of breaking news combined with investigative journalism and raw storytelling.

Milly finished neatly stacking the papers and successfully made it over to the paper tray to deposit the pile without further incidents. Before she could make it back to her desk, she was asked to take care of one errand after another. Milly happily took any task given to her. The senior reporters were very busy people, and anything to make their job easier made her as happy as could be.

When she first got the job at the Bernardelli News Agency about a year ago, she had just started out as an intern. These odd jobs were the norm, even for the other couple of interns.

Milly was used to the never-ending chores of living on a farm, so her new job wasn't much different, just a lot less messy.

But a few weeks ago, Milly finally got the big promotion to junior reporter. She couldn't be happier! Well, she was happier when they all celebrated with her absolute favorite chocolate pudding cake.

With the new promotion, the Chief brought her into his office to review her new responsibilities. He asked her if she had any preference in shadowing one of the senior reporters. So, she told him her first choice.

Her boss almost dropped his cigar into his lap his jaw hung so low.

He'd asked if she knew Miss Meryl was a field reporter and spent the better part of the year on the road. Milly believed she had an idea of what she was in for. She might not have lived life on the road, but she was an outdoorsy girl at heart. Although she'd never complain, she'd felt more at home spending her days in the sun than in a stuffy office.

She'd written her Milly Monthly letters to all her family members, letting them know the good news. She told them all the next time she wrote, she'd probably be out exploring the frontier, chasing a real story.

Oh, she just could not wait to know where Miss Meryl planned to venture next. Milly had started jotting down the places she hoped they would visit at some point.

Finally done the odd jobs for her colleagues, Milly hopped back into her seat at her desk and pulled out her notebook. She hummed happily as she added more locations to her list.

—L&P—