Zora Beaumont lived alone on the second floor of the Angel House Building. She loved it. She loved waking up every day to a beautiful glass view of her city. The buzzing of everyday life and activities, the cars, the lights, the skyscrapers. She was intelligent and agile.

As she slept ever so peacefully on her master-sized bed, dressed neatly with a dark pink bedsheet so clean and properly spread, you would think she never tumbled or moved side to side on the bed while asleep. Her nightly black, eight-inch-long hair covered half the side of her face, which was meant to show off, and she looked lifeless as her heart pumped ever so peacefully. Just then, the startling outburst from her alarm clock beside her bed on the bedside table intruded. She didn’t jump up, nor did she proceed to stretch her hand to stop the alarm from ringing. Rather, she just murmured a tired, undisturbed sound into her pillow.

“Ugh!,” She hissed, blew her thick hair out of her face, and used her fingers to complete the work.

6:00 a.m.

She gymed. That was her major reason for waking up at 6am. She did her stretching exercises and went on to attend to her punching bag for 20 minutes every day. Now, when she was done, she brushed her teeth, took her bath, and headed to her kitchen to make toast. She never rushed to work.

She worked at Avalon’s Daily. She was a photographer and a top journalist there. She wasn’t much liked, but she was tolerated because she delivered best and her boss, Franklin, adored her. But that was only because he found her attractive and had been wanting to sleep with her since the day she came in 4 years ago as a fresh graduate from university with a very appreciative curriculum vitae. She moved up fast in the chain.

The house was so quiet, save for the ticks from the working toaster and the coffee-making machine. She proceeded to turn on the TV and listen with half-devoted attention to the news that volumed out.

In the next 6 to 7 minutes, her breakfast was ready, and she served it in the sitting room, in front of the TV, and, just as she found comfort in the food she was eating, the news began to capture her interest.

7 a.m news.

"It was a horrible incident that happened at the BrewClub Bar on 22nd Street in Baldway. All the witnesses present, who happened to be intoxicated at the time, did not seem to understand or comprehend the incident that had occurred. This has led the police to literally no progress in developing a case scenario worth explanation and investigation. As a result of this, the public is still in panic, and there is a great deal of fervent unrest at present.”

Just then, her phone, beside her on the chair, rang out. She looked at it before picking it up. It was Jason. Jason Webber.

“Hey –"

“Zora, are you watching the news?”

“Yes, nothing as captivating as usual. Why?"

“You should rush down to my location, A-S-A-P, Zora. As in, now!”

“What? I just sat down for breakfast, J. This had better be good Intel.”

“Trust me. I’m sending you the pin now. Use your car. No time for taxis.”

Jason never bluffed. It was thanks to him that she’s at the top of her job right now. He never failed her. He never failed to deliver. She loved him for that. Fiendishly.

Zora threw in some chunks of toast and hurried off to get dressed.