Chris was silent for the first 5 seconds after Zora’s Venza kicked into the driveway.

“So, what do you think? “

Zora sighed. “About what?” She pretended.

“Oh, come on....”

“We’re not friends, Chris. You’ve always made that clear. We’re competitors.”

“I know, but I think we should work together on this.”

“I can’t trust you. You’re sly as a golden fox.”

“I’m not sly, Zora. I just think we should work together. We are the best in AD at what we do and you know it. This just looks to me more than meets the eye, and I will actually appreciate assistance. If you don’t want to, that’s fine!”

“I'm glad that you actually admit that I'm better than you, even though it's indirect. But do mind your temper, Chris, you’re in my car.”

“I never admitted such. And don’t worry. I’m not going to break your bones to pieces like whatever evil did that to those people.” Said he, as his bold, hoarse voice that was lively minutes ago, seemed to suddenly dim.

“Very funny, Chris....wait....” Zora suddenly stopped, thinking. “Do you know—”

“—what? Any of the victims? No. But I’ve seen something like this before.” Chris breathed out heavily as he said it, like it was difficult to say. He put his left hand up to his heart as he looked away. He was hurting.

“What does that mean?”

“Look, we have our differences and I know that. But I would appreciate it if we both worked together on this. I don’t want anybody trying to outsmart anyone or pull funny sh*t. I just want to know that you're in with me at this first. Don’t slow down.”

Zora didn’t even know what to do. She obeyed and increased speed.

“Alright, we’ll work together,” she nodded.

Zora turned to look at him before quickly turning back to the road. He nodded his head, sniffing a little.

“Who would do that? Who would do this...”

“We’re going to find out, and we will bury him. Trust me.”

AT AVALON'S DAILY NEWSPAPERS & PRODUCTIONS

Franklin Jester was the editor-in-chief of the Avalon’s Daily. He was not good-looking. He was bald, only 5 feet tall, and his outstanding pot-belly made sure to protrude out of everything he wore.

“You better have a good explanation for this, Miss Beaumont.” His voice was not hoarse or thick or scary. It commanded nothing. Rather, he only sounded lousy. It was nothing special. “It’s not like you to be late. I’d rather say that it’s Mr. Newton over here. “

“Ugh.” He groaned. It seems Franklin was not aware of his loss.

“Apologies, Mr. Jester—"

“Franklin! I’ve said that 100 times in this damn office!” He flared lousily.

“Apologies, Mr. Franklin. When I saw the news this morning, I had to rush down to the crime scene to search for any leads or news that could help…”

“Yes, about that, Chris?”

“Yes...” Chris proceeded to open up his laptop bag and took out some large unframed photographs and dumped them on the table. Franklin took them.

“Jesus Christ.” He squinted his eyes. “This is explicit freaking content, Chris. Who’s your source?” Franklin asked, looking all smirk-ish, and Chris and Zora both looked at him with raised eyebrows. He shrugged. "Don’t mind my fooling around."

Zora took the pictures and looked at them. “Whoa....these are the real thing. Your source is a good source, Chris.” Zora commended.

“This pile of Ash was once a person? How much could someone have been ablaze? And no one saw anything?”

“Pfff.” Franklin scoffed. “That’s rubbish. Now, we just have to find the truth that they’re hiding from the public because the lie they are telling does not even make any sense. It can not hold the public.”

“And it gives us the advantage," Chris said.

“But time is very limited. This is a tough nut to crack,” Zora said.

“That’s why you two are on it. Together, separately, however you wish, I don’t care. Just make sure to bring in results before 48 hours run out.” Franklin said. “The bosses above are on my neck as well.”

Franklin expected an argument, a protest from either party. But none contested. Strange.

“Yes, Mr. Franklin." They both said and proceeded out.

As they walked out of Franklin’s office, Chris and Zora began dashing out orders to the workers around while walking their way towards their offices, which were side by side with each other.

“What about us? What are we going to do?” Chris asked once he was in front of his office.

“I don’t know yet. But right now, I guess we just have to wait for our sources.”

“Right.” Chris sighed. “This is hard.”

“It’ll be alright," Zora patted him on the shoulder twice and walked slowly into her office.

Meanwhile, before today’s incident, Zora had been writing her special edition of “Billionaire’s Journals” which she dropped every middle of the year. It was one of her personal write-ups, permitted by the Avalon’s Daily, which she did for the newspaper. She was actually famous for this, and the Billionaire’s Journals was one of the hard to deny reasons why Avalon’s Daily was rushed to the beginning of June. Everyone wants to know a billionaire’s secret. This month of June, however, the striking billionaire and company, which she statistically calculated according to numbers in favor of such a company, was Darcel Adham Abbadon of Black Gold Industries, which specialized in oil and gas manufacturing, and mineral mining, especially gold and art collection. He was 27 years old and perhaps the reason why he got more attention than others. He was the youngest C. E. O in Avalon City so far. The Billionaire’s Journals was initially intended to be a show, and Zora still had a place for such, but Avalon’s Daily was not ready yet. The Journal was basically a dialogue which took place in an interview of the highest ranking person or officer of a such-named company.

This C. E. O however, Adham Abbadon, had recently been giving her a hard time because he was never, ever available. She had dropped by the company many a time, booked appointments, made calls. But he never seemed to be available to her. And she was no cry baby. Neither was she one to beg at the feet of a needlessly proud and insensitive piece of rich scum.

'Ah yes, a wealthy snob.' She thought. Thinking about it made her flare up. She sighed out. She had a lot on her plate, and it wouldn’t be long, surely. Before Mr. Franklin rains thunder and whatnot upon her when he finds out that Billionaire’s Journals edit for the year is not even close to ready.

Lifting the landline beside her left hand, she dialed the receptionist at Black Gold Industries once again.