I can hear the music coming from the other room as I feel the warm humidity of the city in the summer. The party is raging and people are dancing. Out on the fire escape I pass my cigarette to my friend, exhaling the smoke. I lean on the railing, tilting my head back with my eyes closed, and take a deep breath. My friend passes back over the cigarette and I open my eyes to take another drag. It burns a bit, but in the good way, in a way that makes you feel alive. The music is almost muffled, a background to the city traffic, the horns and chatter floating up to me. I tap the ash off the end of the cigarette. “Hey Cam, you ever wanna just…get away?” She looks out on the city. “Yeah. I mean, it’d be nice to see the stars for once.” I nod, making a noise of agreement. She reaches over and takes the cigarette from in between my fingers, bringing it up to her lips, but pausing. “Y’know…we could just…go.” ”Where?” “Away. Somewhere. Anywhere.” We sit in silence for a minute, the idea resting between us. ”I’ve always wanted to go to Nebraska,” I say. ”What’s in Nebraska?” ”Nothing.” She takes a drag from the cigarette and passes it back to me. I breathe in and exhale. ”And you can see the stars,” I add. She tilts her head back, sighing. ”The stars.” She says it like a statement, a finality. I stub out the cigarette and stand up straighter, turning around to lean my back against the railing. Cam turns her head to me. ”Tomorrow,” I say. ”Yeah?” ”Yeah.” I slide down against the railing, my back to the street. Cam joins me. We just sit, listening to the traffic and the music. The party’s dying down, people are starting to go home. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The smell of smoke is still lingering in the air. ”Hey! Party’s closing down guys! Y’all gotta go!” I hear people whining but dutifully start filing out. I open my eyes. I haul myself up by the railing, the metal cold, even in the middle of summer. Cam’s already standing and climbing back through the window. I follow, squeezing through and shutting it behind me. The room smells like alcohol and sweat, practically empty now. We walk across the apartment, stepping over the empty cups and wrappers. We take the elevator down in silence. Through the lobby, onto the street, and a cab later we’re home. I put the key in the lock, my hand resting on the handle. ”We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” ”…I think we have to.” I nod, and finally, turn the doorknob. The door creaks when it opens. We walk in. We take turns showering, scrubbing the smell of cigarettes off our skin. It was humid outside, so the water, as warm as it is, feels nice against my back. I step out, wrapping the towel around me, staring at my face in the mirror. We start packing, taking our clothing, a few sentimental things, and whatever cash we have. We each have a backpack and a carry-on suitcase. I shut the lights and both of us crawl into out beds. It’s dark and I’m staring at the ceiling. ”Cam?” ”Yeah?” ”Do you think the stars know how loved they are?” ”…I don’t know. I hope so.”

Yells echo all around me. Swords clash in the air, the clang ringing through the ravine. The armor I wear weight heavily on my shoulders, pulling them down. Men charge at each other not noticing me, not worrying about a little girl. They don’t realize I’m the one they all hear tales about, the knight who swoops in on a steed ending the battle before they even notice me. If they knew they would attack me, so I let them think the queen was desperate for more people and just sent a poor girl out with no experience. The knights with me know what I’m capable of. They keep the men distracted so I can strike when the time is right. So I can end this battle and protect our land, our duty to our queen. The men fighting us are just following orders from a bitter king, who got rejected by our queen years ago before either held power. He waited until he had the manpower to strike and could use the excuse of conquering new lands to destroy her kingdom. He is an evil little man, and if we ever make it into their castle the queen has given me a strict order of bringing back his head for her to display. To show anyone else that wants to attack us what we can do.

Rain pattered on the concrete. Shoes pounded on the sidewalk splattering water on the purely white sneakers. Wailing behind were the terrible cry of the alarms from the police station down the block. Voices yelled off in the distance yelling for her to turn around. Anna tightened the strings of her hood, pulled her hair further under her boyfriend's jacket, and rushed into an alley. Tears streaked down her cheek along with smeared mascara and along a heart of frustration. She choked up tears and whirled around the next bend. A gentleman in a top hat heading out of a restaurant bumped into her on his way to his car. "My sincerest apologizes, my dear," the gentleman helped her to her feet and picked on a glimmering gold necklace that fell out of her pocket, "That is a beautiful piece of jewelry probably want to keep it in a safe place." Anna ripped it out of his hands and shoved it in her pocket. She hurried down the street, slipping into another alley as a police car rolled by. Leaving the alley, Anna headed into the neighborhood behind the shops and restaurants on Main Street. Her boyfriend's sweatshirt was soaked by the time she reached his door. She pounded on his front door. Miraculously, Jacob was the one to open it. Anna dashed inside and closed the door behind her, placing her back against the door. He looked up at her stunned and concerned and raised an eyebrow as he noticed she wore his sweatshirt. "How did you..." "I know you're innocent, but, if you don't leave with me right now, you will be arrested!" "Arrested? What for?!" "Questions later. Let's go!" Anna dragged him out the door and lead him toward the woods. Until they could prove his innocence, they were now fugitives.

What have you done. Seyi, my older sister’s words echo in me. I don’t have to look at her face to know the horror that lies on it. As the blood drips from the tip of the knife, landing on its victim, my father. So much happened in a flash. Just a minute ago, I was lying on my bed, clapping my hands to chase the mosquitos away while my youngest sister, Ife played with her wooden toys. It was.. is a sunny day. The heat cleared off the rain from last night’s heavy pour. Drying off the clothes on the clothes line that I forgot to take down. Then my father bursted through the house, demanding for my little sister. I couldn’t let him take her. I couldn’t.

‘Tola, what have you done?’ She repeats, her voice slow and motherly. Even though she is only five years my senior, she has been more of a mother and father than my little sister and I have ever had. Her golden blonde hair packed in Afro puffs while her hazel eyes stare in shock. None of us were a fan of our father. He accused my mother of sleeping with an oyinbo man just because of my older sister’s fair skin and eyes, ignoring their obvious similar features. He was a distant father even if he was always around. After losing his job, all he did was drink and drink until he was unconscious and we had to clean up the mess. I didn’t care for him. I lost all respect for him as soon as I turned 9, that was a long time ago. Seyi had, way before I could remember. Only Ife loved at him with all admirable adoration that an 8 years old girl would for her father. That’s why it hurts my heart that he is..was capable of marrying her off to some old disgusting man. ‘We have no one and it is left for us to look after each other,’ Seyi’s words rang in my ear when my father dragged my tiny hands like she was his mate out of the house. All I remember after that was red, a knife and the back of my father’s frame.

‘To..la,’ Ife’s stammering brings me out of my reverie. She is all curled up with some of the blood splattered on her already dirty clothes that I have told her to stop wearing. I immediately drop the knife and hurry to her side. She draws away from me with a fear that has been reserved for the monsters under her bed and I feel my heart stink. Am I a monster? ———————————————————————

‘Hold his leg together,’ Seyi says as the two of us struggle to turn over our father. I use all the strength I can muster and we finally do. We put him in a black cloth to cover all his body and dug up a very deep grave not far from our house to put him in. Thankfully, where our house is situated, not many people walk across and the sun had gone down, leaving the moon as our only light source. My eyes find Ife who seems to be using her toys to distract herself.

‘She will get over it,’ Seyi says, ‘you did what you had to do to protect her’. She clenches her knuckles. ‘I just wish I was there instead so you didn’t have to go through that yourself.’

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ I say softly and place my hand on her shoulder, feeling her tensed body.

‘And you can’t either but we can’t stay here any more. People will ask questions,’ she drops her shovel on the buried grave.

———————————————————————

‘Where will we go?’ I whisper not wanting to wake up Ife through our paper thin walls. I stare down at the bowl of water, seeing my face covered in his blood as Seyi brings the soapy sponge over my face and whips it.

‘There is a village nearby. When we reach there, we can think of a plan,’ I know Seyi does not know what to do but she continues to be strong as she cleans me up because I couldn’t. I feel like that vulnerable little girl again who still needs her mummy.

When we are all cleaned up, we pack all that we can. Begging Ife to stop crying for the toys she will leave behind. Just us sisters, after all we are all we need.

I struck out just in time to fend out the slice meant for my eye. I pushed back against his sword. He snarled at me as he pushed harder, intending to do more than just leave me blind.

I grimaced as I put all my strength to pushing him back while swiping my leg against his. He went with a tumble, his sword clattering out of his hand. I took the opportunity to bring mine down upon his neck. His vocal chord and bone presenting a challenge for a clean cut, but his head severed bone the less. I stomped my foot down on the bastards head. I hope he rotted in hell.

I turned from his body and wiped my sword on my pants. The black hiding the large blood stains soaking the fabric. I sauntered out of the reeking alley way while seething my sword. I wanted nothing more than to get away from the bastard and the piss smell from the drunks who stumbled by.

I heard a screech as I turned the corner, one of the drunks must’ve gotten a good scare while releasing his bladder.

I slowed my pace to blend in with the crowd on the side walk, non of them paying my any mind. I adjusted my jacket and continued to walk until I reached a bar where a companion awaited for me which is the original reason I was out in the first place.

Opening the door released a cacophony of sounds. The bar full of boisterous people yelling and laughing. None paid me any mind as I walked up to the bar and sat in an empty stool. I ordered a glass of brandy and relaxed a bit, waiting.

“Well don’t you look like shit.” A man’s voice boomed as he clapped a large hand on my shoulder.

“Not very polite to say to a lady, Erickson.“ I responded with a grin.

“ A lady doesn’t butcher, but alas who am I to decide what you are.” He say in the stool beside me ordering a drink of his own.

“Well ya bastard, what’s the deal?” I turned to him and raised my glass as we drank.

“What deal?” He raised an eyebrow at me with a smirk. He downed the rest of his glass motioning for me to do the same as he stood and walked to the back wall of the bar.

Erickson wasn’t a massive man but he was quite large. Broad shoulders standing at around 6’2. He had sandy hair, green eyes, and a crooked grin that told you he was about to take you for all you own if you tried anything.

We reached a doorway in the wall covered by red draping fabric. He pushed it aside as he plowed on , intending to be in a more private place I assume.

This back area had small alcoves covered by more drapery, meant for either private business deals, or paid business with special women of the bar. Either way they wanted it kept secret.

We walked back to an alcove that was open and sat in the booth. Erickson closed the drapes and turned to me as he nestled in.

“So again what’s the deal prick?” I said with no hesitation.

“I guess we may have another job to take care of.”

“Well that’s good I could use a new dress.” I smiled as he chuckled, knowing damn well I had no dresses and probably never would want one.

“It needs to be done by end of week. Here’s half the payment upfront as per usual, and you’ll receive the rest at your residence when the job is proven to be done.” He slid an envelope to me, I quickly slipped it into my pockets.

“Not even going to question who it’ll be before agreeing?” He raised a brow. The dim lights of the alcove casting a dramatic effect to his face.

“It doesn’t change anything, I frankly don’t care but pray tell, who might this target be?”

“We’ll sweetheart, it’s you’re lovely sister.” He grinned widely, a new spark taking place in his eye.

“Consider it done.” I stood emotionless and walked out of the alcove leaving Erickson sitting by himself. He thought he’d get a reaction but he’d be left sorely disappointed because I didn’t give a fuck who the target was as long as I was paid accordingly. Considering she was in charge of the damned district, she would be worth a pretty penny and that’s what mattered.

“In medias… Reserved it for—What? The plural of what? What did I say… Oh, is it just ‘media.’ Fine, pedant… Anyway, I locked us in for… yeah, for the blitz. Yeah. With the me-dee-uh. All the medias,” she said, putting a wink in her voice. “I’m messing with you. Anyway, get back to work… yeah, later.”

She hung up, slipping her phone into her jacket pocket as she walked toward the reception desk. “Hi, I’m Jessica Dran. I have conference room 2C reserved for one o’clock.”

The receptionist looked at his computer, the spring-loaded metal of his keyboard another sign to outsiders that District Seven was high-end flex space. “Ah, yes. Have you worked out of our offices before?”

“I have.”

“Very well. Here is your room key and your badge. My name is Santangelo. Please do not hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or if there is anything we can do for you.”

“Did the display units get brought to the room?”

Here he made a downward wave gesture to scroll his screen until, “Yes. I show that our setup team placed three V-760s just outside the room for you. They’re mobile and quite light, so you should have no trouble arranging them as makes sense to your presentation, but if you so wish, I can send Brianna up to handle it for you.”

“No need.”

Jessica took the elevator up to the second floor, feeling a bit silly not taking the stairs up one flight, but nerves triggered her sweat glands enough as it was. She placed the display units around the medium-sized conference room, then again, then once more, trying to find just the right angle for the half-dozen visitors she was going to try to impress.

Relax, she told herself. You have to be chill. She tried to ignore the voices, the ones in the back of her mind telling her that her idea was stupid. That it was basically 2048’s version of what used to be called a Time Share. That she was nothing more than a, what did her grandfather used to say, ‘snack-oil salesman?’ No, that can’t be right. But was she, though? That was the question she feared the most. Having to really get people to understand it. ‘What is it you’re actually proposing?’ ‘Well, let me tell you…’ she said to the air.

It all made sense to her, on paper. The Martian settlements were two decades behind. That was just a fact. Everyone knew the reasons were myriad and the blame malleable, depending on the audience, but it was true nonetheless. That was the beauty of it, though. She didn’t care about Mars. She wasn’t selling Mars at all.

She was selling Mercury.

“You’re nuts!” She’d heard it a million times. Everyone at Stanford said it. Maybe not in those exact words—sometimes it was an even more insulting “Interesting take on how to start and end your career at the same time” or the condescending “Hmm, novel approach”—but they all meant the same thing. Through all of the jokes and side-glances and whispered conversations she remained steadfast in her calculations, in her theory. They were right, it was a novel approach. It was also the right one.

She took out her phone-top computer and connected to the display units. Another benefit of paying the extra for District Seven was the BT-4.2 seamless connectivity. Her presentation popped up on all three units, complete with the pleasant hum of her lo-fi hip hop ‘waiting room’ music.

She checked her watch implant. A little under forty minutes left. She had time to dry-run one more time.

After pantomiming some small talk-infused intros, she waved her hand at the front-facing camera on her mobile and the first slide appeared on the monitors.

“Mercury Rising isn’t just a figurative revolution, but a literal one. And it is the secret not only to getting back on track colonizing Mars, but any planet we desire as Mercury revolves around the sun.”

She waited a practiced amount of time, anticipating some amount of verbalized dismissal from the jump. No problem, she’d bring them right back into the fold. “I can sense some doubt,” she said, adding a real-as-I-can-make-it laugh. “Well, let me ask you this: What is the closest planet to earth?”

She would wait. Let them get it wrong with their Venus and Mars answers before waving her hand again to bring up the next slide. This one showed the earth until she gestured with her hands to pull back to a solar scale. The screen came alive with the various planets flying around the sun in their respective orbits. (She was proud of her subtle use of whooshing sounds to give the years-long journeys a sense of urgency.)

“What do you notice?” She waited. Waited.

“Look… here.” She gestured and the slide focused on one orbital pathway: Mercury. “Now… what do you see?” With that, all of the planet’s flew along different colored elliptical paths that cross-crossed each other at various points.

Here she would watch each of them as the realization took over: Mercury’s orbit did in fact not only take it closer to earth than any other planet, but closer to every planet! She smiled, anticipating the reactions, the jaws dropping, the follow-up questions. She answered them out loud for practice, trying to make it seem as though the question had never occurred to her, but still she had the answer.

“That’s just it, we have to rethink everything.”

“Great question. This is over ten solar cycles.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m getting at. We create a sort of galactic Bullet Train that can carry us toward each planet in the solar system, pulling the station right along with it. It’s free to us; Gravity does the energy-heavy lifting. We simply have to invest in creating a quasi-sustainable, in-orbit station that we refuel and replenish each pass. Other than that, we let it ride. Think about it. We create a super-station that has manufacturing capabilities, that can mine the surface for the Mercuronium-3–providing enough energy for millions of years of space travel. Funded by tourism. And that’s what you’re investing in. Who wouldn’t want to work, to raise their families, to write their great novels or complete their astrophysics PhD work while getting a guided tour of our solar system?”

Here, she paused. She’d dropped a lot of information in a small amount of time. She’d need to let them process it.

She allowed herself a smile. She was prepared. Ten minutes left until the investors showed up.

It was no time share. No ‘space real estate scheme.’ While it was true that investors would have to pay astronomical fees, and while it was true that none of them would own the station but would own rights to sell stays at the station for a time, it was science, not charlatanry. She had a noble purpose. They’d see that. They’d believe.

She put out the complimentary snacks and gave herself a once over using her mobile camera.

She forced her failures out of her mind: Moon Rafting Unlimited; Hilton Orbital; StarCruise. Things just didn’t work out with each of those, but no worries. They were good ideas, she said to herself in a hushed voice, nervously adjusting her glasses, smoothing down her hair.

She heard the elevator ding in the distance. Maltine was bringing the clients down the hall toward the conference room, doing his best to chat them up, get them in a good mood.

She forced a smile.

“Show time.”

My ears are ringing. My skin feels like it’s on fire and I can’t open my eyes. ‘What’s happening…’ I think, vaguely aware of the pulsing of my heart. Suddenly my ears pop and I can hear it. The screaming. My eyes shoot open and all I can do is gasp as I try and breathe in the thick, burning air. I only see white, and for a second I think I’m dead. Then I blink, and my vision returns. I shove myself up, my side searing with pain, and stumble around, coughing and trying to find something to brace myself on. I find a crumbling pillar in a mess of flames and rubble and clutch it tightly, my hand immediately going to my abdomen where the pain is most present. I feel something warm and sticky, and my hand comes away red with blood. ‘shit shit shit this isn’t good’ I press my hand tightly against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. ‘Okay. Breathe,’ I inhale a shuddering breath, my side prickling in pain as I do so, ‘good. Now we need to find an exit, preferably before the fumes or blood loss get to us.’ I brace my back against the pillar and look around. I see the smoke drifting to the right of me. ‘oh thank the gods’ I think as I immediately push off and struggle in the direction the air was blowing. ‘Finally,’ I think, sunshine blinding my eyes and a cool breeze on my face, reveling in my survival, before everything goes black and I hit the ground.

In the midst of this army, Kenion had never felt so alone. The companions he’d met over the last few months of summer he knew were fleeting. As fall came to a close, this company would scatter like the leaves. Kenion had to stop the analogy there, the leaves were dead and their death was never lamented. He expected nothing different for himself. The dying embers of the campfire popped and he became aware of the chill of the predawn hours in the woods. Erol shifted across the fire from him. The movement of The man’s massive frame roused Kenion from his singular focus on his dark thoughts. One more turn at watch. Just make it through this one and he was free again. Maybe one more. But he couldn’t think of that now. One step at a time. He rose with Erol as well one and they wordlessly donned their swords and checked their muskets. The firelight was unnecessary as they prepared for the watch as their inexperienced hands had become mechanical in the endless practice of this campaign. Outside the camp, the forest made Kenion strangely comfortable. Frost covered the fallen leaves giving each step they took in the forest a dull crunch. Each breath forming a pale cloud like an offering to the moonlight. His offerings failed. When they reached the lookout hide site, it was deserted. The store of powder meant to be lit as a warning to the camp had been dumped. Discharging his weapon would only sound like a hunter found his prey. Erol frowned but said nothing. Each man knew what needed to be done; the captain must be warned. Either a raiding party was lose in their lines or the others had deserted. Either way, there was nothing two men could do in the dark. Kenion’s heart began to pound, no one deserted this close to the end. Exiting the hide point the wind had picked up. A few half-frozen leaves rustled and the bare branches began to wave as if the trees were fidgeting like children. After a few steps, the gust picked up and the trees became children waving to get attention of a playmate. It became disorienting. This wasn’t natural. The answer was all too apparent, someone wanted to disguise their approach through the dry leaves. Erol’s rough hands pushed Kenion to the ground as blade whirred above his head and the wind went still. Erol’s first shot popped, shattering the silence and burying the ball in an attacker’s skull. There was no telling how many more were in the woods.

Gemma shivered. Violently she threw her body side to side. Her fingers splayed across the stone hearth and she collapsed in a tangled heap on the black walnut floor. Gemma peeked at her client, Mr. Gibbs, through her eyelashes. Mr. Gibbs was slumped in his armchair, hands covering her face. His lanky frame shook with emotion. Gemma triumphed. She had slid from multilevel marketing to lonely hearts scams to conning gift cards out of grannies but online séances was the perfect grift. A few hours of googling, some moans and groans, and hocus pocus Jemma was two hundred and fifty bucks richer. But Mr. Gibbs was the real deal. IT millionaire, eccentric recluse whose only daughter died at sea, Mr. Gibbs was a plum ready to be plucked. This was her first time visiting a client on site, her entry to the big time. Gemma pretended to regain consciousness. “I feel Tess in this house. Places are like thumb drives except they can hold feelings and memories, even entire personalities. Tess is here and she wants to talk to you. This home is filled with her love for you,” Gemma said. She went to Mr. Gibbs and rested her hand on his heaving shoulder.

Mr. Gibbs looked up at her. Mr. Gibbs had not been crying. In that moment she knew there had been no love in this house, she knew there was no daughter, she knew this wasn’t Mr. Gibbs Gemma knew everything.

I don’t register the fist flooding my vision until it is too late.

The fatal hit is groundbreaking, rendering my vision a pixilated canvas of white.

At first the pain doesn’t even register, all I can focus on is recovering from the force of the knuckles kneading into my jaw.

When the pain does finally set in (and trust me, it comes like a full speed truck), I clutch my face and stumble back a few paces.

The pain is agonizing and throbbing, a pulsating burn that stretches across my jaw and throughout my entire face.

I narrow my gaze at the perpetrator, though my eyes are likely watery and don’t hold the intended malice I try to infuse them with.

I want to respond with something bold and threatening, something to scare the idiot. But all I can muster are half hearted words.

“I fink yew bwok my jwaw”, I slur, feeling around the tender bones for any abnormalities.

The bodyguard before me crosses his arms and has the nerve to behold me with a look of irritation.

“I told you to get off the property or else you would regret it”, he says cooly. His fist, the one I imagined to be gnarled and bruised and covered with blood appears perfectly fine, as though it were a fist use to punching people.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go; good day, sir”, I murmur, turning away.

I make it two feet before at the last minute, I spin on my heels and dash towards the bodyguard. I aim for the already half opened gate, hoping to squeeze myself onto the property and to the front door. My feet slap against the ground, the brand new the Italian dress shoes kicking up gravel and dust as I move.

I’m fast, stealthy and agile as a panther, and manage to make it through. Somehow, the bodyguard has moved from his post just enough that I am able to bypass him without confrontation.

I make a speedy beeline to the front door, the mahogany double set doors a beacon in my vision.

I am so close, my feet almost to the steps, when I am tackled from behind.

I hit the grassy lawn hard, my lungs deflating from lack of air immediately upon impact.

The pain in my jaw is no longer as sharp as it was before, but only because my entire body now aches from being thrown to the ground with such force.

“Get….off….you’ll get…. grass stains on my Versace…”, I wheeze, attempting to worm my way out from under the weight of the giant.

When I turn to look over my shoulder, I see the sculpted bald top of a pink skinned head, followed by two icy eyes filled with rage.

“ARE YOU STUPID?!”, the bodyguard huffs, his face an impressive mask of anger and disbelief.

I want to respond, and this time the retort is already poised on my tongue, when someone above us clears their voice.

I turn to look in front of me and meet with a pair of beautiful leather shoes.

They are a horsebit loafer with shiny silver hard-wear and a two toned white and navy colorway. The shoes are in prestine condition, not a single scuff or scratch marring their surface. If I had to put money on it, I would say they were Gucci perhaps? But maybe a more modern retake of a vintage-

“What are you doing on my property?”, an authoritative voice bellows.

With considerable effort I peel my eyes away from the shoes and follow the length of the person in front of me.

My eyes find a wrinkled face with a mop of neatly combed salt and pepper hair. Judging by his face, the man seems to be in a terrible mood- and judging by the price tag of his outfit, he’s exactly the man I was looking for.

“Mr Chuck Calloway? Owner of the multimillion dollar Enterprise Calloway Trust?”, I ask, trying to gather enough air in my lungs to speak.

“I’m Vinnie Lombardi and I’m just hear to ask you a few questions-“

The rest of my perfectly crafted introduction is interrupted by the heavy oft on my back.

“Sir, he’s one of ‘em reporters I caught loitering around the premise. He er… managed to slip past the gate and get in somehow”, the bodyguard recites, making sure to not implement himself too much for his poor guarding skills.

With much effort, I manage to shimmy out from under him and get to my feet. I pay myself down, straightening my suit and dusting it off.

With a sigh, after a few useless minutes I finally decide to cease my attempts at saving it. The three piece suit would likely spend a few days at the dry cleaners to get it even close to it’s on the rack condition.

I clear my throat and begin again.

“Actually, my name is Vinnie Lombardi and I’m a private investigator, not a reporter”, I say hotly, shooting a gaze down to the bodyguard still sprawled on the ground.

“I just have a few questions regarding the sudden death of the Vice President of your company”, I start, but Mr Calloway is already waving his hand dismissively.

“No questions. My lawyer isn’t present”, he says, moving to walk past me.

Before he can leave I make the bold choice to grab him by the sleeve.

Mr Calloway has barely turn around to appraise me when I once again feel myself careening off the ground and straight to the ground. My body aches as soon as it thuds on the trimmed grass, throbbing like a canvas riddled with bruises. I groan in pain.

“W-why”, I wheeze, squeezing my eyes shut to ward off the pain. I must’ve broken a bone now- maybe even a few.

“No touching Mr Calloway”, the bodyguard says, his voice a blaring megaphone in my ear.

I’m about to respond, my third chance for the perfect retort hovering in the air before me.

But my vision goes blurry and spotty and a sudden lightness fills my head.

Before I can part my lips to speak, the world turns an inky black and I sink into the perfectly manicured lawn