Chapter 3: Unfortunate
The grandeur of Prestige High unfolded as Ethan found himself before the imposing wooden door marked 'AV room.' There, he stood for a moment, hesitating as the weight of anticipation hung in the air.
Intrigued, Ethan entered the room, the threshold to a world teeming with the pulse of student journalism. A near miss with a student journalist carrying a trove of old news articles marked his initial steps, setting the stage for what lay ahead. Apologies exchanged, the bustling room revealed the orchestration of young minds, each diligently working at their stations—harvesting the latest feed, extracting the unusable, and breathing life into The Prestige Today.
Amid the hum of activity, Jenna's voice sliced through the ambient noise, beckoning Ethan to her. With purpose, he navigated through the maze of students, finally reaching Jenna and another girl at the far end of the room.
"Over here, Ethan!" Jenna called out, drawing him into a new chapter. Following Jenna's lead, he entered another room adjacent to the editorial section. The other girl, mysterious and composed, gestured for Ethan to join. They settled into plush armchairs, facing Jenna, who lounged comfortably behind a mahogany desk.
Ethan couldn't help but steal a glance at the girl beside him. Her firm posture, straight face, and emerald eyes locked onto Jenna painted a portrait of solemnity. With a bob-cut framing her deadpan expression and a neatly pressed uniform, she exuded an air of gravity that left a lasting impression on Ethan.
Jenna, legs crossed and seated in an inviting armchair, signaled the beginning of a conversation that promised to unravel the mysteries concealed within the walls of Prestige High.
Jenna extended her gratitude to the two individuals who had graced the meeting with their presence.
"As you may already know, I'm Jenna Greenwood," she began, a momentary pause hanging in the air. Her gaze shifted between the two, and then, as if struck by a sudden realization, she continued, "Oh my, how forgetful I can be. Ethan, meet Amelia Mason, our esteemed head journalist." A simple, firm nod from Amelia greeted Ethan, who responded with an awkward wave.
Jenna, the Editor-in-Chief of the Journalism Club, proceeded to introduce Ethan as the second-highest scoring student in the school. Amelia acknowledged this fact with a nonchalant "As so I've heard," causing a slight shock to ripple through Ethan, who hadn't heard her speak since his arrival.
"He's going to be assisting us with our project," Jenna declared, placing a subtle emphasis on the word 'project' that raised suspicion in Ethan's mind. Glancing around the room, he searched for a potential escape route.
Jenna, noting his unease, assured him, "Relax, it's nothing that involves physical harm. All we need is information."
Ethan, puzzled, questioned, "What information?"
Amelia, with a calm demeanor, replied, "The president."
Ethan, taken aback, clarified, "Wait… You mean Lisa?"
Amelia affirmed, "Correct."
Ethan's uncertainty hung in the air as he voiced his doubt, "But I don't even know her that much."
Jenna, with an air of assurance, countered, "Of course you do." A mischievous grin played on her lips as she reached for her desk drawer, extracting a folder adorned with various descriptions on paper. Among them, a picture showcased three jubilant students, arms interlocked, standing proudly in front of their school. As Ethan scrutinized the photograph, a somber shadow darkened his features.
Amelia, breaking the tense silence, identified the individuals, "Lisa Smith, Gabriel Wilson, and Ethan Drake. All in their first year of high school, likely around the age of 16." Ethan, his curiosity piqued, demanded, "Where did you get this?"
Jenna's response was veiled in mystery, "I'm sorry. That I cannot say." Ethan's frustration boiled over, prompting him to abruptly stand, slamming his hands onto the table, "I said, where did you get this!?"
The room transformed into a battleground of intense stares as Jenna defiantly met Ethan's glare, declaring, "We have our sources, and I honestly don't care about what form of conflict is going on between you two, but you have to lay it down!"
In the midst of this brewing confrontation, Amelia intervened diplomatically, "I believe we can come to an agreement without anyone shouting at each other." Ethan scowled at her briefly before reluctantly retaking his seat, "You have five minutes."
Jenna, undeterred, smirked and placed another folder on the desk. "As we both know, New York City is currently being terrorized by a so-called enemy of the economy. An assumed theory is that he's an assassin, and some think he's a serial killer," she began.
Amelia filled in the gaps, "'The Reaper'." Jenna continued, "But why is it that he only attacks important people, individuals of high status, and those who have power over the city?"
Ethan, recalling the police's official stance, retorted, "The police said he just has beef with the economy. There are no leads to a third party."
Jenna, however, had a different perspective. She opened the folder, revealing a picture of Lisa's father, Ronald Smith, the CEO of Tidal Enterprise. As realization dawned on Ethan, Jenna posed a thought-provoking question, "You don't think that…"
"The mask behind 'The Reaper' is Mr. Smith," Jenna concluded. "Think about it, what is the one thing that Mr. Smith doesn't have?"
Amelia added, "More power." The revelation hung in the air, casting a shadow over the room as the pieces of a complex puzzle fell into place.
Jenna's words hung in the air, creating an atmosphere of suspense. "Exactly. And normally that power comes with patience, but when you add a catalyst like 'The Reaper,' things are sure to go faster." Ethan, captivated by the topic, leaned in, eager for more.
"But why go for the lower positions? Why not just go straight for the top?" Ethan questioned, his curiosity pushing him to probe deeper into the mysterious motives.
Jenna, with a simplicity that carried weight, explained, "Simple. So when he achieves his master plan, no one can question it." Amelia chimed in, "We assume that the assassin hides in plain sight amongst the family. So we need you to get closer to Lisa to investigate their movements."
As Amelia slid the folder back and pushed the picture toward Ethan, she fixed her gaze on him, awaiting a response. Ethan, feeling the gravity of the situation, rose from his seat, pocketing the photo in his right blazer pocket. "It seems both of you have completely wasted my time, and I would like to say that I am very uninterested in this."
Jenna, undeterred, pointed out, "You didn't sound like it." As Ethan made his way to the door, frustration evident, he declared, "If you really are all mad and want to do this case, why not just do it yourself? This little escapade of yours can get someone really hurt. What if this so-called assassin is actually living amongst the Smith family? That's really dangerous. I'm out."
The door slammed shut behind him as he left, leaving Jenna and Amelia in a momentary state of confusion. Amelia, perplexed, questioned, "What do we do now?"
Jenna, wearing a confident expression, simply replied, "Wait."
Amelia, incredulous, sought clarification, "Wait? What for?"
"He'll come back. I assure you," Jenna affirmed, her conviction unwavering. As the echoes of Ethan's departure lingered, the room settled into an anticipatory stillness, each passing moment heightening the suspense of the unfolding drama.
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The grandeur of Gustavo Manor in the countryside provided a luxurious backdrop as Dan, strolled into his opulent lounge. Three imposing bodyguards stood at attention, a silent testament to the importance of the man they protected. As Dan settled into a plush couch, one of his guards promptly poured him a glass of champagne.
Before Dan could savor the effervescence, an attendant entered the room with an air of urgency. "Sir. He's here." The words hung in the air for a moment before a figure clad in an all-black suit walked in, taking a seat on the opposite sofa. The face hidden behind a black mask adorned with a deep gray skeleton design, shrouding his identity.
"You're here," Dan remarked, dismissing the attendant and instructing his bodyguards to withdraw, leaving only the two of them in the room.
Ignoring the implied question in The Reaper's presence, Dan engaged in casual conversation, "So, how are you doing these days?"
The Reaper, concealed behind the enigmatic mask, responded bluntly, "You called me."
Undeterred, Dan delved into their shared history, "You know it's been a while since I last asked you to do something."
The Reaper offered no acknowledgment. Dan, leaning back, sighed and admitted, "I guess you don't ever give up, do you? Fine, you win."
But the mood shifted as Dan's tone turned firm, shedding the previous laxity. "DiCaprio Pastel, that's the man I want dead." The command hung in the air, the gravity of the words underscoring the dangerous alliance between the shadowy figure and the man who dared to summon 'The Reaper.'
The man in black, a specter of mystery, shifted in his seat, tilting his head slightly and nonchalantly uncrossing his legs. Dan, the frustrated orchestrator of this clandestine meeting, began detailing the source of his irritation.
"Him and the 'Palettes' as they call themselves have been messing up with my trading network," Dan fumed. "Not to mention he has connections with the underground gambling system because of him and his well-known casino." The last words were laced with a mocking tone, an attempt to mirror the object of his disdain.
The Reaper, a stoic figure in his enigmatic mask, stared at the irate man, unmoved by the display of frustration. Finally breaking the silence, he inquired, "And how does this involve... it."
Dan leaned forward, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Ah yes. All will be done and said in the folder I have sent to your private mail. Please make sure to delete it from the cloud once you have fully memorized the info."
The Reaper, unyielding, pressed for more clarity. "That's not what I'm asking."
Dan, defiant, responded, "I wasn't giving an answer." The room crackled with tension as they engaged in an intense stare-down, bloodlust simmering beneath the surface like oil and water.
The Reaper, breaking the silence, issued a veiled warning, "Mr. Gustavo, I hope for you to mind what you say. I would like to avoid an unfortunate incident." With that, he stood up, a looming presence, and began to leave.
"Unfortunate?" Dan retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm surprised you know the meaning of that word." The room echoed with the lingering tension as The Reaper departed, leaving behind an atmosphere charged with the unspoken threat of impending actions.
The Reaper, his hand resting on the doorknob, paused as Dan's words lingered in the air like a heavy mist.
"Do you know how many people you have made feel… unfortunate?" Dan's voice sliced through the silence, his accusatory tone hanging in the opulent lounge. "The countless lives you have taken just by the swing of your knife. The so-called 'unfortunate' victims of the family. Let me tell you something, the word 'unfortunate' is only used by weaklings who don't understand how the world is. Nowadays, mishaps are the new normal."
A hush settled over the room, the weight of Dan's words sinking into the atmosphere. The Reaper, unfazed, continued his departure, reaching for the door. "My presence here has only been a complete waste of my own time. I came here to get answers, but all I got is a speech and more work."
He turned his head to face Dan, the mask concealing any expression. "Who are you to tell me about who I've killed? You're also a murderer." With that final retort, The Reaper left the room, the door closing behind him. The echoing footsteps carried down the hallway, where guards awaited to accompany him.
Outside the manor, The Reaper stepped into a sleek black car. As the engine roared to life, his internal monologue unfolded, unheard by those outside his solitary world.
"We all are murderers. We all have killed one thing or another. Emotions, thoughts, ambitions, desires, objectives, purposes, and everyone goes on living their normal lives like nothing ever happened." The car glided through the estate gates, leaving the opulence behind.
"So who is anyone to criticize me for killing a man or a hundred?" The Reaper mused, staring blankly out of the window as the car merged onto the road. The cityscape unfolded, and they passed a road sign that welcomed them to New York City.
"The fact that human beings live amongst each other in a world woven by whoever has a higher name or status… now that is truly unfortunate." The Reaper's gaze remained fixed on the city skyline, his thoughts hidden behind the mask that shielded his true identity. The car carried him into the heart of the metropolis, leaving Gustavo Manor and its secrets behind in the countryside.
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Later that night, in the solitude of his bedroom, Ethan found himself grappling with Jenna's offer.
"Ugh, what a joke. They'll get themselves killed," he muttered to himself, the skepticism lingering in his voice as he paced back and forth.
He finally surrendered to the exhaustion of the day, collapsing onto his bed. As he closed his eyes, a mental collage of his family and friends materialized in his thoughts. A fleeting moment of hesitation enveloped him before he reopened his eyes.
"Things will get worse, but…." Ethan mused, contemplating the precarious path ahead. The weight of the decision lingered in the air.
He rose from the bed, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "I don't want that to end," he declared, his resolve solidifying.
Standing at the window, he peered into the night, the darkness outside mirroring the uncertainty within. "But is it really worth the risk?" Ethan questioned himself, the internal struggle echoing in the stillness of the room. The city lights twinkled in the distance, offering no easy answers to the complex choices that lay ahead.
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The next morning, Ethan returned to the meeting place, the air heavy with unresolved tension. Jenna and Amelia awaited him, their expressions a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. As the door creaked open, all eyes turned to him.
Jenna raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her gaze. "Changed your mind, I see."
Ethan, his demeanor more determined, met her gaze squarely. "I didn't come back for you two. I came back because it's the right thing to do."
Amelia, sensing a shift in Ethan's disposition, spoke cautiously, "So, are you in?"
Ethan took a deep breath before responding, "I'm in, but on one condition. Full transparency. No more half-truths or hidden agendas."
Jenna, smirking, nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. You're part of the team now, Ethan."
She surged to her feet, a prideful glint in her eyes as she raised her hands in an exuberant welcome.
"Welcome to the Journalism Club, Ethan Drake!"
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Coming up next:
Chapter 4: Strategic Reunion