Reporters didn’t have the best reputation.
Ask ten people to describe a journalist, and you’d hear the same handful of words.
Pushy.
Nosy.
Relentless.
Always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.
Sometimes the criticism was deserved.
But people often overlooked something just as important.
Society needed people willing to ask uncomfortable questions.
People willing to keep digging after everyone else had stopped caring.
Because somewhere, hidden behind locked doors and forgotten warehouses, innocent people waited for someone to notice they existed.
Someone had to find them.
Tonight, that someone was Kathy.
Whether she’d survive the attempt was another matter entirely.
Three men blocked the exit.
Each one looked larger than the last.
Broad shoulders.
Thick arms.
Faces that advertised violence long before anyone spoke.
Kathy forced herself to breathe slowly.
She’d taken a women’s self-defense course in college.
She quickly evaluated the situation.
Three opponents.
One armed leader.
Two enforcers.
After several seconds of careful analysis…
She reached a professional conclusion.
I can’t beat any of them.
The man wearing the thick gold chain stepped forward.
“Who are you?” “How did you find this place?” Kathy briefly considered claiming she’d wandered in by accident.
She discarded the idea immediately.
“Well…” She gave him an awkward smile.
“I was just passing through?” “I didn’t see anything.” “How about we all pretend this never happened?” One of the gangsters pointed toward the press badge clipped to her jacket.
“Boss.” “She’s a reporter.” Kathy calmly unclipped the badge and slipped it into her pocket.
“A reporter?” She looked around innocently.
“Where?” The leader snorted.
“You think I’m stupid?” He adjusted his jacket and loomed over her.
“You’ve got a pretty face.” “What a waste.” The implication was unmistakable.
She wasn’t leaving alive.
Hell’s Kitchen produced enough bodies that one more wouldn’t make headlines.
Kathy remained surprisingly calm.
“I think there are still other options.” The gangster removed a thick cigar and tucked it into the corner of his mouth.
“Oh?” “I’m listening.” Kathy inhaled.
Her posture shifted.
Without warning…
She drove her knee upward with every ounce of strength she possessed.
The strike landed perfectly.
The gangster’s eyes bulged.
The cigar nearly fell from his mouth.
His face turned an alarming shade of purple.
Even his two subordinates instinctively winced.
There were some injuries every man understood on a deeply personal level.
Kathy didn’t wait to admire her work.
She ran.
The two thugs stood frozen for a second.
One looked at his boss.
“…Does it hurt?” The answer arrived in the form of a slap.
“CHASE HER!” The gang leader doubled over, clutching himself.
“…Move!” Only then did the two men sprint after her.
By then, Kathy already had a head start.
The warehouse doors had been left open.
She burst into the night without slowing.
Her phone was already in her hand.
“911!” “I’m being chased!” “My location is…” She never finished.
Something massive blocked her path.
She slammed into it so hard she bounced backward and hit the pavement.
Her phone skidded across the concrete.
Dazed, she looked up.
A shirtless giant stood over her.
His chest looked as though it had been carved from stone.
His expression suggested violence came naturally.
Kathy stared.
Great.
They posted a guard outside, too.
Tonight had become one long educational experience.
Unfortunately, the tuition was proving expensive.
The other two gangsters caught up moments later.
Then came their leader.
He was still limping.
The effect would have been almost comical…
…if he hadn’t immediately drawn a pistol.
He leveled it at Kathy’s forehead.
“You little bitch.” His voice shook with rage.
“That stunt you pulled…” “…was the dumbest decision you’ll ever make.” He smiled coldly.
“Any last words?” Kathy looked into the black barrel.
She wanted to be brave.
She wanted to pretend she wasn’t afraid.
But fear didn’t care what she wanted.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Her hands felt numb.
So this was it.
Tomorrow’s headline practically wrote itself.
DAILY PLANET INTERN MURDERED IN HELL’S KITCHEN She’d even know how to improve it.
Victim’s fatal mistake: spectacularly poor judgment.
One of the gangsters quietly whispered, “Boss…” “The safety’s still on.” The leader slowly turned his head.
Then smacked him across the face.
“I know that!” He clicked the safety off.
Raised the pistol again.
“This time…” “…I’m serious.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Last chance.” “Anything you want to say?” Kathy swallowed.
“I just thought…” “…your first delivery lacked confidence.” The words escaped before she could stop them.
Why am I like this?
The gang leader’s eye twitched.
“Fine.” “You asked for it.” His finger tightened around the trigger.
The pistol fired.
For an instant, the world seemed to slow.
The firing pin struck the primer.
The cartridge ignited.
The bullet burst from the barrel, spinning toward Kathy’s face.
Then…
Clang!
The metallic crack echoed through the warehouse yard.
A silver figure appeared between them so suddenly it was as if he’d stepped out of empty air.
The bullet struck his chest.
Bright sparks scattered across polished silver armor.
The flattened slug dropped harmlessly onto the concrete.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Time itself seemed to stop.