She stood squinting in the downpour. Her muscles tense, she huddled in her light jacket as cold water drenched her. She leaned against a street lamp, being stumbled over and bumped every few seconds. Pedestrians all around her rushed to get home, out of the rain, after a long day of work. She felt miserable. She wanted to head home, like everyone else. Nonetheless, she remained on the cold, wet, overcrowded sidewalk. Watching. Watching Warren Richards. He was an obscure man, shrouded in mystery, glistening with intrigue… In other words, he was definitely going to lead her to a great story. Probably my best ever, she told herself as she shivered.

She glanced at her watch. She had been studying him for ten minutes now. On top of the month and a half before that. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. She tried to interpret his expression, but the rain made it impossible from across the street. A moment later, he turned his head and stared fixedly at a beautiful, young, blonde woman. The blonde waved at Mr. Richards, smiled, and walked toward him. He waved back and waited for her. She came up to the street, looked quickly to either side and waved again as she began to cross. Suddenly, a screech of tires heralded a black sedan speeding straight for her. The driver seemed to notice her at the last instant and slammed on the brakes. The car slid on the wet asphalt and slammed into her, sending her rolling off the hood of the car and on to the road. Havoc broke loose. The black sedan drove away at full speed, as a crowd of people gathered around the victim.

The journalist stood frozen in shock, and watched Richards run across the street and throw himself on his knees next to the fallen woman. Gathering her wits, the journalist shook herself out of her trance and ran over to the crowd. It wasn’t the story she was after, but she would take it anyway.