ON HOLD
#𝟏 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐌𝐚𝐧
"Witnesses have made statements of seeing you with the wanted vigilante Spider-Man, so what we would like to know is whether or not these allegations are true."
"Half the city of New York has been seen with Spid...
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"Miss Watson!" A lady with thick, round glasses and a pencil skirt that was way too tight for her hips approached, a bright smile on her face. "I'm so glad you've decided to consider us," she placed her small hand on the dip of my back and began guiding us to the elevator doors.
The Queens Report office building is much nicer than I expected it to be, with tall windows and a black and white interior. The Daily Bugle is more old school than this, but somehow, they always get more subscribers. The floors are so marble in this building--absolutely no carpet at all-- that our heels not only clicked across the floor, but they echoed in a vibration throughout the lobby.
"I'm more grateful that The Queens Report didn't blast my face on the front page," I truthfully admitted, hoping that this newspaper was more fact-based than opinion. The woman flashed a gleeful smile at me.
"Well, of course. It's our job as one of New York's finest," she grit her teeth, clearly referring to their competitors, "to protect the citizens and get a truthful back story."
I nodded as the elevator doors closed, entering the small but silver coated interior. Somehow it feels like this interview has already started, and we're not even off of the lobby floor yet.
"Yes, that's partially the reason I applied here. I'm hoping to get the truth out and clear my name," I looked towards the tall woman, who's yet to introduce herself by the way, watching her expression.
It remained calm and collected, "And the other reason?"
I felt my cheeks grow hot, debating whether or not I should tell the truth and be myself or give some fat lie. "I like news reports," I paused considering the other option, "But I also need the money." I sheepishly laughed, earning a quick giggle from the lady. Sometimes I can choose both, I suppose.
The elevator ascended more gracefully than any other elevator I've ever been in, and we were soon on the top tenth floor. "It's a good thing you called when you did," she admitted, gesturing me towards the doors as they slowly glided open. I followed her through the long, almost empty halls until we began approaching a massive white door. "We recently had a photographer, a very good one in fact, but he transferred to some of our other opponents." Her words were laced with venom, eyes suddenly transferring from their natural blue state to a more dark, sinister look of hatred.
"What was his name?" I asked, curious as to who the idiot was that openly transferred to a rival. Especially in ruthless New York City.
She sighed as we reached the tall white door, giving a good three knocks on it's sleek shell. She turned back towards me and lowered her voice, "Eddie Brock. He was a brilliant photographer and reporter. It's a shame he felt underappreciated."
Before I could ask any more questions, the door opened with a loud click, revealing a short, plump older man with similar glasses as the woman. His belly went further than his feet and his hair was starch white and falling to a crisp. He has a large mustache on his mouth, white like the rest of his hair. He looked to be in his mid-fifties or sixties, and he had a small smile on his mouth.
