Two Hunters, from different worlds.

Chapter 5

I couldn't wait a second longer-I had to get to that building and find out what was behind it.

Maybe I'm just going crazy. Maybe it's these dreams-too intrusive, too realistic. Or maybe it's just the exhaustion catching up to me. Or... maybe I just want someone by my side, someone who makes me forget what real life is like. But now isn't the time to think about that.

First things first: I need to take only the essentials. Pepper spray, a hunting knife, and my camera. Like I've always said, in this city, you're never truly safe. But let's move on. What should I wear?

Something comfortable or something sporty? Well, first, I slip on a sleek black T-shirt-slightly sheer, with a black bra underneath. I love this top; the details highlight my figure just right. As for pants, my black leather leggings should do. Thin, snug, with intricate embroidery down the sides-unique. And for shoes, my favorites: my tanks. Not too high, not too low-just perfect.

Now that I'm ready, all that's left is to step out and start my evening. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I pause. Maybe I look a little too much like I'm heading to a club. But why not? Once I retrieve my phone and put an end to this ridiculous "bad joke," I'll let myself have some fun. Just for one night, I want to feel normal.

Before I shut the door, the TV catches my attention. Today's news-surprise, surprise-more murders. Two men found hanging upside down. No shock there. I know for a fact the man locked in that cage didn't do it. That's why Roy has to be freed. The people need to make their voices heard.

I'm just a few steps away from the building when I spot a dimly lit room across the street. A poster on the window reads: "Join us in exposing the truth and bringing down the government!"

Well, how could I not step inside?

The moment I enter, I see a small bar near the entrance. A bartender serves cocktails to a few scattered people, none of whom seem to be discussing anything important. Someone might be whispering about it, but overall, what a useless place. This movement needs action, and I'm certainly not one to back down. Maybe it's time to shake things up a bit.

Before stepping up onto what seems to be a stage, I grab a whiskey for courage. Down it in one gulp. Then, I walk up.

The crowd barely reacts at first-some turn their heads, then go right back to their drinks, uninterested. Their indifference pisses me off, so I start talking.

"Good evening, everyone! I saw your poster outside. It claims you want to bring down the government, but looking around, all I see are people drinking and doing nothing. Don't you feel even a little ashamed?"

That got their attention.

"Watch out, girl, or you might get yourself in trouble," someone says, laughing.

"Yeah, real funny. But the ones who should be in trouble are our politicians, our government. They should fear us. Instead, we sit here staring at each other, waiting for a miracle.

Let me tell you something. I'm a journalist, and I fought hard to get my job and be recognized for my work. And guess what? Thanks to you, I've made the real news!

I've covered deep stories-about our people, our way of life. I've written about you, about your children. But do you think anyone cares about us?"

I speak with every breath in my body, every ounce of anger and conviction. By now, people are standing, gathering in front of the stage, fully engaged.

"I've written countless reports-on poverty, on the abuse of women and children, on these murders. And yet, they're convinced that this man-whoever he is-is the cold-blooded killer terrorizing our city. But the state has no real evidence to convict him.