Captain Gargle

Chapter 3

The office of The Daily Tribune hummed with the usual bustle of a Tuesday morning. Reporters hurried from desk to desk, phones rang off the hook, and the clatter of keyboards filled the air. In the middle of it all sat Michael Halloway, a young reporter with tousled brown hair and an unassuming presence. He blended in so well with the chaos that it was easy to overlook him, but that was the way he liked it.

Michael stared at his computer screen, absentmindedly spinning a pen between his fingers. His latest story—a piece about rising gas prices in the suburbs—stared back at him, half-finished. The blinking cursor was a taunting reminder that he was, yet again, behind on his deadline.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, casting a glance across the room. There, by the coffee machine, stood Belle Thompson, his colleague and the subject of his frequent, unspoken admiration. Her dark curls framed her face as she chatted with another reporter, a smile lighting up her eyes. She was effortlessly confident, the kind of person who could command a room without even trying.

Michael sighed again, this time quieter, hoping no one noticed. It wasn't the first time he'd caught himself staring at her. But what could he do? He was Michael—just another face in the office. Belle, on the other hand, was different. She was bold, curious, and always seemed to be on the trail of a story that could change the world.

"Staring at Belle again, huh?"

Michael nearly jumped out of his chair, his heart racing. He spun around to find Chief Pipay standing behind him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. Chief Pipay—short for Penelope Pipay—was the editor-in-chief of The Daily Tribune. She was a force of nature, with a no-nonsense attitude and an eagle eye for reporters who weren't pulling their weight.

Michael cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. "Uh, no, Chief. I was just... thinking about my article."

Pipay raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Thinking, huh? Well, how about you write instead of think? That article on gas prices was due an hour ago, and I need it on my desk, like, yesterday."

Michael nodded quickly, fumbling for his keyboard. "Right. Sorry, Chief. I'll have it done in—"

"Ten minutes," she interrupted, cutting him off. "No excuses. And, Michael, maybe ask Belle for some pointers. She's a real go-getter."

With that, she sauntered off, leaving Michael to stew in a mixture of embarrassment and mild panic. Ten minutes. He could manage that... maybe. He shook his head, trying to refocus on his article, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Belle. Not that he hadn't tried to talk to her before—he had—but their conversations were always brief, small talk at best. She was always rushing off to cover something bigger, something more important.

He sighed again and began typing. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today he'd find a reason to actually talk to her.

A half-hour later, Michael slouched in his chair, staring at the "article sent" confirmation on his email. He had managed to get the story done, though it wasn't his best work. But Chief Pipay hadn't immediately come storming back, so that was a small victory. He stretched his arms and glanced around the newsroom.

Belle was still talking with another colleague, her eyes wide with excitement. She gestured animatedly, as if the story she was discussing was too big to keep bottled up. Michael caught fragments of their conversation as he walked by to refill his coffee.

"...something strange in the next town over..."

"...local rumors about unexplained sightings..."

His curiosity piqued, but he didn't want to eavesdrop, so he lingered awkwardly by the coffee machine, waiting for his moment. Belle always had a knack for getting the most interesting leads, and Michael couldn't help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this could be his chance to work on something a little more exciting than rising gas prices.