Changeling-Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Corruption

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cor·rup·tion

/kəˈrəpSH(ə)n/

noun

noun: corruption; plural noun: corruptions

dishonest or fraudulent conduct by those in power, typically involving bribery."the journalist who wants to expose corruption in high places"

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"Detective, any updates on the serial arsonist?"

The photographer's flashbulb assaulted Detective Marcel Ricci's eyes as he answered.

"Certain, er, events have led the Naples Police Department to believe that the arsonist has gone into retirement," He looked at his watch, praying that the end of the press conference had arrived. It had not.

"Can you please elaborate on police activity during these 'events', if they were involved?" A platinum blonde reporter inquired as she shoved a tape recorder in his face.

"No comment."

"Is it true that the missing boy, Stefano Rigoletti, is responsible for the fires?" A different, older reporter continued.

The detective sneered and rubbed his ear, his dark eyes widening slightly with pain. With thinly-veiled vexation, he continued.

"Read the press release from last year. He was pronounced DOA at Santa Maria's."

"But some news stations said-"

"I'm sure you know as well as I that the media tends to," Ricci grit his teeth and balled his fists under the podium. He hated press conferences, but since the chief was out of town and he was the head of the task force, Ricci was named the de facto department representative. This was the bi-monthly update on police activity, crowded with reporters each clamoring for answers over the other. "enhance the truth to pander to their respective audiences."

The reporters mumbled to each other. Ricci looked towards the fire chief, who subtly adjusted his shirtsleeve to reveal the digital watch strapped to his wrist. The detective tried to hide his glee as he addressed the room.

"The Naples Police Department will be taking no further questions. A report will be finalized by tonight. Have a good day."

Marcel Ricci ducked microphones and cameras as he made his way out of the conference room, flash assaulting his eyes periodically. He couldn't help but smile as he pushed through the crowd, parting them as Moses did the Red Sea. The perceived power he held made his body throb with excitement, a familiar and welcome feeling.

The arsonist was his quarry alone.

***

You pressed the 11th floor's call button with leaden fingers, your head swimming in shame. After 30 seconds or so, you were met with Bucciarati's voice.

"Hello?"

For a moment, you were silent. Sleeping outside didn't sound so bad. People did it all the time-

"Is someone there?"

"Yes," You spoke instinctively, somewhat surprised that you retained the ability to comprehend language. In a harsh whisper, you continued. "I'm sorry about earlier."

The system let out a crackling breath as what you assumed to be a phone was lifted off the hook. You waited anxiously, the trail bag on your back growing heavier by the second.

"You did nothing wrong. Did something happen?"

You sighed and shifted your weight nervously. "I got stiffed my last paycheck and rent was due. Look, this was stupid. I'll get going."