The Gateway

3. The Hunt Is On

"I can't believe this," Miranda moaned.

She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the ache that had already formed inside of her head, and it wasn't even noon yet. She was sitting at her desk, safe inside her cubicle, staring at the blank computer screen in front of her. The cursor was blinking rapidly, mocking her with each little flicker. Frustrated, she threw her hands down on her desk, unknowingly attracting the attention of her neighbor, and leaned back in her chair, a depressed look on her face.

"I'm screwed," she muttered.

"We all are," a female voice said. Shea peeked around the wall of her cubicle. She had heard Miranda slam her hands down, and assumed that she was just as lost as she felt. "Nothing is going on in this city."

"I know," Miranda agreed. "At least, nothing out in the open." Her face morphed into a frown. "That's good though, isn't it?"

Shea flipped her long, red hair over her shoulder. It always seemed to be getting in her way. "Not if you're a reporter." She rolled her chair out to where Miranda could see her better, and where she wouldn't have to crane her neck so far. "If you're a reporter, the more crime, the better."

"That sucks."

"It always has." She grinned slightly. "Especially if you live in Skylark City. It's the cleanest city in the country, with the lowest crime rate, according to the news."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "That's what they want everyone to believe. I know this city isn't that squeaky clean. There's dirt somewhere. Someone is always up to something."

"Now, all we have to do is find it," Shea said sarcastically. "It's like searching for a needle in a haystack of needles."

"Plus, there are seven of us," Miranda added. "There is no way there are seven different front-page worthy stories out there."

"You're right, and even if all of us did manage to get a story, there is only room for one on the front page spread anyway."

Miranda smiled. She opened her mouth to agree with her, but something stopped her. Her eyes widened, as a realization hit her. It was like someone had just slapped her in the face. How had she not seen it? It was something that she hadn't thought of, until now. "Maybe that is the plan. Oh wow. I bet it is."

Shea frowned in confusion. She had completely lost her. She hadn't hopped on her train of thought yet. "What plan? Did I miss something?"

"You just said it a few seconds ago." Miranda rolled her chair out from under her desk, and leaned closer to Shea, so no one else would be able to hear what she was about to say. "There's only room for one story on the front page. We assumed that if we all got a story, like the one Hallie said she is looking for, then we would all still have our jobs in two weeks. We would be safe. What if that's not true? What if this is secretly some sort of twisted contest she's got going on?"

Shea's frown deepened. "I don't follow you."

She was going to have to spell it out. She sighed, a little bit frustrated. "Hallie Brooks is well known for cleaning the house, so to speak. What if this assignment is what will help her choose whom to keep, and whom to fire this time around? Only the employees in the copy room are safe because no one else knows the printers and things like they do. It's happened four times in eight years."

"How do you know that?"

"I did my research on this building and Hallie before I was hired. Call it a strange little hobby."

"Whatever you say," Shea told her. "Now I get it, at least. You think she's going to do it again, clean house, in two weeks, and she's using this assignment as grounds to fire whoever doesn't complete it."