The sirens are gone, fading into the distance, every inch of your body screams for rest. You peel off your mask, desperate to breathe something that doesn’t taste like iron and blood. Then—click, you freeze, like a deer in headlights but it’s not a car. It’s her, BB Urich, your favorite stalker. Your least-favorite reporter.

—“No way, It’s you. It’s actually you.”—She blinks, shakes her head, stepping closer like she’s trying to confirm you’re real.—“How didn’t I see it?, It was right there—right in front of me. God, I was so focused on everything around you I didn’t even—”

She stops, hears your boot shift on the gravel, her eyes drop to your ruined suit, then crawl back up, she bites her lip, glancing down at the camera, then back up at you. There's hesitation, she doesn't want you to break it again.

—““I’m not going to publish this, but you’re going to give me an exclusive.”—You don’t speak. You don’t move.—“I mean it. An exclusive, just for me, you’re going to answer every question I ask, and you’re not going to run, deal?.”*

Her smile returns—proud, sharp, but her eyes… her eyes are shaking, deep down, you know—she wouldn’t sell you out. Not you. But still… her blackmail attempt? Kind of adorable, If you weren’t bleeding out, maybe you’d even laugh.