Golden Age, Episode 7, Part 4
People always talk about where they were when they first heard about The Correspondent. She came out of nowhere and tried to make a difference. Some saw her as a beacon of hope, others as a sign of how far down the slope we had come. I never paid attention to all of that. I was too busy. Too busy working to pay my bills, too busy trying to figure out life. I was seventeen when it started. I was The Correspondent. This is my story.
As I watched the dots appear on the map I slowed to a stop. What was happening? Something bad was happening. I pulled up my contacts and dialed 911. My phone rang once and then played a busy signal. Crap.
It appeared that no good deed goes unpunished. Someone had noticed his henchmen getting caught and had decided to do something about it. Knowing that it was a trap didn’t make it better. I took a deep breath and headed into downtown.
Standing in the middle of the street, hands on hips, was a man who was about six foot tall, wearing black spandex and a purple cape. His head was covered in a silver mirrored helmet and he was surrounded by giants.
Each giant had a collar around its neck, pulsing muscles and pained expressions. My quick count put the odds at eight on one, which would be fine if they weren’t supercharged by the collars.
I couldn’t think of a way out of this. Calling the authorities didn’t work. If I left the area they would do whatever it was they were there to do and I would have no way of finding them again.
I parked the scooter, and got off. As I approached the I made sure my skirt was straight and that my baton was in its holster. The hulks tensed as I approached and I stopped about ten feet away from the man in black.
My stomach dropped as the helmet turned towards me. I could see my reflection in his helmet, looking more confident than I felt.
“Ah, The Correspondent,” the man said, his voice disguised to sound robotic, “What brings you out on such a cold night?”
“Crime,” I said, feeling pretty bad ass.
“Interesting,” he said, stroking where his chin would be and looking pretty dumb.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. This guy seemed to be d-list at best. Sure he had some tech that made his henchmen terrifying but I bet he was all talk. Keeping my eye on the hulks I motioned him over.
“Why don’t we talk this over,” I said, “We could grab a coffee and figure out how to make all of this stop.”
I think that tactic shocked him. He stood there, thinking. While he was thinking I looked around. I saw two normal looking henchmen sitting on crotch rockets and a third motorcycle for the man in black.
“I don’t think that will work,” the man said, drawing my attention back to him.
“I didn’t think so,” I said, sprinting back to my scooter.
Jumping on, I started the engine and sped away. I could hear the crotch rockets firing up and watched the man in black sprint to his bike. Hopefully leading them away would stop whatever crimes they were about to commit.
Dylan Reed has always been interested in a good story. Raised without a TV he spent a lot of time with books and loves reading. Dylan has been a professional entertainer, studied commercial diving, and loves random trivia. He brings all of this and more together in his stories.