Damford
14-08-2008, 03:11
OOC: Feel free to have other news networks, governments, web ratings websites or whatever comment. If you want a part, feel free to ask, but I'm not sure if there's going to be any parts available.
IC:
Damford News Network Regional Headquarters
Intorino
Damford
Janice Burnside walked down the florescent-lit hallway towards the conference room, where the daily briefs were held for the higher-ups in the Network. She had blond hair pulled back into a business-like ponytail, and a dark blue pantsuit complimented her ocean-blue eyes. She wore low-profile heels and no wedding band graced her flawless hand. It was clear that she was a career woman; any sort of romance that had accidentally come her way she had shunned; she told herself that it was for the best of the romantic interest, whom she surmised she would have no time for. The truth was - and she might have known this, deep down - she just didn't have the interest in love that she'd had as a teenager. Not anymore.
But all of this never even crossed her mind as she opened the brushed-aluminum handle to the faux-wood door, and stepped into the conference room, flooded by the morning sun streaming through the window. It cast shadows against the wall, turning inverted Styrofoam coffee cups into monolithic, quarter-finished pyramids.
She took her accustomed seat on the side of the good-sized table. She waited patiently for the last two reporters to arrive, upon whose entrance morning briefs were passed around. Her Regional Station Chief, a Chip Drysdale (Janice considered this the quintessential reporter's name), yawned and stretched at the head of the table, and began running through today's news.
Janice took a quick scan of the dossier while he was talking (she felt he read too slow). Nothing on the first page particularly jumped out at her, save an allegation of human trafficking against a local politician. She filed that one away for later. When she turned the page, however, she was visibly surprised.
The title for the first story of the second page was proclaimed in big, bold letters. Undercover in Port Valt - An Expose on Damfordine Fish Poaching. Under it, instead of the usual line proclaiming the story open to the first taker, read Assigned: Janice Burnside. She looked up at Drysdale, who was still droning on about the slave trader. Janice wasn't sure what to make of this story - her naturally inquisitive mind wanted to interrupt him and ask since when stories were assigned to specific reporters, and why he hated her so much that he would give her such a pedestrian one. But professional courtesy had gotten her this far - she could wait. And so she did, even when Drysdale completely skipped the item in question, earning him several more inquisitive stares.
The Station Chief finished the dossier and dismissed the meeting. "Janice," he said, as they all pushed their chairs in, "I gotta talk to you about that story."
She was expecting this. Chip waited for the room to clear before closing the door. "So, yeah, I got notice from New Pre that you were to have this one. Funny thing is, they didn't come to us, which is usually the case with these things. To be perfectly blunt, we didn't go to them either," he said, shifting his feet minutely and flicking his gaze up to the ceiling. "The only people who are really going to know about this are you, me, and some guys up there," he gestured in the relative direction of New Pre, the location of the DNN headquarters and capital of Damford. When he failed to elaborate further, Janice spoke.
"To be honest, Chip, I don't know what's so earth-shaking about fish poaching. What exactly are you telling me to do?"
Chip's lips formed a tight line, and he looked away as if thinking for a moment. He made a barely perceptive nod of his head, as if he had decided something of grave importance. "This isn't about fish poaching. This is much bigger than that."
Janice raised an eyebrow, inviting Chip to explain more.
"It's like this. We've been getting leads - here and there, this and that - for months about some weird stuff going on in the DDF-"
"The Damfordine Defense Forces? What does the army have to do with fish?" interrupted Janice.
"I told you, this isn't about fish. This has nothing to do with fish. Like, whatsoever. You're going to enlist in the army."
Janice couldn't help but laugh outright. Her, a career newswoman, with her name probably recognized around South Damford, enlisting in the army? She thought for a second maybe this was Chip's sick way of firing her, but he seemed serious.
Chip continued. "There's been rumbings - everything from light stuff like hazing, excessive punishments and the like, to real serious crap. I'm talking training missions that target Damfordine citizens. Executions of foreign drug runners. Rendition."
Now it was Janice's turn to look at the wall. She knew what was coming next.
"So, in effect, you're going to find out if any of this crap is true," Chip finished.
"But people know me, Chip. I'm not exactly Jane Nobody from Donshaltsburg. I'd stick out like a sore thumb in the Army. I'm not a soldier - a Vanguard." she furnished, using the name for soldiers of the DDF.
"They know Janice Burnside," Chip replied, smiling now. "But they don't know Grace Stevensdottir." He pulled a file from his briefcase and handed it to Janice. It contained several items. Among them were a birth certificate, passport, and Government ID for a Grace Stevensdottir. Also included was a picture of a woman who looked strikingly like Janice, albeit a bit less well-kept. Her dirty blonde hair was strewn across her face. There were dark circles below her deep blue eyes. Janice could put her back together, given a few hundred dollars and a day in Downtown Intorino.
"So what's..." she looked at the papers again, "...Ms. Stevensdottir going to do while I'm being her?" She looked patronizingly at Chip.
His reply came bluntly, and nonchalantly. "She died two days ago in Donshaltsburg General. Brain aneurysm. They seem to sneak up on people like that. I have a friend in the morgue. Her body's gone, and there's no record of her."
"Who was she?"
"A day laborer. It's Donshaltsburg - not exactly Midtown New Pre."
"What about her family? Husband? Friends? Someone's got to ask about her."
"She just immigrated. No family, no ties. Just an incredible resemblance to you."
Janice looked at the photo again. Yes, the similarity was striking. Very much so.
"So are you going to do this?" prompted Chip. "You're under no obligation to. It's just a pain in the ass to have to do all this shit again."
Janice thought for a moment. Her reply was faraway, in a voice she didn't recognize as her own. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."
IC:
Damford News Network Regional Headquarters
Intorino
Damford
Janice Burnside walked down the florescent-lit hallway towards the conference room, where the daily briefs were held for the higher-ups in the Network. She had blond hair pulled back into a business-like ponytail, and a dark blue pantsuit complimented her ocean-blue eyes. She wore low-profile heels and no wedding band graced her flawless hand. It was clear that she was a career woman; any sort of romance that had accidentally come her way she had shunned; she told herself that it was for the best of the romantic interest, whom she surmised she would have no time for. The truth was - and she might have known this, deep down - she just didn't have the interest in love that she'd had as a teenager. Not anymore.
But all of this never even crossed her mind as she opened the brushed-aluminum handle to the faux-wood door, and stepped into the conference room, flooded by the morning sun streaming through the window. It cast shadows against the wall, turning inverted Styrofoam coffee cups into monolithic, quarter-finished pyramids.
She took her accustomed seat on the side of the good-sized table. She waited patiently for the last two reporters to arrive, upon whose entrance morning briefs were passed around. Her Regional Station Chief, a Chip Drysdale (Janice considered this the quintessential reporter's name), yawned and stretched at the head of the table, and began running through today's news.
Janice took a quick scan of the dossier while he was talking (she felt he read too slow). Nothing on the first page particularly jumped out at her, save an allegation of human trafficking against a local politician. She filed that one away for later. When she turned the page, however, she was visibly surprised.
The title for the first story of the second page was proclaimed in big, bold letters. Undercover in Port Valt - An Expose on Damfordine Fish Poaching. Under it, instead of the usual line proclaiming the story open to the first taker, read Assigned: Janice Burnside. She looked up at Drysdale, who was still droning on about the slave trader. Janice wasn't sure what to make of this story - her naturally inquisitive mind wanted to interrupt him and ask since when stories were assigned to specific reporters, and why he hated her so much that he would give her such a pedestrian one. But professional courtesy had gotten her this far - she could wait. And so she did, even when Drysdale completely skipped the item in question, earning him several more inquisitive stares.
The Station Chief finished the dossier and dismissed the meeting. "Janice," he said, as they all pushed their chairs in, "I gotta talk to you about that story."
She was expecting this. Chip waited for the room to clear before closing the door. "So, yeah, I got notice from New Pre that you were to have this one. Funny thing is, they didn't come to us, which is usually the case with these things. To be perfectly blunt, we didn't go to them either," he said, shifting his feet minutely and flicking his gaze up to the ceiling. "The only people who are really going to know about this are you, me, and some guys up there," he gestured in the relative direction of New Pre, the location of the DNN headquarters and capital of Damford. When he failed to elaborate further, Janice spoke.
"To be honest, Chip, I don't know what's so earth-shaking about fish poaching. What exactly are you telling me to do?"
Chip's lips formed a tight line, and he looked away as if thinking for a moment. He made a barely perceptive nod of his head, as if he had decided something of grave importance. "This isn't about fish poaching. This is much bigger than that."
Janice raised an eyebrow, inviting Chip to explain more.
"It's like this. We've been getting leads - here and there, this and that - for months about some weird stuff going on in the DDF-"
"The Damfordine Defense Forces? What does the army have to do with fish?" interrupted Janice.
"I told you, this isn't about fish. This has nothing to do with fish. Like, whatsoever. You're going to enlist in the army."
Janice couldn't help but laugh outright. Her, a career newswoman, with her name probably recognized around South Damford, enlisting in the army? She thought for a second maybe this was Chip's sick way of firing her, but he seemed serious.
Chip continued. "There's been rumbings - everything from light stuff like hazing, excessive punishments and the like, to real serious crap. I'm talking training missions that target Damfordine citizens. Executions of foreign drug runners. Rendition."
Now it was Janice's turn to look at the wall. She knew what was coming next.
"So, in effect, you're going to find out if any of this crap is true," Chip finished.
"But people know me, Chip. I'm not exactly Jane Nobody from Donshaltsburg. I'd stick out like a sore thumb in the Army. I'm not a soldier - a Vanguard." she furnished, using the name for soldiers of the DDF.
"They know Janice Burnside," Chip replied, smiling now. "But they don't know Grace Stevensdottir." He pulled a file from his briefcase and handed it to Janice. It contained several items. Among them were a birth certificate, passport, and Government ID for a Grace Stevensdottir. Also included was a picture of a woman who looked strikingly like Janice, albeit a bit less well-kept. Her dirty blonde hair was strewn across her face. There were dark circles below her deep blue eyes. Janice could put her back together, given a few hundred dollars and a day in Downtown Intorino.
"So what's..." she looked at the papers again, "...Ms. Stevensdottir going to do while I'm being her?" She looked patronizingly at Chip.
His reply came bluntly, and nonchalantly. "She died two days ago in Donshaltsburg General. Brain aneurysm. They seem to sneak up on people like that. I have a friend in the morgue. Her body's gone, and there's no record of her."
"Who was she?"
"A day laborer. It's Donshaltsburg - not exactly Midtown New Pre."
"What about her family? Husband? Friends? Someone's got to ask about her."
"She just immigrated. No family, no ties. Just an incredible resemblance to you."
Janice looked at the photo again. Yes, the similarity was striking. Very much so.
"So are you going to do this?" prompted Chip. "You're under no obligation to. It's just a pain in the ass to have to do all this shit again."
Janice thought for a moment. Her reply was faraway, in a voice she didn't recognize as her own. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."