Realistic or Modern The Mulhouser Files: Echoes of Blood

[Breadman]

4

 

[Worthlessplebian]

4

 

[dikdik]

4

 

[joshuadim]

Gut Feeling:
1-16 - For the Girl
17-33 - For Yourself
34-50 - For the Truth
51-100 - For the Thrill
Result: 28​

---

2. For Yourself - You *need* this. You *need* to know for your own sake that you leaving the Tribune and doing this *matters*.

You remember practically every detail of the office, from where you sat to where your coworkers worked - and argued with one another - on what stories should take the front page and which ones didn't merit any ink or bandwidth. You were in a small cube, inhabiting one corner where the walls were lined with pins and papers and your desk looked as though a hurricane had blown through it. Only you were the one capable of navigating such a professional pigsty in finding and knowing where every was as it was your system. Mark had been in the desk on the other side, having hunkered down on writing a report on commercial shipping through the great lakes and the challenges presented by union strikes and employers refusing to concede to demands. You yourself were twiddling with a pen in your fingers, counting down the moments until an eruption happened...

Angry shouting could be heard from the editor's office further down the floor, which turned the heads of many others in the Tribune as they stopped to speculate what the matter was. Mark himself had also been snapped out of his zen as he peered over the walls of his shared domain with concern. "Damn, I haven't heard Ted like that in a while. Something big must've happened." You paid no attention, as you knew exactly what the issue at hand was and continued to fiddle with your pen. The dots quickly connected with your friend as he skulked down to you and practically hissed: "What did you do?"

A part of you almost wants to spill the beans, as a smug part of you radiates off your face when you look at him. But if he knew, then he would also get screwed by your little stunt. And so, instead, you shrug: "I didn't do anything."

A door bursts open, almost kicked down in a fit of range as a familiar voice booms with a furious vengeance: "MULHOUSER!"

An entire room of faces turns towards where you are, eyes of mixed emotions - some of them happy to be rid of you - trailing your movements as you stand up and fix your work tie. "Time to face the music."

An older man with graying receding hairline and veins sticking out of his forehead, complimenting his red expression, greet you as you walk over to the editor's office and are subsequently locked into a room with an angry pitbull of a figure as he slams some papers onto his desk. "You rat fuck, I told you - I specifically told you - to drop the fucking story. And what do you do? Come on now, I wanna hear it from the town clown's mouth." He motions a finger to you, beckoning to speak, and you simply shrug again.

"Sir, I don't know what-"

"Fuck. You. I'll be doing my ancestors proud wringing your neck, we killed you German fucks over in D-Day." Ted says, sitting down while maintaining a death stare straight into your soul.

"My family immigrated in the 1850s-"

"You don't get to play fucking smart with me, shithead!" Ted shouts you down again, almost bursting a vessel.

"Look, I can explain-"

Ted quickly lifts up both his middle fingers straight towards you: "You have my attention, my undivided attention."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes as Ted's insult washes over you, forcing you to reorient the conversation quickly to save face: "I have that slimy bastard dead to rights on corruption, and you just want me to walk away on that?"

"Yes you stupid fuck! Do you have any idea what a Senator can do to me, let alone you? It's not about the fucking news it's about covering your ass, my ass, and the ass of everyone working in here. But noooOOOoooOOooo, you just had to go around sniffing in places you didn't belong and piss off some very powerful people. The editorial board has been chewing me out for the last two hours because of this, many of whom are friends with the man you've pissed off. You went behind my fucking back and leaked the story everywhere, kicking a hornets nest thats crawling down my throat because of you-"

"Then what the fuck are we here for then? To write up bullshit? That isn't what I signed up for!" you protest angrily, shooting out of your seat with an accusatory look. Ted responds in kind, standing up straight again as he points a finger at you.

"Get your head out of your ass and the clouds!" Ted shouts back, to which by now your argument has attracted faces outside the office to try to peer through the closed blinders. And your previous conversation quickly unfolds into a shouting match between the two of you, with Ted throwing a small ashtray at you that spills cigarettes and dust onto the floor below. What little useful conversation blends together in a sea of anger, both righteous and not, as you realized in that moment just how much your perspective towards journalism and the reality of the field differed. You are, at your center, an idealist who wants what you do as your work to *matter* to other people - that you're making a difference in the grand scheme of things. By all measures you shouldn't have taken the money from Amelia, and yet you did because you knew that, no matter how miniscule, you would be making a change in the world by taking on this task.

At least, you would be if the police lights behind you weren't in the way. You snap back to reality when the sirens blare in your ears, and you bring the car to a slow onto the gravel by the side of the road. You quickly pull out your license and the rental registration in anticipation for what would be a routine traffic stop. A deputy with a large, brimmed hat, greets you at the window as you roll down the glass as he speaks. "How do you do? Do you know why I stopped you sir?" he asks at first, his aviator glasses covering eyes that were undoubtedly scanning every small movement you did.

"No." you simply state with a shrug.

"You were drifting on the lanes, halfway on the other side of the road practically. Good thing the road's empty, or you could've been in an accident."

You look up and down the road with relief, and wipe your forehead: "Shit, sorry about that. I was just lost in thought."

"Can't same I blame ya. Road's boring an' all, but you gotta keep your eyes on the road yeah? I'll need to see your ID and papers."

You comply and hand over you license and the rental registration for the deputy to read over, who remains quiet as he rumples through the latter before handing them back. "You're a long way from Chicago. Mind if I ask what you're doing all the way up here?"

---

1. Vague - A cop doesn't need to know the details of why you're here. "Felt like I needed to clear my head. Change of scenery, y'know?" you say with another shrug.

2. White Lie - There's no harm in telling where you're going, might put the deputy's mind at ease to know you're accounted for. "Been planning on seeing Brule River, heard about its nice hiking trails. So here I am now."

3. Truth - Might as well be up front with the law around here, especially if you need to have a working relationship with them. "Work brought me up here."

 

[Infab]

3

 

[dikdik]

3

 

[Worthlessplebian]

3