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Scarlet Tulip
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"I've got to finish this," you say, "Sorry Dar. Tomorrow we'll... get lunch or something. I dunno."
Dárala replies with a noncommittal shrug, "These late nights are gonna kill you. I've got a date, so I ain't waiting around for you again."
"A date? It's almost one in the morning," you say, turning around to look at her.
"I don't go poking around your biz," says Dar, lighting up her cigarette inside, "How's your boy?"
Unsure if she's being facetious, you shake your head and get back to work. Dar laughs and leaves. You take a breath, square your shoulders, and play the video again from where you paused, which happened to be 0.0023 seconds after the gunman fired. The bound up market goer in the video groans and falls over. It's just twenty-two more minutes of political ranting and shooting randoms.
This isn't a documentary of any official sort, nor is it anything your publication would ever make public. Two days after the attack, the organization responsible dropped three copies of a taping of the incident around the city: one at the Vilnoy house of parliament, one at the police headquarters, and one at the Vilnoy Bell, where you work. The police confiscated all three, but you have an inside man at the station who managed to get you a copy. Mister C tasked you with watching and summarizing the video for a print story, since your informant said the police were planning on closing the central market and denying any of it happened.
Anyway
The Vilnoy Bell is currently the only remaining media outlet in the city since the NVR (the """New Vilnoy Republic""") took control of broadcast television. Now TV is a continuous stream of pro-government nonsense that no self-respecting Tafarlan watches. Even your soap got canceled. You're not supposed to take a stand on politics, but sometimes it's hard. The city's just not the place you grew up in anymore.
But you'll get into all that later. Right now you just need to work. Work work work.
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