Hi, my name is "Frank".

The office was busy, as per usual on a Monday morning in the Market District of downtown San Francisco. There was the usual hustle and bustle as everyone pushed hard to meet the deadlines. The great illusion was that there was a newspaper, every single day, with breaking news that just sort of 'appeared' out of nowhere. The reality, however, was that there was a team of sweaty, dirty, gritty, neurotic writers, reporters, and editors scrambling to make something out of nothing on a daily basis. Such was life in the NewsPaper Industry. If you can't hack it, you had better become an aerobics instructor or a graphics designer.

Frank was already on his second cup of coffee, barely even noticing the taste as he slupped down half of it in a single *gulp!* while staring at the blank screen on his microsoft word program. After fifteen years in the newspaper industry, he was no rookie and was thus not panicked when the editor in chief made the daily announcement that "The last person to get your feature done will be fired today." Everyone else went into a flurry of fingers on keyboards, desperately pecking out words at a dizzying speed. Not Frank though, he sat pack in his chair and yawned loudly as if to say, "I've heard this bit before, not intimidated, not bothered, will finish when I'm good and ready." Besides, he'd told the EIC before that, "There's no hurrying the talent", to which the EIC had begrudgingly been forced to agree. Frank was, after all, the best feature writer in the firm.

They only had two investigative journalists, of which, Frank was the more seasoned. The other was a rookie, new to the seedy job of investigative journalism, and new to the firm by two years. Frank considered anyone whom had not been with the firm for at least five years to be a newb, and he was sure that the thusly labeled targets were aware of their status. If you wanted to be Frank's friend, you had to earn that respect. Too many years of hard work, struggle, ducking and weaving, had brought him to the space of feeling much as if there just weren't that many people in the world who could understand him. Thus it was that he had carved out a unique, finely tuned, hand crafted existence for himself that wouldn't suite most people.

For instance, Frank was a loner, prone to go off by himself on adventures and let no one be the wiser. His disappearances would go largely unnoticed if it weren't for the fact that he was the senior investigative journalist for the premiere paper in San Francisco. He was also quite happy being single and spending time playing with his variety of hobbies.

He had created a daily routine that seemed to work out well for him. He woke up, did some meditation, hit the shower, had a small breakfast, hit the coffee shop, got to work, worked, had lunch, finished work, hit the gym, headed home, showered, had dinner, played around a bit, and went to bed. He was quite proud of his physique, he felt as if he really had something to offer the ladies, if it got down to that point. The only problem was that it hadn't gotten down to that point in some time. One of his female friends at work, Kristen, told him that it was "Time to get back out there baby boy!" She was 23, which confused him because he was clearly her senior. Some of the kids these days had some interesting expressions, if you were to ask him. Nobody did though.

He snapped out of his reverie in time to notice Jacob Calovskie looking at him from across the room. Jacob, or JC for short, was the EIC and thus the only person in the room to be feared. Frank had no fear of anyone, but maintained a healthy respect for JC on account of the fact that JC had a tendency to fire one person a year for no apparent reason other than a basic demonstration of power. Thus Frank attempted to maintain an air of respect, to the degree that his own psyche allowed him to. He decided to type something about this latest bit he'd been working on for a few weeks now. Apparently, the brothels in SF were alive and well. Frank wasn't too bothered by all that, as he viewed everyone's right to make a living at whatever they figured they were good at. However, there was growing evidence of an enlivened slave trade that had been growing underground, as they had a tendency to do. Vicious rumors were circulating that the Taiwanese Mafia was actively abducting women from the street, in broad daylight, and shipping them to these brothels to become sex slaves for money.

To be continued...