How Far I’ll Go || Open

Shawn tugged down his hood as he stopped into the alley. His fingers played over the few buttons on his old school recorder–something he’d borrowed from his grandmother–and as the figure appeared out of the shadows before him, he pressed record. “We have to make this quick,” he hissed. “If I don’t see your face, we’re not technically doing anything wrong–there’s no information I can give to the government. But you’ve got to give me what you know, or this never ends.”

Since the announcement that he–and most of his fellow reporters at the Bugle–had been subpoenaed, their work had come to a great, crashing halt. Nearly all of Shawn’s stories were about the supers: they were the most interesting part of his job in New York, and with this government vs. heroes debate still raging like wild fire, it was all the people wanted to hear about. If he couldn’t post with the Bugle–and he coudln’t, not now–then he’d take the story elsewhere. He’d hardly had his “Anonymous Blog” up for more than a couple hours, but the promise that the “Real Super News” could be found there had already gotten him a few hundred thousand hits: and that was fast money (not to mention, okay, that the stories were still important). The beauty of the internet age. “You said you had news on what the supers are deciding with registration–so what is it?”