There is a belief among certain circles that people who live in big cities simply get used to the seemingly endless chaos; the crowds of people shuffling down sidewalks, spilling out into the streets with what seems like a complete disregard for their own lives; the incessant racket of blaring horns and backfiring exhausts and the overpowering droning of countless chattering voices. They're wrong. At least from Theresas point of view, they're dead wrong. Every day she would get up in the morning and scramble through her miniscule apartment, of which the walls she's sure were made of papier-mâché, to stumble out onto the crowded streets she dreaded so woefully. Every step was accompanied by unwanted contact with the strangers of the city, every pace an exercise in claustrophobia. The relief that would wash over her when getting on the bus was fleeting, for after her sigh, she would inevitably realized that her personal bubble was about to be violated once again. The walk down the isle had become a thorough ritual. While balancing herself with the ebb and flow of the bus' movements as it pulled from the stop, she eyed each open seat and inspected it with great scrutiny. Theresa almost had it down to a mathematical equation; a complex juxtaposition of risk versus reward, taking into account proximity and the possible unpleasantness of the seatmate she was about to endure for the following thirty minute commute. Standing was a last resort, the idea of being hung up like a piece of cold meat in a butchers freezer for all to glare at was not one she particularly enjoyed. This wasn't a fully arrogant assumption, but rather an axiomatic truth; especially when concerning senior men, of which the more distasteful would sometimes endeavor a poorly disguised grope when passing her for their stop. No, standing was not an option. In the end, a young man moved over to allow her a seat at the end of a row. This was ideal, eliminating human contact to only one person. She nodded in silent thanks and sat, quickly moving on to stage 2 of her daily routine. Out came a pair of ear buds that she quickly shoved into position, the irony of which was surely lost on the poor man who now sat mouth agape as he held back the opening line he was about to use. That irony, being of course, that Theresas i-pod hadn't been charged the night before as she had spent every waking moment finishing her proposal on a field assignment that she had to present to her boss as soon as humanly possible. Twenty minutes passed, which turned out to be enough time for the young man to build up the courage to speak to Theresa regardless of the ear buds. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” Theresa tried to ignore him, telling her eyes to stay firmly focused on the rubber lining in the isle. “I've definitely seen you before.” She cussed to herself when her eyes flickered awkwardly toward him, knowing her cover might have been blown. “Yeah, you were on the news a few months back, in Syria, reporting on those bombings right?” “Are you talking to me?” She said, with a lack of conviction that nearly made her nose grow longer. “Yeah, you're that foreign assignment reporter from TNC aren't you?” She sighed, “Must just look like her.” She said, noticing it was finally her stop. She got up and left the bus as quickly as she could, sure that she had done so while the man was still mid sentence. Boys, she didn't have time for boys. They couldn't keep up with her anyway. Walking into the office was a whole new ball game, one that she was luckily able to avoid today as she went straight to the office for the director of foreign assignments. Two elevators and one short walk through some cubicles and she found herself at the corsica glass door, stenciled cleanly with the name “David Bishop”. Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open. “Terry! Aren't you on vacation?” “Not anymore Dave, I have something for you.” she said, handing him a folder she pulled from the satchel on her hip. “What's this?” He asked, opening it to the first page. His eyes sunk into his head, “Chernarus? You know they have the place locked down Terry. I can't send you there.” “You don't have to.” She said. “I don't think I understand Terry, what are you up to?” David replied, his deep voice reverberating with genuine concern. “We'll be the first to get through the barricades David.” He looked at her squarely, “How.” “I don't need you to get me into Chernarus, that I can do on my own. What I do need you for though is to get me legitimately into Russia. I know you can do that.” Theresa said, smiling with a eagerness that spelled out her voracity for adventure, thrill and risk. David's eyes narrowed to a squint. He could smell a rat, across an ocean and on the other side of Europe. He looked around the cubicles to see people hard at work, but with his trained eye, he knew their ears were peeked. “Come into my office Terry.” She looked over her shoulder, her too seeing through the thin veil with which the inquisitive ears attempted to hide themselves. Speaking of this would definitely be better behind closed doors. She followed him in. As soon as the door shut, David spun around. “Don't tell me you're working with him again Terry.” He said with a paternal tone that cut into Terry like a child being scolded. “What? Who?” She said, another characteristically meek attempt at deception. “You know who. I'm surprised you two didn't get killed in Chechnya.” “He's good at what he does David you can't deny it.” “He's reckless Terry, he doesn't think straight.” “Maybe you're right.” She said, “But he gets the job done.” He shook his head, “Richard Bowman is not someone you should trust so implicitly. He's practically a mercenary for Christ sake.” “Aren't I not far from that description myself?” “You shoot pictures Terry, with a camera. You don't shoot people with guns.” Terry sighed. “He doesn't go around mowing down the local population David, he's protection, why don't you understand that I couldn't possibly have gotten the stories I've reported on in those countries without someone like Richard. These are mostly Muslim countries, do you think they'd just let me, a woman, poke around with impunity? No, not for a second.” “Which is exactly why I shouldn't be doing this.” He said. She could read him like a book. “That means yes.” She said smiling. “What?” “That means you're going to do it. I know you David, we've played this game too often for me not to know when I've won.” David smiled softly. “You're the daughter I never had Terry. I'm concern for your safety, but I also want to give you everything you want. I'm torn. Especially with this situation. I've been keeping myself busy with research on the subject and it doesn't look very promising.” “Do you know anything I don't?” She asked. “Probably not. The U.N. Is trying to politically fight its way in there to give aid to a crisis they're not even sure exists. It's a crap shoot really. Nobody knows exactly what happened. They're all thinking Chernobyl, but the American military would have lit up by now if it was radioactive in nature. It seems most of the world is willing to just let them fester with whatever sore they've given themselves this time.” “That's only because they don't know the truth David.” “You're probably right.” David flipped through a couple of the pages in the file and took out his pen. “For your sake.” He said, signing several pages. “I hope you're right. Otherwise this will have been for nothing.” “No David, revealing the truth is never futile.” David handed her the files. “You're cleared on my end. The cashier will wire the money to your card in the next twelve hours.” Theresa took the file, but he held on to his end. “Call me.” He said, nodding to her. “Use my home number.” “You'd better pick up.” she said, pulling the file from his hand and racing out the door. As it slammed behind her, David stared at the inverse letters of his name across the corsica glass. “God, please bring her back to me in one piece.”
