“Check Your Internationalism:” Tribesmen Worldwide — Guard Your Worldly Tongue, Says Nationalist Party in the EU Parliament — An Assault on Global Mores, Egad!

Eleanor Saravak studied the three news story drafts spread across her wooden desktop. Each one of them sported its own headline. Headlines that ought to boast so much bite and venom they may as well leap off the page and send folks six feet under.

Not that Eleanor joined the news biz to do her readers in or feed them dreck made of letters put together. As the editor-in-chief of Globish, she bore the duty of enlightening the masses with op-eds, investigative reports, and cartoons that elicited laughter, gasps, and gasps for air by dint of guffawing too much. But how could one evoke such things if articles began with words that looked big but rang hollow?

Doffing her rimless glasses, Eleanor rubbed her eyes and sighed. Was this the best Kenneth Furey could whip up? Boy had a knack for drafting reports on time, but his writing hand needed more oomph.

“Kenneth,” Eleanor said.

On the opposite end of the cubicle Eleanor sat in came the shuffling of papers and some swearing. Fifty dollars on Kenneth knocking down an IPA can and spilling its contents onto some drafts he plugged away at earlier this Thursday morning.

Another fifty dollars on his betting twenty-five that what he submitted to Eleanor failed to make the cut.

A headful of brown curls—underneath which stood blue eyes, freckles, and a goatee—emerged from the other side of the cubicle. The grimace and raised brows Kenneth flashed at Eleanor had “Please be kind to me, for I have a wife, kid, and three Great Danes to feed” written all over his pale face.

“You, uh, you summoned me, Ms. Saravak?” said Kenneth.

Eleanor eyed Kenneth and chuckled. “At ease, chum,” she said. “I only wish to relay some feedback.” She put on her glasses and looked down at the drafts before her. “I have promising and... constructive news for you. You ready?”

Kenneth gulped. To him, “constructive” meant “Tear that Podunk hamlet down and build a fancy-schmancy neighborhood in its place.” Writerly gentrification made for the bane of many a budding writer.

“The promising news,” Eleanor said, “is that you’re well aware of the tug-of-war between the forces of global unity and regional insularity that defines the zeitgeist of these interesting times.” She tapped the word “Tribesmen” on the draft in front of her. “Your choice of words is sure to beget the right reaction from our readership.”

“And the, uh, constructive news?” said Kenneth. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, even though the AC was turned up to eleven on the office floor.

“The constructive news...” Eleanor grabbed a microphone that lay between her keyboard and computer monitor. She rose from her rolling chair. “... shall come from another source. Several, rather.”

Eleanor looked to her left and right. Cubicles with bald heads and dyed hair poking out of them, walls boasting framed covers of past Globish issues, black tinted windows that kept prying eyes from taking a gander at the writing staff’s handiwork... This made for the world she lived in most of the time. A world where folks wrangled words in the name of promoting a conservative and internationalist agenda that minced no words when it came to calling out those who challenged the rules-based order and Global North.

Eleanor may be the one who called the shots at Globish HQ, but woe betide those who pegged her for a know-it-all. A diversity of voices—voices that coexisted with opposing ones instead of silencing them like in lesser countries—underpinned her worldview. And in the office stood many souls to reach out to.

Turning the microphone on with a push of a button, Eleanor cleared her throat and said, “Ladies and gentlewordmeisters of Globish. I require assistance.”

Loudspeakers affixed to each corner of the office carried Eleanor’s words all around the floor. The tapping of keyboard buttons stopped in order to make way for the creaking of chairs and groaning of staff members as they stood up and eyed Eleanor.

Kenneth hung his head as if he were about to hit the chopping block like one of his failed drafts.

“Today’s news item,” said Eleanor, “concerns sterling remarks made by a nationalist member of the EU Parliament the other day. Remarks pertaining to strengthening and spreading the teaching of the world language in mainland Europe. Seeing as you all know what unfolded, what do you make of things?”

“A pox on that naughty nattie!” said someone who looked like that bespectacled fellow from Trailer Park Boys. Okay, good enough start.

“Watch your tongue,” a ponytailed brunette said, “and let the global one spread.” Getting warmer.

A lanky and sweater-wearing youngster slammed his fist onto his other palm and said, “Bring out the muzzles and leashes! The EU Parliament’s going to the dogs of culture wars.”

Eleanor snapped her fingers and pointed at the one who last spoke. “Even more sterling!” she said. “Appreciate your insight, everyone.” Turning off her microphone and placing it back on her desk, Eleanor trained her eyes on Kenneth as the other staff members sat back on their chairs. “Kenneth,” she said.

Kenneth raised his head and looked away from her. “I’ll do better next time,” he said.

“Your reports are already there. Just gotta grab folks’ attention so that they may read the fine print.”

“Isn’t that why we have doodles at the end of each article? Funnily drawn little peeps always sell.”

Eleanor shook her head. “They do, but those reward readers for finishing a piece. When it comes to first impressions, big words always win folks over.”

“What are big words to you?”

“A huge deal seeing as they help keep issues of Globish flying off store shelves.”

“I mean, what is it about them that gives them the, uh, punch they pack?”

Eleanor widened her eyes. “Oh, that! Well, for a start, you have to dig deep.”

Kenneth turned his head to meet her eyes. “Like with my reports?”

“Yeah. Only you have to do so with your story’s subject.” Eleanor pressed her forefingers against her temples. “Look past appearances, bore through their psyche, see what makes them tick. Then, you’ll be able to conjure up the right words that’d rile them up as if they were reading Globish.”

Kenneth closed his eyes and stroked his chin. “Hmm, seems like I’ll have to spend more time studying whoever gets covered in my stories before writing about them.”

Eleanor gave Kenneth two thumbs-up. “Exactly.”

“But what if...”

“What if...” Eleanor reached for the coffee mug next to her wireless mouse and cellphone.

“What if,” Kenneth said as Eleanor brought the mug closer to her lips, “what you read about the person you’re covering goes against what you believe in?”

Eleanor’s mug-wielding hand froze before she could take a sip. “S... Sorry?”

“I mean...” Kenneth reopened his eyes. “I can’t rule out the likelihood that there’s more to someone than what I may’ve tho—”

Eleanor lifted a finger while lowering her mug and shaking her head. “That may be true if we were dealing with those not espousing extremism. Except we are in the business of exposing it, and that means training our sights on those embracing tribalism.”

“Is it always that black and white?”

“If there are shades of gray, they do a fine job of obscuring them.”

“Well, isn’t unveiling them what I may end up doing if I dig deep into my subjects?”

Eleanor pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Kenneth had a point, but Globish’s fact-checking proved spotless as of late. Could it just be that the outlet bore a lucky streak with its choice of news to cover? Did Kenneth’s words foreshadow anything?

“Ms. Saravak?” Kenneth’s voice derailed Eleanor’s train of thought.

“Hmm?” Eleanor reopened her eyes.

“What I meant to say is that I’m worried someone may read our work and have a real go at it.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I know we get death threats daily and that we keep things like our bylines and public presence under wraps.” Kenneth sniffed. “But at some point—”

“No bad actor shall find out where our office and humble abodes lie.” Eleanor took a sip and set the mug on her desk. “Besides, it’s not like anyone has attempted to track us down and carry out their... darkest fantasies.”

“True. Still...”

“Kenneth.” Eleanor tapped her wristwatch.

“Right!” Kenneth sat down before bringing his keyboard closer to him and turning his computer on. “Just... think about what I said. See how people react to our takes when they read them on the spot.”

Eleanor sighed and turned her back on Kenneth to walk out of her cubicle and toward the door to the staircase that led folks out of the building. “I’ll call it a day. Take your time with your tasks.” She grabbed one of the jackets from the coat hanger by the door and stepped out of her small world.

Tourists and locals ambled about Manx Boardwalk as the sun vanished in the horizon of the Atlantic, bathing the New Brunswick city of Fort McMillan in warm orange light. They said that taking a walk along the footpath that stretched past piers full of food booths could uplift passerbys’ spirits, if only because the scent of fried and sugary fare equated to the need to seek out woe-drowning comfort food.

Well, unless that passerby was Eleanor. Her source of sustenance lay in taking in the coastal view and chattering of folks around her.

As she strolled down the footpath abutting the waterfront—with her hands deep in her jacket pockets and the wind making a mess of her shoulder-length hair—Eleanor stared at the moms, dads, and kids taking selfies in front of the sunset. She nodded at her fellow pedestrians as she walked past them.

One could say that Eleanor inhabited two worlds. The first consisted of Globish HQ, a world she presided over in the name of upholding the high standards of news reporting her parents taught her while working as photojournalists in the 2060s—which many dubbed “The Decade of Strife” by dint of the wars that unfolded on every continent during that period. Hell would freeze over before Eleanor even thought of letting her folks down by overlooking any injustice or act of extremism she and her staff caught wind of.

The second world happened to be the one she called home—the Commonwealth of Atlantica.

In the past, the Atlantic provinces of Canada had a rough go of it with economic stagnation and political neglect at the hands of a federal government that busied itself with clamping down on nationalism in Quebec and Western Canada. It was as if Atlantic Canada used such a distraction to secede. Also helped that the region received an influx of immigrants who brought with them technological know-how and financial acumen that turned New Brunswick and its neighbors into booming economies in the 2030s.

Eleanor sought to protect such a world and keep it out of harm’s way—even as a private citizen. Who wouldn’t do such a thing when the country took in one’s parents fleeing persecution on the other side of the pond? To Eleanor, taking things for granted equated to being a freeloader. To shed light on the deeds of Atlantica’s foes made for her way of thanking the country for taking her parents in many a moon ago.

Still, why did Kenneth argue that Globish’s targeted subjects bore more nuance to their character than their harsh rhetoric about Atlantica and its allies let on? Like, how did one go about seeing the benign, the good in unsavory figures when they kept their innermost selves under wraps while out in public?

Eleanor scratched her head and clicked her tongue as she neared a newsstand facing the ferry station that had rides linking New Brunswick to Nova Scotia. Boy, could she use a read and chat with someone.

The newsstand itself could appear in a dictionary next to the word “utilitarian.” The corrugated walls and faded-out signage on its sides betrayed its past as a small shipping container. The wooden shelves underneath and flanking the window held all kinds of tabloids, broadsheets, and magazines from many a corner of the world. Only the cosmopolitan type would deign to go the extra mile to stock such reads.

Speaking of whom, leaning out the window and standing under the “Manx Newsstand” sign was a plump man whose pipe and skipper’s cap made his past as a sailor clear. He smiled and nodded at Eleanor.

“Cornelius,” said Eleanor as she took her leather gloves off.

“Ms. Saravak!” Cornelius stood upright and rubbed his hands. “Came early today!”

“I... got done with work sooner than usual.”

“Never told me what you do for a living.”

Eleanor glanced at the “Daily Issues” column on the window’s righthand side. Globish made for a big deal around those parts and the world, but that translated into fans and naysayers. Erring on the side of caution by making the editorship anonymous proved to be Eleanor’s way of giving everyone the slip.

 “Still a secret, eh?” Cornelius said.

Eleanor eyed the window’s lefthand side where the weekly issue column lay. “No comment.”

Cornelius laughed. “Like when y’ask someone what they make of a rumor. Including those concerning something they did or are linked to.”

“Even stuff that changes the way you perceive someone?”

“Those as well!”

Eleanor looked back at Cornelius, who took a puff on his pipe and scratched his nape. Compared to other folks, he made for an open book—what with his words of wisdom and swift answering of questions about what went on between him and the missus. That was the thing, though. Most of the time, it was up to others to uncover the truth about particular souls. If only things in life weren’t so shady.

Then again, things being shady meant that news publications kept existing. Speaking of which...

“One copy of Globish,” Eleanor said with a raised finger. “Please.”

Cornelius nodded and crouched to open a cabinet under the countertop he leaned onto earlier. He re-emerged with a glossy magazine in his hands. “Got the new batch just now. Still need to shelve it.”

“Thanks,” Eleanor said as Cornelius handed her the issue. “How’s it doing sales-wise?”

“Oh, still flying off the shelves,” said Cornelius. “At my discretion, of course!”

“Indeed, can’t take any chances when you have fetching reads like this one.” Eleanor tapped the front cover of her magazine’s new issue. Cartoonists at Globish deserved a raise for depicting the Old-World Sovereigntist League as a bunch of toddlers bawling their eyes out while being cooped up in a cradle shaped like Earth and showing cracks. World proved too small for hosting lots of small-minded folks.

“Not sure if it’s ‘cause of the covers,” Cornelius said, “or ‘cause of what’s inside.”

“Or both.” Eleanor pulled her wallet out of her jacket pocket and handed a $10 bill to Cornelius. Something about having one’s work appear out in the wild made her buy Globish whenever she got the chance. Chalk it up to her buying new issues of the paper her folks worked for while she attended college.

Cornelius took the bill and put it in his cash register, which bore so many banknotes that it made pushing the drawer back in tricky.

“I see that business is booming,” Eleanor said.

“Sharp eyes on you,” said Cornelius. “And funny that you mention it. Think the one I’ve to thank for this is about to swing by soon.”

“Oh?”

“Did I say soon?” Cornelius pointed over Eleanor’s shoulder. “I meant now.”

Eleanor spun around.

Before her stood a young man in a puffy jacket and carrying a briefcase. His blank expression and buzz cut made him look like an army recruit who spent his time standing sentry by a military checkpoint and checking papers while being as cool as a cucumber. Seemed like he had all the time in the world, but Cornelius had business to do. Eleanor stood in the shopkeeper’s way by gawking at the would-be customer.

“S... Sorry.” Eleanor stepped aside and waved the man over.

He nodded and walked up to the newsstand.

Cornelius doffed his pipe and said, “How many will it be today?”

The customer flashed six raised fingers at Cornelius, who crouched to retrieve half a dozen issues of Globish and drop them on his countertop.

Eleanor raised her brows. Someone—and their loved ones—had a love affair with the work she and her team did. She covered her mouth with the copy of Globish she held to hide her smile at the sight of $60 being handed over to Cornelius. Not every day one saw their work get appreciated out in public like that.

“Happy reading!” Cornelius said. “Say hi to your family for me.”

The young man nodded and trotted away, holding the Globish issues close to his chest.

Eleanor eyed Cornelius. “I’ll be off,” she said. “Take care.” She walked after the customer.

“Enjoy your read,” Cornelius said. “Those folks at Globish know how to rile folks up!”

As the Fort McMillan Anglican Church bell tolled the start of the evening, streetlights came on and lit the weathered sidewalks and street that made up Dovelin Avenue. The howling of dogs echoed behind some of the townhouses Eleanor scurried past while tailing the Globish enthusiast from a distance.

What on God’s green earth drove her to do this? Was it that she had nothing else to do for the rest of the day? That the one she followed proved young for someone who bought Globish? In bulk, no less.

Or did Eleanor try to take a stab at what Kenneth told her earlier? See how people react to our takes when they read them on the spot. In other words, way before they penned a letter to the editor. To be fair, there existed a difference between snap reactions and deliberate responses. Latter bore more tact. Well, most of the time. Former, though? That could provide an opening into the rawness of someone’s character.

Long story short, this made for Eleanor’s chance to see how far she went with her journalism.

The Globish hoarder made a sharp left turn into a back alley devoid of light. Okay, it was something one’d do if they looked for trouble. Or if they themselves were trouble.

Eleanor crossed her fingers as she slipped into the alleyway. Please let it not be the latter.

Garbage cans and shopping carts lined the brick walls that flanked Eleanor as she made her way down the alley. The only thing other than the briefcase-carrying man that she could see was a small fire atop a barrel in the middle of a clearing.

The Globish-carrying fellow stopped in front of the barrel and placed the briefcase on the ground.

Upon reaching the end of the alley, Eleanor hid behind a dumpster that sat a few yards away from the center of the clearing. She covered her nose to keep the stench of rotten eggs and turpentine from overpowering the senses. A hot, steamy shower awaited her once this whole ordeal had run its course.

“I’m here,” the man said.

Two figures wearing baggy black clothes and facemasks stepped out of the other alleyways that led into the clearing. They waved at the Globish buyer as he bent down to open his briefcase. If that made for a book club session, then Eleanor was the Queen of Atlantica. Something was up. As a member of the free press, she forbade herself from looking the other way where odd happenings were concerned.

The briefcase owner stood up with what looked to be a jerrycan in his hand. He handed the issues of Globish over to the veiled figures as they gathered around the barrel. “Okay,” he said, “on my mark.”

Eleanor widened her eyes. Were they about to—

“Purge.”

All three souls tossed the magazine copies into the fire atop the barrel, prompting the jerrycan wielder to pour gasoline into the pile of Globish issues.

The fire grew in height, its crackling getting louder as it lit the whole clearing and made the figures’ shadows dance about the scene. The arsonists-in-arms took a step back and crossed their arms to take in the view of their handiwork. Ray Bradbury would’ve had a field day writing about such a deed.

“Down with the global!” the magazine-burning bunch said in unison. “Glory to the sovereigntists!”

Eleanor shook her head as her heart rate quickened. How could such a thing happen in Atlantica? Wasn’t that something that unfolded only in the Old World where Atlantica’s naysayers dwelled?

And most important of all, what were they doing in Fort McMillan of all places?

One of the masked figures neared the customer from the newsstand. They pulled down their facemask to reveal a young woman’s face. “Did the shopkeeper suspect you?” she said.

The Globish buyer shook his head. “Too nice to do that,” he said. “You found the place?”

Another masked figure—burlier and taller than the two who spoke just now—stepped forward and pulled a cell phone out of their back pocket. They showed its screen to everyone and said, “May sound like a hunch, but I think those cultureless punks are holed up somewhere on Lawton Road.”

Eleanor mouthed, “Heavens, how did they find out?” Her heart rate now reached the point where her ticker may as well have leaped out of her ribcage.

“You sure?” said the Globish buyer as he placed the jerrycan back in his briefcase.

“Jorge...” the young woman said.

“He said Lawton Road.” Jorge picked up his briefcase. “The Grill-Off’s gonna be tomorrow, Chloe. If Globish is based around there and we light it up by then, that’ll have more people get the memo.”

Chloe sighed. “You’re right.” She eyed the phone-wielding figure. “Rayan, please double-check.”

“I can pull an all-nighter for that,” Rayan said. “Lawton should be deserted for the next twelve hours.”

Eleanor shoved her hand in her back pocket. If she could get a hold of the police and have them arrest the lot in one fell swoop, all would be well that ended—

Except all her hand grasped was the cotton that lined the inside of her pocket. No phone to be found.

“Shoot,” said Eleanor. Did that mean her phone still lay on her office desk?

“Hey!” Rayan said. “You guys heard that?”

“We can hear you,” said Chloe. “And the fire.”

“No, I mean, I heard something behind that dumpster.” Rayan’s footfalls got louder by the second.

Eleanor got to her feet and made a run for it. That was enough suspense for tonight.

“Get her!” Jorge’s voice echoed behind Eleanor as she rushed out of the alleyway. More footfalls rang out behind her.

Great, cardio in the nighttime. Just what she needed.

“Please let there be a cop in sight,” Eleanor said. Soreness in her legs and shortness of breath had lack of exercise written all over it. In her defense, that was the kind of thing one did in a warzone. Not in one of the most peaceful cities on the continent, if not the world.

Bad news about being so peaceful, though, is that cops had few to no reasons to be all over the place at night. Even after covering sundry blocks, there lay nary a soul in Eleanor’s vicinity—and forget about shouting for help, lest she gave her position away. Only silver lining was that low-heel shoes made less noise than high-heel ones, plus they made running less of a hassle.

With none to seek help from on a lonesome night, Eleanor had to find refuge in her abode instead. Yeah, that ought to do the trick. Not like those ruffians back there found out about her address too.

Looking over her shoulder, Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief at the emptiness of Magnolia Street. Only a stray cat stood in the middle of it, meowing at Eleanor as if asking her if she were running from the devil in the flesh.

Yeah, little kitty. Eleanor witnessed the burning of her work at the hands of devilish imps. If that didn’t make for a hellish sight, nothing would.

Even though her legs were stiff, and her lungs burned as if someone had left them on the grill for too long, Eleanor stepped on the sidewalk and traipsed along it to get back home as soon as she could.

Someone ought to write a story about what she went through.

A thin veil of fog shrouded the streets of Fort McMillan as the moon reached its peak in the cloudy black sky. Only the chirping of crickets kept Eleanor company as she peeked through the curtain blinds to look out her bedroom window. ‘Twas something one did as an investigative journalist to shadow their prey.

In this case, though, roles got reversed.

The deep breaths Eleanor made, the strain in her eyes... Spending a couple of hours keeping watch on her neighborhood and seeing if the arsonists tailed her made for anything but a sound night.

Part of her said, “Call the police, silly! That’s what they’re for.” But another part told her, “Yeah, but what if they asked her what she did for a living and where she worked? I bet a month’s worth of wages that they’ll set up a cordon around Globish HQ and clue Eleanor’s naysayers in on which building to torch.” In other words, her best option proved to be waiting things out and praying that the fiery bunch gave up.

But what if they pressed on? What if they did find the office? All they’d have to do was see which building took in the most folks, and it wasn’t like other spots on Lawton Road housed big businesses. Lord Almighty, some predicament to be dealing with.

Eleanor backed away from her window and turned around to face her apartment.

Wasn’t much to look at—a small kitchen lining the wall to her right, a bedroom and bathroom nestled in a corner to her left, and a living room that had little more than a couch and a flatscreen atop a nightstand. But at least it was home. The fortress she needed when her mind alone wouldn’t suffice. Save for letters on the doormat that the mailman slipped under the front door, the condo bore no signs of visitors.

But company—the helping kind, to be precise—made for what Eleanor had to seek out. Now.

Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose and screwed her eyes shut. Okay, so no ringing the cops, or else they’d help the arsonists by accident. Ergo, the one thing she could do was tell her coworkers not to come to the office tomorrow. Only problem? They had a reputation for missing crucial calls after clocking out, and working from home proved too risky given that some of the staff members’ neighbors found out about their job and spread the word to illiberal circles. The less said about those doxing incidents, the better.

Emails, maybe? Those could go out to everyone all at once, but who’d bother opening their inboxes before turning up at work? And no way Eleanor would step out again to knock on everyone’s doors, lest her pursuers find her again and turn the streets into a glorified treadmill for her to sprint onto at max speed.

Jesus, if only Eleanor could come up with an id—

Bang-bang-bang. Loud thuds rang out behind the front door, derailing Eleanor’s train of thought and swinging her eyelids wide open.

She held her breath and bit her lower lip. Landlord? No, he had already collected the rent earlier this month. Who else could it be, then? Curse that door for lacking a peephole Eleanor could look through.

Oh God, had they caught up to her at last?

“M... Ms. Saravak?” The words that came from behind the door were muffled, but there was no mistaking whom that voice belonged to.

“Kenneth?” Eleanor said as she rushed toward the door and grabbed its knob. No time to ask herself what business he had in her neck of the woods. Seeing him in the flesh alone was the tonic she needed.

Upon opening the door, Eleanor stared at a Barbour jacket-wearing Kenneth with bloodshot eyes. The speed at which she swung the door inward had him recoil at the sudden sight of his superior, causing an object he held to fly out of his hand. He caught the flying item before it hit the ground and stood erect to present it to Eleanor.

Her cell phone!

Kenneth cleared his throat and said, “I, uh, I bet you were looking for it. Good thing Al knew—"

Eleanor grabbed Kenneth by the collar of his jacket. She pulled him into her condo as if yanking him off a railway track before he became as flat as his many attempts at penning eye-grabbing headlines.

“Please forgive me for asking Al about your personal address while he and I were chatting about funny cat pics by the water cooler! I swear that I’m not stalking you whatsoever and that my intentions are as pure and benevolent as my Sunday school teacher!” Kenneth’s rapid-fire speech sucked all the breath out of him, with him wheezing and coughing upon unveiling to his boss what went on in that head of his.

Eleanor took her cell phone and slid it into her side pocket before placing her hands on both of Kenneth’s shoulders. “You’re not in trouble,” she said.

“For... For real?” Kenneth said.

“Let me rephrase that. All of Globish’s in trouble. How about you make yourself at home first?”

Kenneth emptied his mug and gulped down its decaffeinated contents before grimacing. Less so at the coffee he drank and more so at the story Eleanor had told him while the two were sitting on the living room couch. Bet he would’ve died of fright at the sight of Globish issues being sacrificed to the fire gods.

“So that’s how folks— Well, those folks reacted to our takes,” Eleanor said.

Kenneth nodded and said, “I guess a letter to the editor wouldn’t have sufficed.”

“Even the most basic and caustic of letters takes time to write. We’re talking about people clamoring for swift action, hence why I said that we need to react as fast as we can.”

Kenneth lifted a finger. “So, uh, we can’t call the police.” And another finger. “Nor can we reach out to the rest of the staff on time.” And another one. “And I guess our... critics will pull an all-nighter.”

“To find our office and destroy it.”

“With us inside.”

Eleanor recoiled at Kenneth’s comment. “C... Come again?”

Kenneth looked her in the eye. “Think about it. They hate our takes and our guts. What better way to put a stop to the former than by disposing of those bearing the latter?”

Eleanor pressed her palms against her eyes and leaned back on her couch seat. There went a good night’s sleep. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You had other stuff to think about while they chased you.”

She uncovered her face and sat upright on the couch. Damn adrenaline rush muddled her noggin.

There was another thing that gnawed at her mind. What if Globish’s reporting had proven less... unvarnished where sociocultural topics were concerned? Would the arsonists still have gone ahead with their stunt? A stunt that unfolded so close to home?

Here was the thing, though. Globish had always been about mincing no words when it came to dealing with figures and issues that jeopardized internationalism and the rules-based order. If a hard stance—and harsh words—proved to be what the doctor ordered, then it’d be for when the patient espoused all kinds of heinous beliefs about what Eleanor, her coworkers, and Atlantica stood for.

But what if Kenneth had a point? What if Globish’s wordsmiths tried to better grasp the things that compelled folks they were opposed to do and say the things Eleanor took umbrage with? What if the magazine bore a bit more nuance when it came to covering divisive subjects?

Eleanor stroked her chin. It all amounted to food for thought, but she’d have to let it simmer a little while longer since she and Kenneth had other fish to fry.

“So, what do we do now?” Kenneth said.

Crossing her arms, Eleanor said, “We wait.”

Kenneth raised both of his brows and set his mug to the side. “B... But what about—”

“It’s like you said.” Eleanor eyed Kenneth. “There’s a chance they won’t act until everyone’s inside the office.” She tapped her temple. “If they’re smart enough to have pinpointed the city we’re based in, then they’re smart enough to know that all the work we do is backed up in the cloud.”

“We don’t know if they know that.”

“Nor do they know where our office is. For now.”

Kenneth clicked his tongue. “Fair point. Still, I’m not sure if I should be relieved at the fact that they won’t strike tonight...”

“... or scared witless of their targeting the office when everyone turns up at work.”

“I know you said that we can’t reach out to all the others on time, but can we at least give it a shot?”

“We could.” Eleanor pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened the mail app on it. “Let’s start with a companywide message, then we can try calling the others one by one.”

Kenneth nodded and got his phone out as well. “It might take a while, so I may have to st—”

“You can sleep in my bed if you want.”

“Oh, you needn’t—”

“I insist. Consider it my way of repaying you for finding my phone.”

Kenneth stared at his phone and punched a few numbers. “Ms. Saravak?” he said as he held the device next to his ear.

Eleanor looked at Kenneth. “Yes?”

“If things do come down to the wire, how do you think Globish will come out of this ordeal?”

“With some luck, it won’t come out looking burnt to a crisp.”

“I mean, in terms of how we report our stories.”

Eleanor pursed her lips as she got off the couch and ambled over to the bathroom. “Let me wash up first, then I’ll help you call the others.”

Rays of sunlight pierced the morning clouds, bespeckling the pothole-ridden tarmac on Lawton Road with orange-yellow dots. Some of the people gathered on the patches of grass lining the sidewalks looked upward, wiping their foreheads and exhaling at the sight of a sky that would spare them from a downpour. None of them planned to take a rain check on the Grill-Off.

Neither did Eleanor or Kenneth, both of whom stood outside the entrance that led into the fenced-off lot that filled the air with wafts of smoked meat and charred veggies.

“You sure they haven’t seen your face?” Kenneth said.

“’Twas dark when it happened,” said Eleanor. “Only saw my rear end when I made a run for it.”

“But you did see theirs.” Kenneth cleared his throat. “Faces, I mean.”

Eleanor nodded.

“Good. Hope you find the ringleader and have the cops pounce on him to send the others running.”

“No, we need to nab all three. What makes you think they won’t reconvene and tweak their plans?”

“P... Please don’t fire me.”

“It’ll take a disaster for that to happen, and we’re here to prevent one from happening.” Eleanor gazed at the five-story building Globish’s office was in. “We only managed to warn four of our folks, right?”

“Would’ve been so much simpler had everyone caught a cold and stayed in.”

Eleanor’s phone alarm went off, the device vibrating in her pocket. 9 A.M. All was well. For now.

“Well.” Kenneth zipped up his Barbour jacket. “That’s our cue.”

“Know what to do?”

“Stand some yards away from the building entrance and stop folks on their track to show the email you sent out to everyone last night. Did I get that right?”

“You’ll get it right if everyone listens to you instead of asking the rookie to step aside.”

Kenneth pulled on his collar. “Thanks for telling me that I should socialize more with everyone.”

Eleanor smiled at him. “You’ll get the chance to do so while we celebrate.” She held out her hand. “To a successful operation.”

Glancing at his boss’s hand, Kenneth grabbed and shook it. “Good luck finding them,” he said before darting off to take his position near the office building.

As her co-worker vanished in the Grill-Off crowd, Eleanor swung her head left and right. No pedestrians on either side of Lawton Road, with police cruisers and the officers inside them being the only signs of life outside the Grill-Off area. Still, it could be that the arsonists ran late. Seeing as there existed few alternate paths that took one straight to Globish HQ, Eleanor took solace in the fact that the amount of ground she had to cover would not daunt her. But that also made it easier for her to get spotted by them.

Slapping both cheeks and taking a deep breath, Eleanor launched Operation Press Guardian. That is, she strolled along the sidewalk as if she were a mere passerby wending her way to work. Oh, no need to pay heed to this trench coat-wearing lady, officers. Where did the trouble lie in taking in the scenery?

Except what the cops had failed to grasp was that this lady would be doing them a favor by singling out at most three souls for arrest.

“Come on,” Eleanor said as she rubbed her gloved hands. “Where are you foxes hiding?”

Dozens of footsteps later, she reached the intersection that led out of Lawton Road and into other streets. Eleanor gazed at the paved trail that led to the building Globish’s office was in. She gave a thumbs-up to Kenneth—who stood yards away from the front door and busied himself working the crowd of Globish staff members by showing them his phone, on which Eleanor’s companywide email was displayed.

Upon turning around to walk toward the other end of Lawton Road, Eleanor spotted someone a stone’s throw away from her scampering toward where the Grill-Off took place. Buzz cut, slight frame, briefcase... God Almighty, the ringleader—Jorge, if memory served Eleanor right—showed up after all.

But where were his fellow troublemakers? Christ, had they split up to avoid looking suspicious?

Butterflies filled Eleanor’s chest as she stared at the crowd plugging away at their grills and smokers. Please don’t tell her that she had to comb the whole place for the others’ whereabouts.

No, the likelihood of Jorge making his way to a meeting spot with the others was still there. Maybe if Eleanor shadowed him and kept a low profile, she’d catch three birds with one stone by calling the cops as soon as the book-burning cabal got together. Wouldn’t do her any good if the police only caught Jorge and gave the other arsonists a chance to do his bidding on their own.

As Eleanor followed Jorge into the Grill-Off area, she whipped out her phone and penned a message to Kenneth. Think I’m onto something. Keep the ball rolling on your end.

Message sent. A reply from Kenneth came in. Still have many folks who have yet to turn up. Should I get the ones who showed up to call the others?

Eleanor wrote another message. Yeah, try sharing the workload by getting the word out together.

Message sent. Kenneth reacted with a green tick emoji. Good, now back to tailing Jorge.

Except doing so would now prove riskier, for the briefcase-carrying arsonist made a sharp turn into a small path between two grill-housing tents. In other words, Eleanor could no longer rely on crowds of burly carnivores and their meat-craving munchkins to keep her veiled.

Eleanor peeked around the corner Jorge had vanished into. No way she’d follow him in there, for he’d be on high alert in light of last night’s event. Christ on a bike, was this kind of trouble the same one Eleanor’s parents went through to take pics of unsavory folks they had to shadow? Well, at least their daughter didn’t deal with gun owners.

Oh please, let there not be guns.

Eleanor shook her head to get Hollywood-style shootouts out of her mind and train her focus on finding a different path to... wherever Jorge was going. Great, she had no clue where he’d emerge.

She scurried past some meat tray-carrying attendees and rounded a tent’s corner to head in the same direction as Jorge when he entered the small pathway. At least the office building lay on the other side of the fenced-in Grill-Off area.

As she covered more yards and sidestepped buckets of spilled popcorn on the ground, the crowd in front of Eleanor grew less packed. It looked like she reached the other end of the venue, what with the barriers and banners advertising the event that stood in front of her. Shoot, how could she proceed onward? Maybe by backtracking and looking for a path she may’ve missed, she could—

But as Eleanor weighed her options, two figures emerged from some bushes past the barriers in front of her. One tall and the other less imposing. The way they marched as if nothing could stop them in their tracks, the steely expression their faces gave off, their familiar silhouettes...

Chloe and Rayan.

Eleanor gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Blast, if she were to vault over the barriers, they’d see her from far away and make a run for it. As with Jorge, there was no way they couldn’t be on edge.

Upon eyeing the venue exit close to where she stood, Eleanor trotted her way out of the fenced-in area. Okay, now that she spotted all three ruffians, how and when should she reach out to the police? In person and right this instant to have them follow Eleanor to where the cabal would meet? Or via phone and later so that Eleanor could corner the trio as soon as they got together?

First option proved fetching... until it became clear that they’d have everyone at the Grill-Off evacuate the scene. That’d force Jorge and his chums to flee and fight another day. Second option preserved the element of surprise, but how fast would the cops be when it came to answering Eleanor’s call for help?

Decisions, decisions. Or rather, compromises, compromises.

Eleanor texted Kenneth once more. You done warning everyone? Sent.

A reply from Kenneth. Yes, ma’am! Thank Christ, for he could make himself useful again.

Look for a cop or two and stand next to them till I tell you to tip them off. Sent.

Reply received. Uh-oh, y’into trouble?

I will be if you don’t do your part. Eleanor added a winking emoji at the end of her message. Sent.

Scared and green tick emojis from Kenneth. Okay, he got the gist.

Eleanor pocketed her phone and made her way out of the venue. Shrubbery ahead should give her some cover while shadowing Chloe and Rayan.

As she zigzagged around bushes and took care not to rustle any leaves or break any twigs, Eleanor cupped her mouth and exhaled onto her palms. Moment of truth was upon her. Were she to pull this off, folks would crown her the savior of the free press. If only her folks could see her now.

But if things went pear-shaped? Well, best not cross that bridge till she got there.

Upon looking over her shoulder, Eleanor saw that she had circled around the Grill-Off area while following Jorge’s partners-in-crime. She then eyed the path ahead and the building at the tail end of it.

The same building that housed the Globish office.

Despite the scarf Eleanor wore around her neck, the hair on her nape raised at the fact that the trio may’ve singled out the structure for vandalism. Time to whip out the big gun again and unload on those who sought to bring harm to Globish.

Phone out of Eleanor’s pocket. More typing. Kenneth, wait for my signal.

Sent. Reply received. This is it, huh?

Another message by Eleanor. For Globish.

Pocketing her phone, Eleanor trained her sights on Chloe and Rayan—both of whom stopped walking and stood in the shade that the building cast on the parking lot to its side. ‘Twas all quiet on that front, save for the chattering of Grill-Off attendees in the distance and the crying of seagulls up above.

Eleanor snuck toward and hid behind an SUV that had “Tots Aboard” and “Donair Lover” stickers on its front passenger side window. For once, she thanked those who flouted the “Private Parking” policy.

Chloe and Rayan turned to face the direction in which someone made footfalls a few empty parking spots away from them. The fact that they stood still instead of ducking for cover or getting out of Dodge meant only one thing.

The man of the hour—Jorge—showed up. “Sorry for being late,” he said. “Had to take a detour.”

“Jorge,” Rayan said as he ran his hand along his bald head, “if that meant you were being—"

“No one saw me this time,” said Jorge. “Save for the attendees at the Grill-Off.”

“Not the time to laugh it off,” Chloe said. “So, how are we going to do this?”

Jorge held his briefcase in front of him and popped it open, showing its contents to Rayan and Chloe as if presenting an engagement ring to them.

Rayan widened his eyes and had his mouth agape. “Damn, you went the extra mile.”

Chloe said, “Are... Are these what I think they are?”

Jorge nodded. “Molotov cocktails. Hope you all brought your own lighters.”

No sooner did Jorge utter that last word than Eleanor reached for her phone to type another message to Kenneth. Bring cops to private parking. Now.

Sent. The words “Message read” popped up on her phone, and cries of panic echoed in the distance.

Heavens, cops proved swifter than Eleanor was used to!

The trio she spied on recoiled at what unfolded over at the Grill-Off venue, with Chloe and Rayan grabbing their Molotov concoctions and Jorge closing the briefcase as soon as he picked up his bottle. The amount of swearing they let out would have even the most anti-censorship editor—i.e. Eleanor—black out the whole exchange were it to be printed black on white.

“Rayan!” Jorge pointed at his stocky accomplice. “Which one?”

Rayan ran toward the building housing Globish’s office. “One I’m sprinting toward!”

Chloe and Jorge followed Rayan, cradling their Molotov bottles as if they were shielding babies. On that note, they better not birth the next generation of political activists.

The rustling of leaves and the sound of radio chatter grew louder behind Eleanor, who turned around and waved at Kenneth and four cops. Goodness, rookie brought the whole cavalry with him.

“Ms. Saravak!” said Kenneth.

“Good work, Kenneth,” Eleanor said before she turned to face the cops and pointed at the building the arsons ran toward. “They went that way. I saw them whip out—”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said a helmet-wearing cop. “We’ll take it from here.”

Eleanor glanced at the holstered guns the cops rested their hands on. Goodness, if push came to shove, they’d see to it that Jorge and the others would end up shedding this mortal coil. Sure, the three armed themselves to the hilt, but Eleanor edited enough stories about martyrs to see that those who died to uphold a cause would inspire others around the world to follow suit.

Yes, the trio had to be stopped, but there had to be a less... final way out for them. Less likely to perpetuate the cycle of hatred that Eleanor sought to break by publishing stories about bad actors.

Screw it. She’d leap into the fray once more.

“Wait,” Eleanor said. “You’ll be needing me.”

“Ma’am,” said another cop with a police cap, “we have this under control.”

“I know exactly where they’re headed and how we can corner them.”

“You... You do?” Kenneth said.

Eleanor spun her forefinger clockwise on her palm. “There’s a private side door we can use to beat them to the punch. They’ll try one of the public doorways, so we’ll reach the office by the time they’re in.”

“Then why not go after them from the get-go?” said the helmet-wearing cop.

“Because they’ll already be inside by then,” Eleanor said. “It’s just that it’ll take time for them to know which floor they’re to target.”

The cap-wearing officers said, “Okay, we’ll follow your lead. Only because you know the building well, and I like Globish.”

“Yeah,” his fellow cops said while nodding. Were it not for the fact that any material reward would be deemed a form of bribery, Eleanor would’ve gone ahead with offering them free one-year subscriptions if they did their job well.

“Wonderful.” Eleanor beckoned everyone over. “This way.”

Eleanor and Kenneth followed the police officers up the staircase inside the building. Lightbulbs on the walls flickered with every step taken, with the officers’ stomping drowning out the radio chatter on their walkie-talkies. The scent of mold and concrete filled the air, with no smoke to be smelled. That equated to good news seeing as it meant that the three stooges had yet to torch the place.

“This the fifth floor?” the helmet-wearing cop said as he pointed at a staircase door in front of him.

“Right,” Eleanor said as she took a keycard out of her trench coat pocket and tapped it on a card reader next to the door. “Just make a right, then turn left, and the office will be straight ahead.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” said the helmeted cop. “Now, we’ll take it from here.” He waved his colleagues over. “On me, folks, and don’t forget about trigger discipline.”

Eleanor and Kenneth breathed a sigh of relief at those last two words. Maybe things wouldn’t get so ugly as soon as the peeps in blue and arsonists bumped into one another.

The officers poured into the doorway, with the one in the back of the line everyone had formed closing the door behind her. Subtle way of saying, “Don’t try following us, you word-wrangling twerps.”

“Ms. Saravak?” Kenneth said. “What if they—”

“They won’t run into the trio before you and I do,” said Eleanor. “Consider the police presence a last resort in case Jorge and the others don’t listen to us.”

“You mean if they don’t back off after hearing us tell them that the office is full of cops?”

“Let’s worry first about the choice of words we’ll use to get them to stand down.” Eleanor turned around and trotted downstairs. “If my calculations are right, they should reach the fourth floor in”—she glanced at her wristwatch—“two minutes tops.”

Kenneth followed Eleanor down the staircase. “What if they’re in the elevator?”

“Only keycard users can access them. Why the main staircase’s open to the public is beyond me.”

“Golly, you thought of everything.”

“You have those who erected this building to thank for that.” Eleanor neared the staircase door on the fourth floor and tapped her keycard on the card reader. “And for fixing it if things get heated.”

Kenneth gulped as Eleanor swung the door open and the two stepped into the hallway.

It wasn’t much to look at. Carpet tiles on the floor, wooden doors with signs detailing who occupied what, some fluorescent lamps that ran along the ceiling... The corridor’s spartan look contrasted with Globish’s worldwide reputation. Then again, just as staff members tried not to draw attention to themselves out in public, the building had to stick to modest standards to ensure that passersby refrained from pointing at the building and saying, “Golly, that’s where Globish is! Sure hope none lays waste to it!”

Kenneth patted Eleanor’s back and said, “Where do we go now—”

Eleanor turned to face Kenneth and held a finger to her mouth. Her eyes darted left and right. Silence had to be golden, for there was no telling where the trio would be coming from.

Just as Kenneth opened his mouth again, muffled chatter arose from the hallway’s eastern side. Floors proved thin enough to make out the cadence of each individual voice, which grew louder with every footfall made. No doubt about it. They were here. Eleanor bet her career they’d check the fourth floor soon.

“Are they coming?” Kenneth mouthed.

Eleanor took Kenneth’s hand and led him around the corner. If they were to talk some sense into the trio, they would have to meet them head-on. Risky, but at least they carried Molotov cocktails and not handguns. No point in wasting something so precious on some lady and young’un they never met.

“Any clue what, uh, what I should tell them?” said Kenneth.

“I’ll do the talking,” Eleanor said.

“And what if they don’t buy what we— you say?”

Eleanor took another keycard out of her pocket and handed it to Kenneth. “Take my spare, rush to the office, and tell the cops to come find me. Only do that if things go south.”

After taking the card and slipping it into his breast pocket, Kenneth said, “Want me by your side?”

“Stand around the corner and keep an eye on your phone. If I send you a message that says Go, then you know what to do.”

Kenneth nodded and took point around the corner. “G... Godspeed, boss!”

Eleanor crossed her arms and spread her legs to block the hallway, looking as if she were about to repel a horde of hooligans. Granted, three made more for a small party than a mob, but one couldn’t take any chances with folks who could burn the place down. One wrong move or word, and Eleanor was dunzo.

The chatter went from muffled to clear as the footfalls stopped right next to where the public staircase door lay. “Right,” said a voice—Jorge’s—on the other side of the doorway. “Let’s check this one.”

As the door handle shook and shifted downward, Eleanor bit her lower lip and furrowed her brows. God, may they see and listen to reason.

The door swung open, revealing the same three figures Eleanor saw in the parking lot. All of them still had their Molotov cocktails at the ready, though they had yet to light them. Upon spotting Eleanor, the trio hid their bottles behind their backs. Bet they planned on presenting themselves as mere visitors.

Chloe cleared her throat and said, “Pardon me, ma’am, but would you happen to know where—”

“Where Globish is?” said Eleanor.

Rayan and Jorge recoiled at what the daunting, bespectacled lady in a trench coat uttered. Bet they found out just now that the element of surprise proved to be off the table.

“I know what you have behind your backs,” Eleanor said. “I can assure you, the lives you want to ruin aren’t in the office. And the ones that are will send you packing if you don’t stand down.”

Jorge shook his head and said, “We’ve no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Down with the global, glory to the sovereigntists.” Eleanor cocked her head to the side. “Did I get that right, Jorge?”

The ringleader gritted his teeth and pointed at Eleanor. “You! You’re the one who—”

“I’m also Globish’s editor-in-chief.” Eleanor took out her office keycard and tapped her finger on the letters “EIC” written on it. “I would’ve better appreciated your feedback had you penned me a letter.”

The trio froze in place. Bringing up her profession made for a risky gamble, but Eleanor now had the high ground. If she could disarm all of them in a literal and figurative sense with words, that’d be swell.

“So,” Eleanor said, “which part of the magazine would you like me to amend?”

Rayan glanced at Chloe and Jorge as if to see how they responded to what Eleanor asked them. Judging from their being slack-jawed, the trio had “Is she for real?” written all over them. Turning to face Eleanor again, Rayan said, “Think we’re just gonna walk away if you make a few tweaks here and there?”

“What he said,” Jorge replied.

Shoot, they weren’t budging. Gotta assert herself some more, which Eleanor did by ambling toward the trio with her arms still crossed. “I think,” she said, “that you won’t go ahead with this. Nor will you come back if you know what’s good for you.”

Chloe and Rayan backed away from Eleanor while Jorge stood his ground. If Eleanor could get to him on an emotional level, then he and the others may call this whole thing off.

“Why did you come to Atlantica, Jorge?” Eleanor said. Years of studying and writing about domestic and international figures meant that she bore a good eye and ear for mannerisms and lines of thinking that distinguished the average Atlanton from noncitizens. Had Jorge been brought up in the country, he wouldn’t have espoused the pro-sovereigntist views that Atlantica’s naysayers also embraced.

Jorge took a few steps forward and pulled a lighter out of his side pocket. He held it and his Molotov bottle in front of him before saying, “You should be wondering why we came here instead.”

“Tell me then,” said Eleanor. “Tell me why you have to go this far.”

“What are you trying to get at?”

“I just want to get to know you better. Part of my job as a journalist.”

“Jorge,” Chloe said. “We haven’t much—”

“S’okay, Chloe,” said Jorge. “Telling her where I’m coming from may knock some sense into her.”

Eleanor nodded. “I’m all ears.”

Jorge took a deep breath before lowering his lighter and Molotov bottle. “You know about the refugee camps in the Balkans?”

“That I do.”

“Then you know what we’ve been through. The floods, the clashes between villagers and those damn urbanites...”

Eleanor pursed her lips. She had to resist the urge to correct Jorge by saying that those “urbanites” happened to be political refugees who got kicked out of the big cities for espousing postnationalist views that clashed with the wider populace’s ethnocentric values. As Kenneth told Eleanor the other day, getting a better idea of how the other side saw the world would help her meet it halfway.

“In other words, gone were the traditions and land that bound our parents to their parents.” Jorge looked Eleanor in the eye. “And what did the world press do? Punch me and my kin down by painting us as tribespeople who wouldn’t make room for ‘the Other.’ Who wouldn’t ‘broaden their worldview.’”

A nod from Eleanor. Keep listening, old girl.

“Funny I say that when I agreed to be taken in by Atlantica as part of their asylum program.” Jorge sniffed. “Guess I wanted to stop feeling weak. Wanted to show people how I felt and where I came from.” He looked over his shoulder. “I can say the same of those two back there.”

Chloe and Rayan hung their heads. The three arsonists Eleanor dealt with weren’t the average middle-class youngsters who championed the cause of the marginalized for fun and giggles. They were members of the marginalized. Besides, well-heeled and privileged activists tended to do their part with keyboards and computer monitors—not with Molotov cocktails.

Eleanor uncrossed her arms and steepled her fingers. Perhaps a peaceful way out of this proved feasible indeed. “Jorge,” she said, “did you and your friends plan on torching the office because you thought it’d be foolish of you to make demands of me?”

Jorge rubbed his nape. “I, uh...”

“And did you plan on torching the office on the day of the Grill-Off because you wanted many people to get the memo firsthand?”

The ringleader sighed and nodded.

“Then tell me what you would like me to do,” Eleanor said, “so that the world can better understand where you’re coming from.”

“You... You would do that for me and them?” Jorge jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

“I can’t bend reality to fit your narrative, but I can look at it from a... different perspective so that you feel seen and heard.” Eleanor held out her hand. “What do you say?”

“She’s trying to get under your skin,” Rayan said. “Don’t—”

“Let me think,” said Jorge while looking over his shoulder. He eyed Eleanor again. “Suppose I agree to back off. What would happen to me and the others?”

Eleanor said, “Assuming you’re swift enough to leave the scene without anyone noticing, you may live to see another day as a free soul and pick up another copy of Globish. One that’s less demeaning.”

“And if I go ahead with this?” Jorge brandished his Molotov bottle.

“Then you’ll keep being painted as an extremist by the press. Not that I would necessarily have a field day with you.”

“Look me straight in the eye then”—Jorge pointed at his eyeballs—“so I know you aren’t bluffing.”

Eleanor leaned forward, with Jorge emulating her. None of their pupils dilated at their staring at one another. Their eyes stood still. No darting left or right. No heavy breathing. No hogwash. An agreement.

The two of them leaned backward to stand upright once more.

“Okay,” Jorge said.

“Okay?” said Eleanor.

“We’ll leave this place be. But if you go back on your word, the three of us won’t be as predictable the next time around.”

Chloe and Rayan groaned. To be fair, it wasn’t all for naught. They did get more or less what they sought, even if that involved swallowing their pride.

“You know the way out?” Eleanor said.

“Yeah,” said Jorge. “Was a pain in my rear end to get all the way up here, but I think—”

“Wait, wait!” Kenneth’s voice echoed from around the corner. “I... I saw them go upstairs.”

Chloe, Jorge, and Rayan trained their gaze on the shadows that emerged further down the hallway. Jesus, did it mean that—

“Right,” another voice—the helmeted cop’s from before—said. “And I’ll see you behind bars for getting in the way of police business.”

The word “police” had Rayan spark his lighter and light the cloth wick on his Molotov cocktail. He took a step back and aimed the bottle at Kenneth and the cop, both of whom came into view and wrestled with one another.

“Rayan, no!” Chloe and Jorge said.

Too late, for Rayan chucked the bottle further down the corridor. “Curse you Atlantons!” he said.

And just like that, the hallway caught fire as soon as the bottle shattered onto the ground. A wall of flame engulfed the floor, triggering fire alarms and causing sprinklers to spray water down onto everyone.

Drenched to the marrow, Eleanor squinted at Jorge—who stood still and regarded the whole scene with a slack-jawed expression. It couldn’t be happening, he may’ve been telling himself. Yeah, Eleanor and him both.

“Come with me!” Eleanor grabbed Jorge’s hand, the same one that held his Molotov bottle and let go of it as soon as he got pulled in Eleanor’s direction. She had to show him that she wasn’t one to leave her naysayers for dead or in harm’s way. Otherwise, what would’ve been the point of trying to bury the hatchet with him just a few minutes ago?

With Chloe and Rayan having made their way further down the building, Jorge only had Eleanor to keep him company while the two ran downstairs. “P... Please let go of me,” he told Eleanor.

“No,” Eleanor said.

“Why? Why didn’t you leave me behind?”

“I won’t cherry-pick lives to save! Same goes for stories to tell.”

Jorge chuckled. To be fair, Eleanor would also laugh it off were she in his shoes. “Good one.”

“We’re almost there. Just do as I say, and you’ll be fine.”

“Can’t say the same of your office, though.”

“It can be rebuilt in due time.” Eleanor pointed at a double doorway at the bottom end of the staircase. “That the way you came?”

“Yeah.”

“Shoot, I hope your friends haven’t been caught.”

Eleanor and Jorge stepped out of the burning building, with smoke billowing out of the fourth floor and rendering the air acrid and pungent. So potent was the smell that the Grill-Off’s scent of smoked and grilled meat may as well be nonexistent.

No soul lay in sight, with the shouting of civilians and cops coming from the side that housed the Grill-Off venue. The shrubbery that lined the path from the office building to the sidewalk also provided cover from prying eyes. Still, Eleanor and Jorge had to make a move. But where to go when they had no clue as to the whereabouts of the latter’s friends?

“Psst!” A voice had Eleanor and Jorge turn to face one of the bushes abutting the paved pathway.

Chloe waved at the two from behind a bush, with Rayan being nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Rayan?” Jorge said as he and Eleanor ran toward Chloe.

Shaking her head, Chloe said, “Cops got him.”

All three hung their heads. Not the best of outcomes, but at least there was still a way out for two of Eleanor’s guests if they made haste.

“So,” said Chloe, “what now?” She and Jorge looked at Eleanor.

“Go,” Eleanor said. “Keep a low profile and wait for all this to blow over. If we’re lucky, he may get a few months in jail.”

“Just... promise us that you won’t rat us out,” Jorge said.

Eleanor smiled and nodded. “Stay safe in the meantime. And who knows? Maybe you’ll be hearing from me sooner than you think.”

“Oh?” Chloe said.

“What I meant to say is that Globish may look a bit different shortly.”

Jorge smiled back at Eleanor. “Thank you, Ms...”

“Saravak but call me Eleanor the next time we meet.”

Jorge and Chloe waved goodbye to Eleanor before darting away. As they did so, Kenneth and the cops who stood watch in the office rushed to Eleanor’s position.

“Ms. Saravak!” Kenneth said before coughing. “T... Thank God, I thought I’d have to look to someone else for a promotion.”

“Consider yourself lucky that I haven’t arrested you on the spot,” said the helmeted cop while glaring at Kenneth. “Had I run down that hallway, I would’ve gone up in flames.”

Eleanor said, “It’s all right, officer. You can thank Kenneth for saving you.”

The cop grumbled and saluted Kenneth. “On behalf of my squad, you have my thanks.”

“Uh, don’t mention it!” said Kenneth, waving both hands at the officers while shaking his head.

“Anyway...” The helmeted cop turned to face Eleanor. “Any ideas where the suspects went?”

“One of them got caught,” Eleanor said. “Not sure where the others are, though.”

The officers behind the helmeted one sighed. Must’ve looked forward to hitting three birds with one stone. And with no way of pinpointing Chloe and Jorge, they’d have to come away empty-handed on that front. Still, at least they had achieved their goal of getting civilians out of harm’s way.

“In any case,” the helmeted cop said, “you two ought to come with us at the station so we can get your testimonies. Standard procedure.”

Eleanor said, “Fine by me.” She beckoned Kenneth over. “Shall we?”

Kenneth nodded before looking over his shoulder. “Shame about the office.”

“Give it a few months to get rebuilt,” Eleanor said as fire truck sirens came within earshot. “In the meantime, you and the rest of the staff could make some tweaks to your work arrangements.”

Indeed, a few months had passed between the time Globish’s office got an excuse for a makeover and its grand reopening. Place more or less looked the same as before, save for some spruced-up walls and floors that wiped coffee stains on the floor from existence.

What did not more or less look the same as before were the staff members themselves. Months of working from home—with the staff locking their doors and tinting their windows to keep neighbors in the dark—and wearing casual clothes meant the dress code proved... relaxed this time around. Some donned sports garments and shirts denoting their rock band tribe. Others were still in their bathrobes and pajamas.

Not that it mattered to Eleanor—who still settled for an office-worthy shirt, skirt, and pair of low-heel shoes. She could excuse them given everything they went through to adapt to changing circumstances.

That said, she’d have sharp words for those who failed to hear her speech.

“Ladies and gentlewriters,” Eleanor said while standing atop her desk with mic in hand and facing her coworkers. “These past few months have thrown lemons our way. But with vim and vigor, we made lemonade out of ‘em.” She pointed at one of the lemonade pitchers that sat atop every office desktop. “To preface this speech, I wish to thank each and every one of you for not turning your back on Globish. Where else would you find a community as hearty and open-minded as this fine bunch keeping you company?”

Everyone cheered—including Kenneth, who stood next to his desk chair and gave Eleanor a thumbs-up. His recent promotion to assistant editor rendered him full of pep.

“Speaking of open-mindedness, that brings me to my first point about Globish’s relaunch.” Eleanor looked out the window and spotted two familiar figures holding hands and eyeing the fifth floor from the building’s parking lot—Chloe and Jorge.

The three of them kept in touch with one another ever since the fiery incident, with Eleanor reaching out to the two arsonists-turned-friends-of-sorts to get updates on Rayan’s wellbeing in prison and gather underreported facts about the world outside Atlantica. That said facts passed the credibility test at Globish boded well for the editorial shakeup. Now Eleanor had to make good on her promise.

Eleanor regarded her staff. “Our news coverage will be, shall we say, a tad different from now on.”