GUTTER GAZZETTE

Let me start from the beginning.

It was early, 6:30am SLT, the kind of morning where the city was just rubbing the sleep out of it’s eyes. I was in my office, knee-deep in paperwork, when I heard it. Screams. Sharp, high-pitched, panicked.

I bolted outside, instincts kicking in, and what I saw sent a chill straight through me.

There, in front of Dolly’s Spa, was a figure wearing a motorcycle helmet to hide their identity, and mercilessly hurling Molotov cocktails into the storefront like it was some kind of war zone. Flames erupted almost instantly, licking up the walls, glass shattering from the heat. The arsonist had a female voice, I remember that clearly, sharp and wild, like someone unhinged.

Riding by in a car, I seen a man I recognized to be Rey Latino. He was laughing and said, “What are you doing, woman?!”

Does this suggest Rey Latino knows the female arsonist? It seems plausable, although, I can’t be certain.

And then, I heard her.

Dolly.

Her unmistakable, bimbo-pitched screams echoed from inside. It was horrifying. She was trapped.

I didn’t hesitate.

I sprinted around the back, smashed my way into her rear entrance (the rear door of her spa), and found her curled on the floor, coughing through smoke. “Follow me! Now!” I shouted. She stumbled on her glamarous platforms, but somehow, we made it out just before the flames consumed the backroom entirely.

Dolly was burned, and barely conscious. I didn’t waste a second. My phone was dead, so I took her straight to my nearby news agency and stashed her safely in the backroom. Only once we were sure the coast was clear did I take her to Mercy Hospital, urging the nurse to call the police immediately.

With Dolly finally in safe hands, I returned to the scene.

But the fire… it raged on.

Hours passed before a single firefighter arrived. One man.

Captain Sephael Devir.