Chapter 7: "The Truth Seeker's Trail: Breadcrumbs of Madness"

Sarah hunched over her overloaded desk, the harsh light from the lamp painting deep shadows on her face. The small, cramped apartment seemed to shrink with every passing hour, surrounded as it was by teetering stacks of documents. Newspaper clippings, transcripts of interviews, printouts of social media threads – they all threatened an avalanche of information, the sheer volume mocking her efforts. She rubbed her eyes, raw and tired, and ran a hand through her already disheveled hair. Endless articles, now too many for her to keep track of. Social media posts, with their shallow arguments, and anonymous tips, either leading nowhere and of little value.

The room looked less like an office and more like the aftermath of a tornado, papers scattered across every surface, threatening to bury her alive. Finding one little breadcrumb in here was going to be like finding an actual piece of bread in an actual field. She shifted in her worn chair, the springs groaning in protest, trying to find a more comfortable position to support the investigation. She'd been sitting here for what felt like days. She sipped a mouthful of cold coffee.

She picked up a report detailing Centurion's early career, noting the heroic rescues he'd performed, the awards he'd received, the public adoration that had once been his. Methodically, she cross-referenced names and dates in those reports with those that appeared in the initial smear pieces, looking for any overlap, any sign of foul play. It paid off with a single name and contact information to an unknown private number.

Now that she knew one person was connected, she started wondering who exactly was connected to the mess. Her notes seemed far away, as if the tower of documents was becoming sentient and began to attempt to block her from finding it. She was doing some work now, and she could feel that deep satisfaction coming to the fore.

Several lukewarm coffee cups, half-filled and forgotten, ringed her desk like ancient monuments, reminders of sleepless nights fueled by caffeine and determination. She picked up the latest article on Shackles's heist, the stolen neural interface device. A shiver ran down her spine. The wording felt too admiring, too… careful. "Shackles isn't just another thug in a costume, he's elevating villainy to an art form," she read aloud, the words leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

Something about that expert's quote caught at her, something about the heist as a whole. It seemed the villain, Shackles, seemed to know exactly what he was going for in his thefts. Other villains would take anything of value, but not SHackles. He was precise, deliberate, like he had a shopping list.

She leaned back in her chair, the protesting squeak grating on the already frayed edges of her nerves, and blew out a long breath. Her gaze drifted to the corkboard, a complex web of red string connecting various figures and events. Her theory of media manipulation hung by a thread, dependent on finding that one piece of evidence. She looked down at their bank balance. They would be ruined shortly, it seemed.

She imagined Ray's face, the gruff expression etched with concern as he warned her about going up against MMC. She remembered his words from just the other day, "Sarah, every editor in the city would love to find the next Pulitzer-winning conspiracy, but sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence."

"This is more than a coincidence, Ray, she muttered to herself. They have to pay me and my opinions some sort of respect some day.

She pushed herself back in her chair and opened her laptop. Why had she not thought of this before? It was almost too obvious what was happening. An official social media feed was needed. She typed "Centurion scandal timeline" into the search bar, comparing the dates of major events, searching for anything to extract that was of actual, remote value or any interest that stood out.

Centurion scandal timeline came up with dozens of articles, each building on previous allegations, creating a cohesive story of corruption, that was almost impossible to see through.

Again looking over the timelines of Shackles and Centurion, she extracted the details. Did the media know what each other was thinking? Was that a possibility? She wrote a summary and noticed and highlighted the striking correlation. The public opinions turned and declined rapidly. Suddenly the coverage of Shackles rapidly increased, shifting from the tone. It looked very similar, and Sarah was on her way to a winning formula here.

Then pulling one more loose thread of sweater, she started delving in further. The world larger was happening in Meridian City right now. It was likely some kind of game. It may not be solvable but it was good to continue on looking at these facts.

Sarah skimmed through her email, a wave of frustration washing over her as she spotted yet another rejection letter. This one was from the Hero Regulatory Commission, denying her request for access to Centurion's disciplinary records. This was a road closed down, again. Another source silenced, another door slammed in their face on their current journey. Why did she have to attempt to be so good at her job?

She tapped her fingers impatiently on her desk, wondering if it was worth reaching out to a Titan Industries contact. She wanted information about Marcus Wellington, his employment history, anything that could suggest a connection to the Centurion scandal. She dialed their number and the person hung up instantly on her again. Great, another waste of time.

She downed the rest of her coffee, more cold bitterness than caffeine. It tasted like ash. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself, to push back the rising tide of anxiety. Focusing did no good. She had to keep working. she had to keep on trucking. Again. Maybe she was not able to actually find success in this.

She attempted to track the origin of the anonymous bank records that had served as "proof" of Centurion's bribes and it lead to her realizing that it was a false start. The records appeared legitimate, with official-looking stamps and account numbers the records pointed to three anonymous sources that could not be verified. Those fake breadcrumbs could not be tracked.

She spent hours combing through online forums, conspiracy theory websites, and deep web archives, chasing rumors and whispers in the digital darkness. She was convinced she would find the connection. Unfortunately they appeared fake. All of the theories were just being posted to mislead others, and that was all. It was a waste. She felt the growing frustration and anger that she almost forgot.

She looked back at the notes she had been carefully compiling, the timelines, the suspect names, the pieces of the puzzle that refused to fit together. She had already done so much, and it did not seem to work in her favor. Now it was only just going to work against her. The documents were just going to keep wasting all of her time. A lot of information on where the different sources came from just didn't mean anything. All of them were dry.

She had very quickly promised Ray that she would quickly complete her investigation in the three days, because she would run out of the time. The evidence had also been something that was not helping her. She didn't understand what she was getting against or what it would mean to actually stop it.

She looked at the sources and all that had been stacked against her. It felt like one was lying to attempt to mislead her, so the connections would not fit. It all was.

Sarah deleted those documents and began searching for news to look. Everything she had been trying was going nowhere, so had to find something new that was worth her while..

Her phone buzzed, the sudden vibration causing her to jump. She glared at the screen, displaying an encrypted message from an unknown number. Another crackpot looking to waste her time. She started to ask herself, was there a point to all this work to do and find?

She resisted the urge to ignore it but still had a crack of interest.

With a sigh of resignation, she unlocked the message, her fingers trembling with the familiar mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Who am I even going to show this to? She gave up thinking more and went immediately in to action.

The screen flickered, displaying nothing more than a photograph from a strange and new account. A photograph of an old, abandoned theater.

The theater was forgotten. Vines climbed up its decaying facade and hidden behind the posters. It was dark and foreboding. It felt strange and mysterious.

She felt a jolt of adrenaline. Something about this felt different. The location itself felt real. The atmosphere of what happened actually went somewhere that was not worth talking or even mentioning. Her eyes darted back and forth.

She zoomed to look for details that would help her identify its location, it seemed impossible. There was nothing of actual value, all of it was completely irrelevant. All of this seemed to just mean nothing.

Was it actually a thing that had value, or was it something with more value that she can even understand and even imagine right now? The photo was taken long ago. A part said that going out to that location was not worth her time. It was hard to ignore.

Sarah scoffed, the initial surge of adrenaline quickly replaced by disappointment. After attempting all of the different leads, how could she expect this theatre to be different at all? But a nag in the back of her head suggested that it would be of a high chance of having it be very valuable somehow.

Sarah stood up again and went to boil some type of drink.

As she walked back, all of Faceless' names were flashing through her head. The names were endless. At that moment she thought something important and relevant.

She thought of a theater that she didn't immediately connect with, or didn't even remember. She pulled a long forgotten case that just barely brushed past her. She sat in her chair again.

It was all happening at once. She was really trying here. She was really on the run for someone who wanted to catch her.

Sarah gathered new articles, documents and the like. She was extremely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information that there was currently to collect. Had anything previously changed her mind? Almost it had nothing to do with her in particular.

Sarah was trying to keep all of the details and was trying to be something more worthy. Something to do with everything and was trying more that something and had nothing to do with something particular. She had three more days and that thought came up to her and now she was going to think.

Sarah examined the photograph again, looking for more leads. As she had previously written, this was her job every day and every month for time and she just really was doing it. She didn't even see all of the work or effort that would usually happen. And was really still doing it. She thought back to what Ray had said. It seemed that to Ray all of this just meant nothing. It made her want to quit and give up. She paused again.

Enough, it was almost time for action here. This time, she was the one who would be making the active action or changes!

Suddenly bolting upright from the chair. She would be making all necessary adjustments or changes. And everything would be up to her. All that she needed was a goal and to find it. That was it

Grabbing the beat up coat and the keychain from the table. she really couldn't just go on going up against MMC. It was a waste and impossible thing. She also scribbled a quick note for Ray. He just really didn't have anything to work towards at the very moment.

Without any single moment of stopping and slowing, a final glance and thought to action. Sarah left the apartment behind and began her new journey outside her comfort zone.