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News Break
Gwendolyn grabbed her rolling Samsonite briefcase off the luggage carousel and pushed her way through the common folk still waiting to get their bags. She spared some polite smiles and a shrug of her semi-bare shoulders for a couple of doting fans who recognized her, then slipped away with a swish of her white and red polka dot sundress. Her white high heels making a click-clack sound on the polished linoleum floor as she made a beeline toward the shuttle service. What a pain to still have to fly commercial, when you had to put extra work into looking good among the masses. But CNN wasn't willing to spring for a private jet. One day soon, though. Just not with her money.

She hadn't spent much time in Atlanta between stories, which was good, since the weather was hotter than the devil's taint right about now. At least Washington had a cool-ish breeze coming off the Chesapeake. Probably bringing lots of mosquitos with it too. They were good for news. Always breeding one exotic killer virus or another. Compared to a good apocalyptic killer virus story in constant development, an interview with Secretary Trano was pretty mundane stuff when it came to keeping viewers glued to their devices.

Her Wallet said that she was fifteen minutes early for her private sedan. Of course. She slipped on her sunglasses and crossed her arms, thought about sitting down on the bench, and reconsidered. It didn't look all that clean. Taxis pulled in and out of designated parking lanes. Two people were smoking not far away. The faint smell reached her nostrils. Ugh.
It made her itch for one. She hadn't smoked since college, and she knew what it would do to her skin and teeth, not to mention her voice. Filthy, disgusting cigarettes. She still wanted one though, every time she smelled that sickly sweet tobacco.

Gwen's Wallet went off suddenly, buzzing, fervently demanding her attention. She pulled it up, and noticed something odd on her screen. A weirdly encrypted message from some unknown source. Something something phaser? Had she been hacked? Wait. No. Not her. CNN. And it wasn't a hack but a direct message. A video. She pushed play. A hospital feed. Someone wounded. Moscow. Holy fuck!

Gwen grabbed her briefcase and marched herself right out into the middle of the street. Not the parking lane. The fast lane. She threw up her arm at an approaching taxi. The man slammed on his brakes.

"What the fuck you think you're doing? Move your ass, lady!" the driver yelled.

Gwen marched to the passenger side and opened the door, throwing her luggage in the back seat. "I don't have time to argue. CNN Washington bureau. Step on it!"
she snapped at the man as she slid into her seat.

The guy put the car in park and stepped out, coming around to the other side. "I don't think so, you crazy lady. I ain't taking you nowhere. Get the fuck out of my car!" He reached in and put a hand around her wrist, yanking her out. The other hand had a wicked looking rod in it.

Gwen was pulled up and knocked off her balance. Muscle memory was a crazy thing, though. She took one step in, righting her self. then her free hand swung around, the edge of her palm chopping down like a knife. She connected with his temple. Another step forward. She pulled her other hand in, forcing him off his balance toward her, and kicked up with her left foot. The top edge of her foot slammed into his groin. Then one twist with her still-pinned hand, and he was on his back.

Gwen picked up the metal rod and thew it absentmindedly away. It struck a parked car and it began to blare its alarm. "Don't you lay a fucking hand on me,"
she said in a cold voice. She stuck a heel right in his chest and gave him her sweetest smile. "Okay?"

That's when she heard sirens. Gwen looked around. Apparently she had drawn a crowd. Not surprising. Getting attention was what she did best. But she needed to get to the damn newsroom before someone else got the scoop.

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