I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

Damn lock. Should’ve guessed the brilliant Mayor Sanders would take heavy precautions when it comes to his information database. After a few more minutes of futilely trying to make my low-grade lock pick open the side door to the mayoral office, I give up and just break the handle on the damn thing, making minimal noise and sliding in quietly.

I creep over to the mayor's personal office, and when I see the heavy oak door slightly ajar. Who the hell could have possibly beaten me?! I figured I'd have a few run-ins with some other crooks, but this could turn into a full-blown brawl. Cautiously, I push open the door, and it lets out an enormous squeak, alerting the darkly-clothed man rummaging through desk drawers. Damnit all to hell, I can't believe I blew my cover!

The masked man jumps, looking up at me, then quickly drops what he's holding, papers spilling all over the ground. Is that Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon? Looks just like him, costume-wise. Probably not a hand-to-hand combat type.

"Who the hell are-," Suddenly, I'm cut off by the pealing of alarm bells.

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit fuck, I set off the motherfucking alarm. Apparently, Sanders has employed a sound-activated alarm. Motherfucking brilliant. I knew I should have come in costume, damnit. Explaining this one to the night guard is gonna be a fucking bitch. "Oh, hey, man! What am I doing at the mayor’s office in the middle of the night? You know, just catching up on some work, like the typical, Baltimore Times part-time intern/coffee shop worker does every Wednesday fucking night. By the way, I was just wondering, were you born yesterday?"

Tuxedo Mask's doppelgänger runs at the window, shattering it and tumbling out into the parking lot. Then, I see him rush off into the night. Securing my hood tighter on my head, I'm grateful the man left so fast and that it was so dark in the room, so he didn't get a good look at me. I somehow doubted he'd be reporting me to the police, but I didn't want to risk him identifying me on the streets. I think he'd be a very aggressive grocery bagger.

Whatever, the police are always slow to respond to these type of calls. I can get out of here faster than they can catch me, for sure. Dashing out of the cluttered basement file room, I rush up the stairs as quickly as my sandaled feet can carry me. Stupid, stupid. Should've worn something else, sandals aren't meant for escaping from crime scenes! At least if I get out on the street, I can blend in easily. Riot Grrrl! will escape once more!

Bursting through the side door I came in through (security cameras disabled, of course-I'm not that careless) I make a speedy exit onto the streets possessed by a heady night life you don't often find much anywhere aside from cities high in crime.

I melt easily into the bustling crowd, thanking my lucky stars I remembered a jacket as the crisp night air cuts at my face, chill causing my eyes to prickle and nose red. My leisurely, nothing-to-see-here stroll down the block takes about ten to fifteen minutes in all, but the anxiety settling in my gut like a block of the cool, throat-drying air solidified makes it feel oh-so-much longer. I hadn't had time to clean the crime scene, but my fingerprints were already there from a few times previous when my boss and head reporter for the, Baltimore Times, Tay Jardine, had requested I retrieve certain information for her. Aside from my loose jacket, I had nothing on me other than my keys and rudimentary lock pick on me, which, upon shoving my balled fists into the front pockets, I realized were still (thankfully) there.

Arriving at me and my buddy from high school's apartment, the disappointment at my botched mission finally sets in. I set out for a simple, low-key, swiping of some information for blackmail from the mayoral office! Blackmail’s my strong suit, for fuck's sake! Get in, take what you need, copy, and return before anyone knows it’s gone in the first place. That’s my routine.

The keys are abandoned on the kitchen table, butterfly and fucked up smiley face key chains rattling together, and I flop down on the couch dejectedly, staring blankly at a random space in the dead-quiet apartment.

My friend, Taylor, is pretty loaded, so we managed to get a rather spacious place, in a higher-class part of town. He's out drinking tonight with some friends, and I doubt he'll be back before tomorrow. No worries, then. Despite my and Taylor's strong friendship, he doesn't know about my secret identity. He can't, man. If Riot Grrrl! is on TV, she's also on Taylor's nerves. Apparently, I'm not doing a great job of being a villain. Please, like he could do better. It still stings a little, though, hearing all those insults aimed your way unknowingly by a good friend, unable to do a thing about it lest I earn his disappointment, his hate.

Sighing, I pull my flaming red hair out of the tight twin buns I had pulled it in, roughly raking long fingers through the tangled mess. I kick my sandals off, curling my numb toes on the plush carpet in an attempt to bring back some feeling in the appendages.

The files I was looking for supposedly held information on the town’s history-not way back in the founding days, but recent, like ten years ago recent. The word on the street is the mayor is pretty depraved in matters of business. Like, of the senseless, cold-blooded murder variety. I wanted to get some kind of confirmation, some kind of proof. I mean, anyone could tell you how ruthless the mayor is, how maybe he went a little too far letting that building be destroyed by the suicide bomber with civilians still inside all those months ago, but hey, he had reason, I guess. I’m neither for the government in this town, nor against it. Neutral. I fight for what I think is right, period.

Lately, though, the media's been labeling Riot Grrrl! as one of the bad guys. A little disappointing, seeing all those people disregard my many rescues-of civilians and animals alike- just because I had a little impediment with a hero, The Silver Striker, last month. Long story short, there were some unfortunate accidental deaths, and some demolition of government property, but eventually The Silver Striker decided it best to stay out of my turf, and me out of his. After all the ruckus, it just seemed appropriate to settle our differences peaceably.

The reason I went to the office for that intel based solely on rumors is because, well...they just don't seem like rumors. I mean, if the man is cunning enough to rid the city he runs of term limits, who knows what else he's capable of? There are so many families he's angered over the years, so many lives he's sacrificed for his own righteous purposes, I don't think it's very much of a stretch for Sanders to be truly a dirty politician, do you?