The sound of the keys on the keyboard echo in my small studio apartment, as I try to finish up the results of my latest investigative work.

"They really thought they could get away with selling placebos to those villagers?" Shaking my head, I remember the scene inside of the hospital with the rows of patients suffering from an outbreak of Sullivan's Disease.

Even now, I still feel the restrictive feeling of the biohazard suit protecting me from the infected as I took photos of children reaching out in desperation. Their arms were covered in lesions, viscous bodily fluids seeping out of their infected wounds.

Gagging a little, I lean back in my chair to keep the bile down.

"Fuck...," I place a hand over my eyes, trying to forget everything.

"You can't lose it now, Brian. Get your head back in the game and find the next story. You got this." I attempt to psych myself up for the next story.

Pulling the hand down my face, I lean forward and look over the article I finished editing. This article was several times longer and denser compared to my other words. It made me sacrifice several days to polish it up, but looking over the content, I feel as though it was worth it.

I couldn't help but look at the growing piles of bills in my incoming tray. Most of the bills had been moved to the "over one-month due" tray.

Pulling out my smartphone, I checked for any messages and noticed the missed call and voicemail icon, reminding me of the messages I received about my bill being due.

"I hate those automated messages," I shove the phone back into my pocket. Glad to get rid of some of them after the editor approves my article.

Gary was likely waiting for my email. He knew how badly I needed the money and made arrangements with accounting to have it dispersed upon his approval to my online banking account.

Opening up the Courage browser, I turned on the Enigma router function built into the software. On top of the Virtual Private Network I use, the Enigma router was just an additional layer of anonymity I used when submitting articles to Gary.

"The last thing I need is some of these companies tracking me down," I sighed.

Making sure to remove any metadata on the document file, I typed in the URL for the anonymous email service I used. Seeing the login screen, I moved the cursor to where my locally stored password manager was located and typed in the master password.

Selecting the folder labeled "email," I went through and copied the password. Going back to the browser, I pasted in the necessary login name and my fifty-plus long password.

Seeing how I had an unread message waiting for me, I quickly clicked to compose a new email and uploaded the document.

"Appreciate you waiting for me to finish the article, Gary. Hope I didn't make you wait too long and get you in trouble with the missus. I think you'll consider my article worth the wait. You may even decide to give me a bonus." I typed out chuckling and clicked the "send" button.

Though Gary helped me out with this article, I knew how much of a penny pincher the accountants at the news media company were. I was, honestly, surprised the department was willing to work with Gary in setting this up.

Remembering the unread email, I went back to my inbox. When I looked at my inbox, I noticed an additional email waiting for me from the same sender.

"What's so damn important that they needed to send it again?" I thought to myself as I read the subject line.

Reading the subject line, I didn't know if someone was pulling a prank on me or not. Checking it again, I read it out loud, "Urgent! TIME-SENSITIVE! Please Read!"

The second email had all the words in "time-sensitive" uppercased, likely the individual worried I wasn't going to take it seriously.

"Okay, guy. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." I shook my head, clicking on the email.

Opening, I didn't see the fancy text in most modern emails, but instead the HTML version. There were too many ways to send various malware through email, so I had, specifically, chosen this service due to it not allowing anything but plain text through.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Star [My online alias I created for myself],

I don't know when the next time you'll check your inbox is, but I desperately hope you're the type to check your email late at night as I did.

You're likely the type to not get directly involved in leads, but I, honestly, don't know who else to contact about this. I can't even type it up on the computer. Even this method may be compromised, which is why I need to meet you in person.

Considering I don't know what medium is still safe, I'll have to rely on you being curious enough to meet me.

I can only send a couple of more messages in the hope to stress how urgent this is. I'll be heading towards the meeting place. I was able to track down info on where your first date was located and the place you sat in. I'll be checking.

-Someone hoping for help"

Rereading the email, I didn't know what to think of the message. It reminded me of the hundreds of emails I receive through my other accounts from people who discovered proof of the government hiding aliens or a secret cabal manipulating the world governments, making it hard for me to take it seriously.

After reading it for the fourth time, I concluded this was something worth chasing down. The reason narrowed down to two.

This person had figured out this email's address, which I only hand out to select people, and knew where I had my first date with Becky Robinson.

"Not a memory I enjoy bringing up to the surface, considering how the night turned out." I couldn't help but laugh at how awkward I acted.

Reminiscing of that time, my eyes looked at the photo sitting on my desk, me standing between my proud parents upon my acceptance into Richard University.

"Mom, Dad, I guess I'll be coming back home. Unfortunately, this won't be a social visit so I hope you can forgive me." Emotions slowly welled up inside of me.

Rubbing the tears from my eyes, I looked back at the browser and closed the window. Closing the laptop shut, I got up and went to the closet.

"I guess I'm not getting any sleep, tonight," I muttered to myself as I pulled out my bug-out bag.

Placing it on the bed, I quickly opened it up and quickly checked to make sure everything was inside the bag. Everything I needed was inside the bag, my passport, main computer, extra cash, backup smartphone, power banks, clothes, and calorie bars.

It was something I always had ready on the off chance I needed to get out in a hurry. Going back to my desk, I pulled out the external hard drive and shoved it into the bag.

Turning back to the closet, I pulled out a leather jacket I'd had with me since time immemorial. At least that's how it feels sometimes putting it on and feeling as if it were a part of me.

As if part of some tradition, I use one hand to reach the collar and stick my index finger through the torn hole. Every time, I still remember the crack and zing of that day.

I head over to the table as I dismiss the memories of that day. Pulling out some paper, I wrote out a simple note reminding myself to pick up some beer and stuck it to the top of my laptop.

Those who were close to me knew I didn't drink alcoholic beverages and would serve to inform them I was on a story while making those snooping around think I was temporarily gone. It was a simple technique I thought up, even if I never had the opportunity to test if it worked or not.

With my password manager stored on my external, I didn't need to worry about anyone being able to access my notes. Nothing was stored on my laptop's hard drive, my work was stored on an app that encrypted everything. Considering it was open-sourced and verified, not even the owners of the app could view the contents without the unique address and password.

All my notes were stored on the app and updated whenever I had a connection to the Net. I don't know what I would do without it, considering how much sensitive information I collected.

Putting on my pack, I did a last-minute check to see if I forgot anything. Feeling the slight tightening in my chest, I thought of the email and had the feeling I would be gone for a while.

"I'll be seeing the two of you, later," I looked back at the picture of my parents before walking towards the front door.

Undoing the several locks on my front door, I opened it to reveal a plain hallway with a thin carpet and white paint which was peeling in several areas to reveal the cement blocks beneath. Turning around to close the door, I saw the nearly empty studio that only had a mattress and desk alone in the dark.

Closing the door, I unlocked and unclipped the carabiner attached to my worn leather belt. With the awkward movement of someone who didn't use their keys often, I fumbled with each one as I locked the multiple deadlocks.

Once I finished, I used my shoulder to press up against the door a couple of times to remind me it was reasonably secure. Considering it was only a wooden door, it wouldn't stand up against someone determined to open it but at least it would keep out the unprofessional thieves living in this complex.

Those thieves were one of the reasons why I didn't keep any furniture in my studio, I tell myself for the thousandth time.

Reclipping and securing my carabiner, I made my way down the hallway with the flickering lights and sounds of flies hitting against the plastic cover. Reaching the steps and making my way to the ground floor didn't take much time since I lived on the first floor.

There were no run-ins with neighbors as I walked toward the entrance. Even if there were people in the hallways or entrance, none of them would greet others. Everyone kept to themselves and the secrets they hid.

I push open the front door, feeling the cool night air caress my face. It was a welcome change from the blistering heat felt during the day.

Pulling out my smartphone, I quickly checked my digital wallet. "Looks like he was happy with it," I grinned at the four-digit number on my balance.

"I'll likely need to pick up some odd jobs, but it should cover my expenses for several weeks," Nights in cafes and public parks come to my mind.

"This better be worth it," I muttered to myself as I made myself to the nearby train station. Back to where everything started and, hopefully, to the writer of the email.