Fairfax Media Heir Found Dead at Charity Gala; Suspect at Large
by Lydia Spry (via the El Asilo Times)
Guests at Reid Fairfax’s charity gala on the night of February 27th received a nasty shock when their host was found with a heavy knife wound to the throat. Moira Capulet, his first cousin and close personal friend, was the one to discover the body, and swiftly called the authorities. Unfortunately, the swift efforts of emergency medical services were not enough to save Fairfax’s life, and he was pronounced dead on arrival at Winters Memorial Hospital.
Fairfax, at 23, was heir apparent to his grandfather Leopold Fairfax’s vast media empire. With his death, the line of succession is “uncertain,” according to a source close to the family, but it is likely that Capulet stands to inherit. Despite this fortuitous turn of events, Capulet shows little joy at her cousin’s demise.
“I miss my cousin more than I could possibly convey,” said a veiled and visibly distraught Capulet to press this morning. “Already, it feels like there’s a gaping hole in all our lives. I know he wouldn’t want me to go wailing and carrying on, but...it’s hard. It’s just hard.”
According to a source within the estate, Fairfax was last seen with a “small, blonde man with freckles” in the lounge where his body was found. Shortly before his death, he ordered two glasses of wine, both of which had only a few sips taken out of them when the body was found.
“We assure the citizens of El Asilo that everything possible is being done to catch the culprit in this case,” said Detective Mina Schneider, who has been assigned to the case as of this evening. “Rest assured; we are taking this very seriously.”
Right now, it appears answers are few and far between, but one thing is clear: Reid Fairfax was murdered, and his killer is still at large.
(LYDIA SPRY is a self-described workaholic. She enjoys espresso, and pulls the occasional all-nighter. She has been writing for the El Asilo Times for ten years.)
I find myself thinking, as I wait out the long elevator ride to the top of the Vantage HQ building, about what lead me here. I've dressed myself carefully and neatly, but my shoes are too tight. Somehow, I feel unprepared for this interview. I know, after all, that this will be the largest report of my life thus far.
I am also aware that this profile will be more personal than anything I've written before, as well as more controversial. Both the Times and I have already taken much criticism for our treatment of the issues where Vantage is concerned. I know that Mayor Preston Winters is a complicated, exceedingly private man. I also know, despite myself, that his treatment of journalists has been lukewarm at best and violent at worst. I do not see Winters through rose-colored glasses. As my ears pop at the elevators ever-rising path upwards, I remember the worst that could happen, should I ask the wrong question.
But then, I am a journalist. And, though my stomach drops a bit as the elevator reaches the top floor, I do not intend on shying away from the truth.
Winters's secretary ushers me out of the elevator and down a long hall of conference rooms to his office with very few words. Evidently, I am expected. This also reveals to me what I largely already knew about the mayor: he does not have many personal profiles done. Winters is something of a recluse, rarely speaking to the press outside of allotted press conferences. I have attended his press conferences before, but never met him one-on-one, and I am quite unsure what to expect.
When the doors to the office finally swing open, the first thing I am struck by is the view. Preston Winters's office is graced with a single enormous window, exposing a breathtaking view worth millions. During our meeting, the sun is trembling on the edge of the horizon, casting our conversation in deep reds and golds. The light nearly blinds me.
The second thing I am struck by is Winters himself. We've met in person before, but never so close. In this proximity, it is not hard to see how he's won the hearts (and votes) of so many. The man has an aura about him of both confidence and kindness. He exudes trust from every orifice. Preston Winters in person is a handsome man, all dark hair and wide smiles. He shakes my hand and offers me a seat and a drink. It's stronger than one might expect.
"When you have a job like mine," he jokes lightheartedly as we settle in, "it doesn't hurt to have a thing or two to take the edge off."
The edge, indeed. They are carefully concealed by his warm smile and the lighting of the room, but the bags under his eyes are still all too present. He wears the marks of his stress admirably, but I do not for a moment envy him his job.
"The secret," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially, "is not to do it alone. I rely heavily on the support of my staff and constituents. I certainly never would have made it this far alone."
His words are certainly pretty ones, but they resemble all too closely the soundbites he is no doubt used to composing for press conferences. I have been thoroughly convinced, at this point, of his charm, but the question of why he so often avoids the gaze of the press still nags.
"Would it be too rude of me to say that I have better things to do?" he asks good-naturedly. We laugh it off. It is remarkable how infectious his laughter is. "In all seriousness, I'd like to believe that public image is a lower priority for me than putting in the work to help the city. I don't claim to be a saint, but I do believe in letting my actions speak for themselves."
It's a nice thought, and I do find myself wanting to believe it. There's an earnestness to the way Mayor Winters speaks that makes it quite clear that he believes what he's saying. All the same, to so many people in El Asilo, his actions are those of a corrupt puppet of a morally bankrupt corporation.
He sighs when the subject comes up, less out of impatience and more out of a kind of sadness. I wonder just how many times in his career he's had to field this question.
"I know that there will always be people out there who can't appreciate our methods or the good that we've done. This has been an incredibly turbulent time, and I can understand why people are so tempted to turn to the voices of supercriminals and terrorists for reassurance. The people need an enemy they can point to and destroy, when the reality is that their suffering comes from complex forces beyond the black and white." He flashes a tired smile. "But I know this city. These people are reasonable in their hearts. They're just looking in the wrong place for their heroes."
I find myself dedicating so much time to adequately recording his eloquent and well-thought-out answer that I don't realize until after the interview has concluded that he hasn't actually answered my question.
Mayor Preston Winters is, if nothing else, an excellent speaker. At no point during our conversation is he ever unprepared to answer a question. Some may surprise him, but none catch him without an answer. This is not surprising; the man is, after all, a law school graduate, if not an Ivy Leaguer. "I have the utmost respect," he tells me without missing a beat, "for people who came out of places like Harvard and Yale, of course. But I believe strongly that those who are willing to put in the effort can make something of themselves no matter where they came from. Geniuses come from all walks of life."
(At this point, he takes a moment out of the interview to flatter me. This, too, is not uncommon.)
And he has, indeed, made something of himself. Winters has amassed a plethora of records to himself, including both El Asilo's youngest mayor at the time of his election and its longest-serving one, with his mayoral career clocking in at twelve years this November. He is also, of course, the mayor to instate the controversial city wall plan, a plan he stands behind to this day.
"It's not one of my more popular policies, no," he laughs. "But I don't sign things into law that I don't believe in with every ounce of my conscience. It's also one of the policies that has the most misinformation out there about it. Nobody is prisoner here. I think if more people were more educated about what the wall is here for, there would be far more supporters out there."
Out the window, the furthest edge of the wall is visible, peaking out over the surface of the sun-scattered water. Beyond that, the glittering force field protecting the city's sky glimmers, a mirage behind the sunset sky. Winters looks out on it proudly.
"The world is a dangerous place," he muses. "We should all be thankful to have the dome to protect us."
At the end of the evening, I leave Mayor Winters's office with only barely a clearer picture than the one I began with. He is, at the very least, a man who believes intensely in the work that he does and the words he says. Whether that is for better or for worse is in the eye of the beholder. He is certainly a controversial figure to say the least, and a complicated person at that. I cannot help but feel, as the elevator descends once more into darkness, that we have barely scratched the surface of the man who sits in our city's most powerful chair. Perhaps that is how he would prefer it.
(LYDIA SPRY is a self-described workaholic. She enjoys espresso, and pulls the occasional all-nighter. She has been writing for the El Asilo Times for ten years.)
I am under no obligations from the editors of the Times to couch this report in any sort of pretty wrapping. So I will not. Believe me when I tell you all that if we had a choice in publishing these correspondences, we would not. But we must. I feel that it is a betrayal of my values as a journalist to publish these notes as they come, but I cannot place the people my coworkers care about in danger with a clear conscience, and if I did not write the preludes to these notes, some other poor fool would be obligated to.
Below is reproduced, unmodified, a note from the serial killer known only as Chiron. As the note contains a personal account of murder, including a mention of eye trauma, I urge that sensitive readers not read on. I urge that any reader stop here, so as to not give Chiron the attention they so clearly desire. But as a humble journalist, I cannot stop you.
God forgive me.
(Image: A note printed on grid paper in blue ink. It reads:
It’s me again.
How have you been, Ms. Spry? I hope things haven’t been too dull without me around. I’ve had to lay low for a while, while the city adjusted to our robotic overlords. I thought I might retire, but that’s no good. I would miss you too much! A hobby like this is worth the risk. In any case, I felt bad, leaving you high and dry. So I’m back! The police will have found two bodies around the North St. cafe. One is a woman, forty-two years old. Her name was Kendra Kay. The man with her is unimportant. They each have been stabbed fifteen times. I took the woman’s eyes with me. Your editor has received a letter detailing the consequences should your publication not publish my letter, as usual.
Ta,
[The astrological symbol for Chiron])
The Keaton Memorial Park has seen its share of violence and chaos. Nearly a year ago, some citizens may remember it as the scene of one of well-known super-criminal Commando’s stunts of vandalism. The park lies barely two blocks from the Pine Street Bank, the scene of a violent shooting earlier this year. By all accounts, the park (and the civilians who live nearby) have had their fill of danger. However, it seems that danger has not had its fill of them.
This past weekend, approximately 500 protesters gathered at the Keaton Memorial Park, armed with angry signs, black clothes, and the odd mask or baseball bat. The crowd stretched over the green, blacking out the park with its sheer mass and density. Witnesses at the scene report that the yelling was verging on deafening, occasionally solidifying from aimless shouts to rhyming chants. Chief among them was a chant that repeated itself throughout the night: “Rulers with your iron fists, now you know whose a** to kiss.”
It was to this scene, barely contained by a small police force on-sight, that SOLDIER unit 028, who answers to the name Sybil, arrived.
“It was loud, yeah, and there were plenty of people, but that’s kind of my job,” Sybil recounted, preferring to stare at a cup of tea rather than drinking it. “I got called in to back up the standard police who were controlling the riot.”
At that moment, Sybil encountered the first sign of trouble as one rioter tore away from the crowd to argue directly with her.
“She sounded young,” Sybil recounted. “Most of what she had to say was generic anti-Vantage sentiment. She accused me of being complicit in plots to hunt down so-called ‘heroes,’ which I’m sure we all agree is ridiculous.”
But, Sybil says, the situation soon spiraled out of control. The rioter crossed the boundary line, and according to nearby witnesses, Sybil reached for a weapon as a warning.
“That’s when the kid decked her in the face,” reported Detective Beverly Wilde, who was also at the scene as backup. “I don’t think the hit did any damage, but it looked pretty solid.”
According to Wilde, the conflict was abruptly cut off when two other rioters interfered in the situation. One rioter dragged the puncher off, removing her from the confrontation, while the other distracted Sybil momentarily until the situation had dissolved. These rioters were later identified as teen super-criminals Catiline and Cicero. Neither has previously been seen at protests or riots.
Catiline and Cicero could not be reached for comment, and the masked rioter who punched Sybil remains unidentified.
“There was no more violence after that incident,” Sybil reported, clearly undisturbed and showing no signs of injury. “The crowd disbursed an hour later with no further violence. But I cannot speak for what might have happened if the police had not been on the scene to contain the riots. I think the city, as always, owes the police force, and this project, a debt.”
Sybil did not seem to be looking for a gold star when she said this. She said it with the confidence of someone who knows they are right. Regardless of whether or not the police did avert another crisis at the Keaton Memorial Park, the city can at least be grateful that we are once again at peace.
(LYDIA SPRY is a self-described workaholic. She enjoys espresso, and pulls the occasional all-nighter. She has been writing for the El Asilo Times for ten years.)
[Photograph: Ruby Smiles six weeks before her disappearance.]
Tensions continue to rise this weekend as twelve-year-old Ruby Smiles remains missing. Ruby, the daughter of well-known biochemist Jordan Smiles, was reported missing nearly one month ago when she never returned from a piano lesson a few blocks away from her home near the Point.
“We’re heartbroken,” Jordan Smiles said, in an interview conducted in his parlor. To the untrained eye, the Smiles home appears to be a well-put-together home, neatly taken care of and typical to other homes in the neighborhood. But when one looks closer, the signs of grief and loss are all too evident. A crumpled report card here, a crinkled photograph there. And the dark circles under Jordan Smiles’s eyes.
“She’s our little girl,” said Smiles, barely maintaining his composure as he spoke. “I would do anything to have her back with us.”
Despite Smiles’s tearful admission, it seems that the Smiles family has not been contacted by anyone claiming to be the kidnapper, and has not received a ransom note.
“These things happen from time to time,” said EAPD Detective Michael Mitchell, when approached for comment on the case. “I think it would be irresponsible to immediately assume that this is a kidnapping, but I can say that what we’ve seen thus far isn’t encouraging.”
When asked to elaborate, Mitchell had this to say:
“It happens, in El Asilo. People disappear without a word, the family never gets a note or a demand. We’re lucky if we find the bodies. We’re even luckier if the body is identifiable. Terrible, that this would happen to a kid, but it’s nothing new.”
Mitchell’s response may have been callous, but it was clear from his demeanor that he had also spent many sleepless nights on this case. As the detective assigned to the disappearance, Mitchell has spent the past month devoting every bit of his energy to finding Ruby. It is a search that has drained the energy of all involved, even those reporting on the ongoing story.
Despite the constant stress of the case, Dr. Smiles has continued to dutifully attend to his job at Vantage Corp’s headquarters, conducting genetic research. According to his supervisor, Anne Lately, he hasn’t missed even a day of work in the wake of his daughter’s disappearance.
Regardless of evidence or odds, the city as a whole will continue to pray for the survival and safe return of Ruby Smiles. As always, those with any information on Ruby’s whereabouts should call the police hotline at (XXX)-XXX-XXXX.
The Keaton Memorial Park has seen its share of violence and chaos. Nearly a year ago, some citizens may remember it as the scene of one of well-known super-criminal Commando's stunts of vandalism. The park lies barely two blocks from the Pine Street Bank, the scene of a violent shooting earlier this year. By all accounts, the park (and the civilians who live nearby) have had their fill of danger. However, it seems that danger has not had its fill of them.
This past weekend, approximately 500 protesters gathered at the Keaton Memorial Park, armed with angry signs, black clothes, and the odd mask or baseball bat. The crowd stretched over the green, blacking out the park with its sheer mass and density. Witnesses at the scene report that the yelling was verging on deafening, occasionally solidifying from aimless shouts to rhyming chants. Chief among them was a chant that repeated itself throughout the night: "Rulers with your iron fists, now you know whose a** to kiss."
It was to this scene, barely contained by a small police force on-sight, that SOLDIER unit 028, who answers to the name Sybil, arrived.
"It was loud, yeah, and there were plenty of people, but that's kind of my job," Sybil recounted, preferring to stare at a cup of tea rather than drinking it. "I got called in to back up the standard police who were controlling the riot."
At that moment, Sybil encountered the first sign of trouble as one rioter tore away from the crowd to argue directly with her.
"She sounded young," Sybil recounted. "Most of what she had to say was generic anti-Vantage sentiment. She accused me of being complicit in plots to hunt down so-called 'heroes,' which I'm sure we all agree is ridiculous."
But, Sybil says, the situation soon spiraled out of control. The rioter crossed the boundary line, and according to nearby witnesses, Sybil reached for a weapon as a warning.
"That's when the kid decked her in the face," reported Detective Beverly Wilde, who was also at the scene as backup. "I don't think the hit did any damage, but it looked pretty solid."
According to Wilde, the conflict was abruptly cut off when two other rioters interfered in the situation. One rioter dragged the puncher off, removing her from the confrontation, while the other distracted Sybil momentarily until the situation had dissolved. These rioters were later identified as teen super-criminals Catiline and Cicero. Neither has previously been seen at protests or riots.
Catiline and Cicero could not be reached for comment, and the masked rioter who punched Sybil remains unidentified.
"There was no more violence after that incident," Sybil reported, clearly undisturbed and showing no signs of injury. "The crowd disbursed an hour later with no further violence. But I cannot speak for what might have happened if the police had not been on the scene to contain the riots. I think the city, as always, owes the police force, and this project, a debt."
Sybil did not seem to be looking for a gold star when she said this. She said it with the confidence of someone who knows they are right. Regardless of whether or not the police did avert another crisis at the Keaton Memorial Park, the city can at least be grateful that we are once again at peace.
(LYDIA SPRY is a self-described workaholic. She enjoys espresso, and pulls the occasional all-nighter. She has been writing for the El Asilo Times for ten years.)
