Sasha looked out of her window. Looked down at the street with AM people.
Because of the lack of day, Twilight was divided in AM people and PM people. There was no difference in what time of day you were awake or sleeping. There weren't a time of day where there was less people on the street or at work. So there was no place that stopped serving breakfast. The cafe she lived above had folks eating scrambled eggs with toast next to those who ate pizza. There was never a time of day where it was safer to be out on the streets, and driving was something only 1/4 of the Twilightians did, due to the lack of daylight. And an awful lot of those with cars were criminals or underground racers. Guys who had no quarrels with putting the civilians in danger. Regular Joes who just minded their own business.
Twilight had an aura that sucked away daylight. It was like a sort of fog that covered it's area of 142.5 sq mi. Once you stepped outside the city limits, you would notice the obscure lack of light was like when a pencil ran out of paint. The light crew weaker and weaker and then simply stopped at that line that separated Twilight from the rest of the world.
Sasha had theories about what else the magical aura did. What it did to the people of Twilight. How it either made them meaner, crueler or just made them accept that the strong ruled over the weak, and the best thing to do was stay out of the way of those who either had power or those who worked for those with power. Only a few dared to stick it to the man. Few dared to say; no, screw you! I don't have to stand this sh%t!
Sasha Petersen was a photojournalist, and a damn good one. the fact that she was NOT dead spoke for itself, since she wrote stories and took pictures that some would prefer that she didn't. And "some" were ready to do what they could to "arrange an accident" so that she would keep her nose out of some rich douchebag's affairs. Sasha had survived five drunk drivers(funny how she somehow attracted those in a city with the lowest level of traffic), two apartments burning down and a couple of muggins. Sasha knew she wouldn't live to see 30, and therefor saw no reason to quit smoking or drinking. The later was something she had started doing recently.
But did she ever change anything? Sasha sometimes allowed herself to think so, but then laughed at herself for being naive. She did what she could to tell the truth, but it never really changed anything. She could bother guys like Matt Maleev with exposing(in Mallev's case) their involvement in the drug trafficking, but they would be out of jail in no time thanks to connections to the right people or simply because they could bribe themselves to freedom. Sasha had lost her job at the Window for "doctored photographs"(Bullsh%t!), and now had to work for a small-time newspaper like Lunar.
But tonight... tonight, everything was going to change.
Word on the street was that Twilight had a new superguy. AND that he should have been active for three months now. If that was true, then it was a record, since their last masked crusader only lived for a week before he was found dead in front of city hall. He had called himself Steelboy. He had been shot in the head, four times in the chest, and he was badly burned. Also, he had been drowned.
But the new guy... he was different. The guy only known as "the Cat" was more... stealthy. He appeared out of nowhere and disappeared again. No one had been able to capture him on film. No pictures had been taken of him yet. Either because he was a cartoon ninja or because he was a myth.
Sasha prayed to god that he was real.
If she could get a picture of the first person in Twilight that could bring hope to the people... that picture could be her ticket back to The Window. To serious journalism. To write articles and take pictures for a serious newspaper that people would actually give a damn about instead of one that mainly was 75 percent advertisement who wrote about vampires, werewolves, and other ridicules things.
Did she have any idea how to find the super-guy? No. But that was a detail. Super-guys had patterns. A part of town they crimefighted in more than other areas. Now she had to figure out where that was.
She lighted up a new cigarette, made sure she had a pack in each of her pockets, both her pants and jacket, and made sure her recorder was prepared as well as her digital camera. The first thing she was going to do was paying a visit to The Yellow Nail, a bar at Sultan Avenue. A place where she could get more or less reliable information of many kinds if she could drink someone under the table. And Sasha was a heavyweight champ when it came to liquor.
She checked her pockets one last time, unlocked the four locks on her door, opened it...
... and dropped her jaw as well as the cigarette she had between her lips.
"Howdy!" Cat said to the paralyzed Sasha Petersen. "You only want pictures, or would you like an interview as well?"