Ciel was sat idly next to me as I pulled the Fiat into the parking lot. It was early morning, and the glow of the waking sun complimented her brunette hair, and her beautiful face. Or did her beauty simply compliment the the sleepy backdrop? Either way she was positively radiant. She always is. Her eyes were the only thing about her that inspired any feeling other than devotion. They were cold, complex, sharp yet soft, kind yet focused. She had the eyes of someone who's seen the most beautiful, and the most cruel parts of human nature, and she had. We were, are, and will always be journalists. We are protectors of the truth at our best, and dirty papparazzi dogs at our worst. We were the best and most infamous, we had covered everything from war to famine, from scandals to schemes. We were successful because got stuff done, we told the truth (whatever they want the "truth" to be) and we were willing to drop our morals to stay ahead.
Starke And Solomon they called us. Ciel Starke and Nester Solomon.
Nester, I know it's lame but it's a family name.
I jammed the car into reverse, and slid her between an ugly Ford, and a black Porsche with a Vietnamese couple inside frantically arguing over a USA road map. I was glad I wasn't in that car with them. Having parked, I painstakingly began the operation of opening the car door without bumping the car next to mine, got out, and stared at the daunting proximity fence before me. Upon it was a sign rusted old baring the words "BioTek Chemical Testing Facility: Authorised Personell Only Due To Risk Of Contamination.