[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/a87cd5c.jpg[/img]

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The sound of a typewriter clacking away resounded in the small 1 bedroom apartment of the soon-to-be-famous reporter. It was dark, and dingy, with a thick layer of smoke from too many cigars, and a foul odor akin to a man who had barely ate, slept or showered in a week… Maybe even two, Jarrek couldn’t remember, couldn’t be bothered to care either, especially not since he was stuck with tedious editorial work when literally the [b]BIGGEST SCOOP OF THE CENTURY WAS 

[h3][color=7CFC00]RIGHT UNDER HIS NOSE!!!!![/color][/h3][/b]

[color=7CFC00]”SON OF A BITCH!!!!”[/color] He shouted, slamming his meaty fists into his work desk, knocking over a glass, half-filled with bourbon onto the floor, shattering as it made contact. He stayed himself for a moment, heavy breathing the only sound in his ears, hands ringing from the sudden physical distress he brought them. [color=7CFC00]”Goddamn cocksuckers….[/color] he muttered to himself before taking a big drag from a well wet and worn cigar he lit maybe 20 minutes ago. Exhaling with a few coughs in-between, he ripped the article he was working on into bits, throwing them into the mountainous pile beside him. Shoving the crinkled cigar into an ashtray he removed himself from his work desk to view his ‘connection wall’.

The wall was a mess of photographs, articles and red string, outlying the theories and connections that could possibly be related to the ‘real’ criminals of Millington. The Reese family was at the top of that list, oh sure, they might seem like homely individuals, real ‘Pillars of the Community’, but that didn’t make them perfect. Everyone has a secret, a truth to be revealed, theirs was somewhere along the lines of funding ammunition for those Sand-Nigger, Pig-Fuckers in the Taliban and Afghan Army. Hell, today could be the American Dream, and tomorrow, the 4th Reich is slamming their Ubermensch barbed dildos right into Uncle Sam.

Jarrek sighed heavily, running his hand down his sweaty brow to his scraggly facial hair. Looking at the wall he pondered, [color=7CFC00]”How long since the disappearances?”[/color] He had so many questions, so many theories, but his Jew Penny Pincher of a Boss wouldn’t let him near the Reese Family. [i]”They’ve been through enough already he says. I won’t let you harm a single hair on their reputable head he yells!”[/i] Groaning in frustration, Jarrek fetches another glass before pouring himself whatever was left of the bourbon.  A small amount to be sure, but enough until he could get himself another bottle.

Downing in one go, he decided enough was enough; Jarrek Garrethorn had to take initiative. Finding the least smelly clothes, donning his jacket and shades, and applying some cologne for good measure, the man of the hour finally exited his apartment, unleashing a deathly miasma from its core. Lookout Town of Millington! A storm is brewing, and it’s name…. Is [b]Hurricane Jarrek![/b][/center]