[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/sXBXWSnT/The-Question-logo-600x257.png[/img][/center] [h3]Hub City, Michigan[/h3] Thank you for tuning in to WHUB. Tonight a small group gathered around the offices of the [i]Hub City Chronicle[/i] for a candlelight vigil, staff members coming together in memory of one of their own. Today marks the fifth anniversary since his disappearance. WHUB’s own Miriam Weisner-Martinez has the story. “Vic was a lot of things. He was a great colleague, a good friend, and -- because of his job -- a professional pain in the butt.” That’s Nora Lace, editor in chief of the [i]Hub City Chronicle[/i]. She’s one of over a dozen people here tonight to remember investigative reporter Victor Sage on the anniversary of his disappearance. A native of Hub City who joined the paper right out of college, Sage was known for his in-depth investigations on municipal affairs. In 2014, Sage and the [i]Chronicle[/i] were nominated for a local reporting Pulitzer after the ten-part series on O’Neil County’s dysfunctional and underfunded jail system. In 2016, Sage seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Lace says that while Sage was prone to long absences in the name of his work, a move like this was completely out of character. “Vic was a newshound, you know? When he was working on a story we may not see him for a week at a time. So we were used to not hearing anything from him at first. We thought he'd check in eventually. But Al was the one who came to me with some concern that Vic wasn’t okay.” Al being Al Kert, head of the [i]Chronicle’s[/i] multimedia department who at the time was feature editor, the one person on the paper who worked closely with Sage. “Vic and I kept in touch pretty regularly when he was working on a story, just bouncing ideas back and forth. It got to almost a month and I hadn’t heard from him. I started texting, getting bounce backs from my message. Then I started to call. His number was no longer in service.” A welfare check by HPD found that Sage’s apartment was still filled with his belongings and no signs of either a struggle or a hasty attempt to pack and leave. All his earthly possessions, save a laptop, were still in the apartment. When asked about the matter, HPD issued no comment as it was still an active missing persons case. But the question is, what was Sage working on in the weeks leading up to his disappearance? Lace doesn’t know and even Kert, Sage’s closest confidant, is in the dark. “That was Vic. We collaborated, but only after he had the framework -- the bare bones -- of a story. That part could take months to form. So whatever the new topic was at the time, he never let me in on it.” Could who or whatever Sage was investigating be behind his sudden disappearance? Five years on there’s really no way to tell, but that hasn’t stopped Lace and the rest of the [i]Chronicle’s[/i] staff from gathering here tonight to remember their lost colleague, and to hope for his safe return. “Wherever Vic is, I hope he’s safe. And I hope one day he’ll come back to us with one hell of a story.” Reporting downtown for WHBU, I’m Miriam Weisner-Martinez. [hr] [b]Ditko Terrace Homes [/b] “Oh, shit, it’s 12!” Hasseem cursed and looked out the window. Sure as shit, a black SUV was parked on the lawn of the courtyard and six men in cop uniforms were rushing towards the door. Railand, the young boy BMF used as a lookout, was already hauling ass down the street now that he’d warned the men inside the stash house what was coming. He did a quick mental inventory of what was inside the bungalow style project house. At least twenty kilos of heroin, another ten keys of uncut cocaine, about twenty grand in cash, and enough weapons to overthrow a small Caribbean nation. Hasseem knew he and the four other guys at the stash house were about to go away for a long time. He just wondered who had fucked up and not given the police their kickback? “On the ground, motherfuckers!” One of the cops yelled as the door flew open. Hasseem looked down the barrel of an honest to god AK47. The cop flipped him over with a hard kick to the ribs. He gasped for air as he felt zipties constrict around his wrist. “Meech paid you motherfuckers off,” Hasseem gasped. "You want more?" “Shut the fuck up, [i]pendejo[/i],” the cop growled. Something about the choice of words gave Hasseem pause. It was like it unlocked something in his brain. He started to piece things together as he watched the other cops spread out through the stash house. AK-47 sure as shit wasn’t standard issue for no police Hasseem had ever seen. And then there was the makeup of the cops here. All latino. No blacks and no whites, and no way in hell Hub City had some unit that was all minority. Hasseem caught sight of some ink on one of the cops forearms. A stylized LD with three tally marks beneath it. Hasseem cursed when he saw the tat. LD stood for [i]Los Discípulos[/i], the three tally marks stood for the gang member’s body count thus far. “Fuck,” Hasseem screamed. “These motherfuckers ain’t cops. They goddamn LD!” That was when all hell broke loose. The BMF guys not already restrained started for their weapons, the “cops” did the same. Hasseem started to wiggle around in a fruitless attempt to break his restraints. There was a crash of glass and something flew through the house with a loud hiss. Gunfire broke out just as gas filled the room. Hasseem coughed and tried to see through it all. Somebody stepped over his prone body and rushed into the gas. He heard a rapid burst of gunfire, followed by screams. One of the LD members flew through the air and crashed through a glass coffee table beside Hasseem. More gunfire, more yells of pain and thuds. Hasseem squinted as he saw someone step out of the gas cloud. [img]https://i.imgur.com/pdeRIWv.jpg?1[/img] [color=4169E1]“Question: What kind of bird doesn’t fly?”[/color] Hasseem screamed at the sight of the faceless man. [color=4169E1]“A jailbird.”[/color] The man drove Hasseem's head into the floor, knocking him out in one swift movement.