Riley Ross

"Lorraine! What are you doing?!"

In the sophisticated but humble newsroom of ABC-ZBN, Lorraine was being chewed out by the editor-in-chief. Her voice had just shaken the studio lights, and now her heels pounded the floor as she strode toward the news desk. And if the other staff were seeing it right, her eyes seemed to be seething with rage.

But Lorraine didn’t flinch. Instead, she calmly removed her hair tie, letting her long, brown, slightly gold-tinged hair fall over her shoulders.

And as she saw her boss fuming and marching toward her, she simply sighed and stepped away from the desk.

"Compose yourself, Chief."

And surprisingly, Lorraine’s speaking voice was deeper and seemingly even more enunciated than her anchoring voice,

"Occurrences like this are something I live with, and history has shown time and again that the public craves authenticity. I will not suppress what I feel—especially when the victim in question was a child."

"Do you want us to get suspended again?!" The editor shouted, first jabbing a finger in her direction, then suddenly marching away from her and dramatically hugging the teleprompter like it was his husband.

She was gentle with it, but at the same time only a second away from trying to strangle what was between their arms, "Just read what’s on the goddamn screen!"

"Hmn," Lorraine shrugged.

"And aren’t you scared?!" The editor brandished a rolled-up script like a sword, gesturing wildly at the crew around them. "You’re taunting a literal, sadistic, satanic murderer! It’s not just your life you’re putting at risk! Don’t you remember the hotel incident?! You almost died!"