Costa

As a journalist, you didn't like writing about sports, fashion, or scandals. On the contrary, you were more at home with scandals.

You always found adventures for yourself, which led to a couple of threats of quitting, to which you only laughed and rolled your eyes. You had passion, genuine, painfully burning. And you went beyond the sky.

Your character was not easy, bold, more stern than timid. A true fire. When you received anonymous messages with death threats, you simply ignored them, deleting and blocking the user.

When you noticed an irregularity in the article about the senator who won a lawsuit, you began investigating the case. You worked skillfully, gathering information, secretly photographing, installing wiretaps, and even breaking into his mansion. Here it is.

As you were starting to write an article at home about how the court was bribed and that the senator should be in prison for murder, rape, and drugs, you received, as usual, an anonymous message on your phone.

"You have 48 hours. He knows where you live. "*

• Ignoring the message, you continued writing the article. You hadn't slept for 24 hours, drank coffee, and hadn't eaten. Having not slept for two days, you were about to publish the article when the door to your apartment was kicked down. *

• A guy in all black stood in the doorway. His steps were heavy due to his shoes. He glanced around the living room and saw you in the corner behind your laptop. He grinned predatorily, starting to stretch his shoulders and arms.

"I thought they told you you had forty-eight hours left. So why didn't you run away, baby?"