Icarus Olsen - Flying Too Close to the Sun

[Icarus]

“We’re sorry, but they give a lot of tips on the goings-on in the criminal underworld, we can’t be making an enemy out of them,” stated Sarah Ellen, editor-in-chief of the Liberty City Bugle.

“You don’t think it’s weird that we are working with criminals whose only best interest is themselves,” asked Icarus Olsen.

Sarah scoffed at him and pressed a button on her desk.

“You’re stuff will be sent to your address. If we don’t lose it,” she said with a slight grin on her face. “Oh, and remember, if you mention any of this to anyone, you’ll not only have breached your NDA but you’ll also have made an enemy of nearly everyone in the city.”

Icarus was escorted out of the building and thrown onto the grimy streets. He would not let this city chew him up and spit him out so easily. He had to think of a plan, the city had to know what was going on behind closed doors. His sense of justice was guiding his hand as he pulled out his phone. 

One-way ticket to Los Santos. The LCT wouldn’t be able to touch him there. What with the militarized police force and the rampant gang wars going on there.

As Icarus’ nearly sprinted to his apartment, he packed a bag full of his essentials. A notebook, his laptop, a recording microphone and red hair dye. After all, he always wanted to be a fiery redhead, what better excuse to reinvent oneself than being on the run from a gang that would kill him if they ever laid eyes on him.

With his plane ticket printed, he got in a taxi.
“Liberty City Airport, terminal two,” he said to the driver.

The driver nodded towards him.

“So, where you headed,” the driver asked. 

“Oh, just visiting an old friend,” Icarus said.

After what felt like an eternity in the rank taxi, it arrived at LCA. 

“Hey, remember, you tell anyone and you won’t have an “old friend” to visit anymore,” said the driver.

Icarus’ bit his tongue and slammed the door. Great, another industry they have their grubby hands on. 

He got through TSA with relative ease and sat down at the terminal. Time to expose them all. 

As he began clacking on his computer, he visioned working at Weazel News in Los Santos. They were the most accredited newspaper in the nation. He dreamed of covering stories about gang wars, covering the inner workings of the government. He visioned meeting the love of his life.

As he pressed post on the blog post, he boarded the plane. His future as bright as the sun. He just needed to make sure he didn’t fly too close, or he’d end up in the ocean, sleeping with the fishes.