Taxi was the key. If there was any way the three men would have reached Well’s hotel room, it was the taxi cab.As they jumped into the car, the only thing that occupied every single spaces in their minds was the blog. The fucking blog. Ho they will right the blog; who will make the blog; hat means would they need to generate the blog; how essential was the blog to their plans; and how to put the blog into great publicity where in everyone would notice it once it was done. Overall, although it might have sounded like an easy plan, it was actually a very difficult one to be executed. Ten minutes in the taxi and finally, one of them decided to open up a topic so the atmosphere inside the taxi cab would ease up and silence would be replaced with words. But before anything else, before Well decided to commnce such conversation, he whispered something in the ears of Binsent Anchorman first.“Is it okay to talk about the Noodle Bar’s alleged issue here in the car even if there is someone el
“Journalists being biased?” Binsent Anchorman asked. “I think that is a very strong, but surely very wrong accusation, sir. Journalists are not supposed to be biased. We are not allowed to pick which side of the story to choose. We are bound to tell all sides, express all sides, and present all sides if possible. That is why it is highly unethical for a journalist to pick a side and be biased. That is just a big no, no,” Binsent Anchorman explained as soon as he realized they were being judged by the taxicab driver with no profound evidence to support his claim.“That is the thing. They were not supposed to choose which side to be with, but they still did anyway. What do you call those bastards, then? Hypocrite, right? And apart from that, they also channeled their positions as journalists to spark a revolution, which was unnecessary by the way because the society that time did not need any changing. It was just them who was not contented to the way the government governed its people,
“What do you mean keep yourself out of the situation? Were you there during when the mass killing of the journalists happened?” Allen Mar asked. There was something that tried to hold back his voice for a second, but at the same time, his will to know things was stronger than any doubts and hesitations that was why he was able to push his words through. “I was not just there to witness how it happened. I was part of it. I was one of those dispatcher who was paid by the government to kill those journalists. It was not an easy job. Killing was never in my agenda. It was never in my to-do list. However, for the sake of money, and for the sake of helping the community getting rid of the pests trying to change the molding of the society, I took part in killing the journalists,” the taxi cab driver continued to explain. “I was a fucking sociopath that time. I was a selfish money-driven dispatcher that all I thought was cash and credit from the government. But despite being it, though, I can
“How are you doing so far?” Well asked the two men who were working beside him. They had been silent for quite a little while, doing nothing else other than working on with their cell phones and being the most busy people they could ever be for a day.“I think, if counted together, we have already made just enough,” Allen Mar answered as he looked at Binsent Anchorman and stared on the paper planted on the paper between the two of them. The paper contained user names of every single account they made for the fake review blog they made as part of their surveillance and investigation to the Noodle Bar fastfood restaurant. “Don’t you agree, sir?” he asked the twin who had been left speechless yet and had not talked ever since the conversation had started.Binsent Anchorman nodded as he stroked another name onto the list using the black pen he found on the corner of Well’s table. He counted all of the names. “One, two, three, four, five. . . . . . .” Hiis counting continued, but as he rea
“Okay, you guys, snack is ready!” Allen Mar yelled from the kitchen, as he went out of the kitchen door slowly and carefully, bringing with him a platter of his own version of carbonara. As soon as he arrived at the table where two mouths to feed had been waiting for him to put down the food, he slowly lowered his arm and placed the platter down the table. He went back to the kitchen for a quick moment, and then warned the boys not to start yet because he still had to get the pitcher containing an iced tea. When he returned, he had the pitcher with him along with the three drinking glasses.“That smells so nice, to be honest,” Binsent Anchorman said as he suddenly broke free from what he was doing to focus all his senses to the food being laid down in front of them. “I was not expecting that kind of aroma from a carbonara, actually. And what is that strong, earthly smell? Is that rosemary herb?” he asked.“Actually, that is oregano. Though I can’t blame you about mistaking it because
Allen Mar distributed the plates among them three, and then signaled them both that they may now start serving themselves pasta. “Please, suit yourselves. And be honest, I want a genuine review about whether my cooking is good or not. I am trying my best to channel the inner cook in me, and your reviews will be highly appreciated regardless of what it is,” he said as he poked both of the guys beside him through the elbows. “I am terrible at giving food reviews,” Well answered as he scooped some of the paste onto his plate. He did not brim it full. As a matter of fact, he only got so little that it would not even reach four to rive strokes of fork. But nontheless, it did not mean he did not want to taste his new friend’s cooking. After getting some of the paste, Well twirled his fork through it and some strands of it got caught between the spaces of the fork. He then shot it into his mouth, swiftly but carefully. “Oh, God. This is actually good. And oh! Look at that oregano extract! It
“Go on. Say it. What is it? What is the question that came into your mind?” Well said, unbothered. His tone was friendly, but his voice was nothing but a plain monotone that showed no interest at all. He was as if just listening but did not care. “The question is-- my concern-- ‘What if they trace the data of these people and figure out that they do not exist? What if they will realize that these are nothing but just mere made-up names used to unveil something that needs unveiling?’” Binsent Anchorman spoke. He got goosebumps. He was the one who said the question but at the same time he was also the one who got goosebumps. He could not contain it. Just thinking of it alone already made him quiver in fear. May God forbid, but if ever it would happen, they will surely be in trouble. The case would be countered against them, the table would turn around, and the one who will be put in a terrible situation willl be them instead of the restaurant they were trying to take down. “It will ta
Four o’clock, everything had been settled. It was already time for the dry run of their blog site. Half of the made up accounts were already registered into the site, and some of them had already been used to comment a review with some of the restaurants-- and dominantly the Noodle Bar which was the focal point of this entire investigation.“Do you think we have already inputted enough?” Allen Mar asked as he got himself up of the bed to stretch his arms and his back, and pop every single one of his fingers. They were all feeling numb. “I am already halfway done commenting using my designated accounts. How is the progress in your side, guys?” he followed up.“On my part, I still have fourteen to input. I don’t know, Well said we need to vary the tone and the grammar of every account, that is why I’m being keen to make sure that they do not appear, or worse, sound like they are the same person,” Binsent Anchorman explained. At this point, he was like a young adult-- like Well and Allen