Penelope Figgins had one hand on a doughnut, the other on the call button of her head set, when the alarm went off. The live microphones on the DCNN set picked up the noise and amplified it like eardrum-seeking bullets boring into her head. She slapped the headset from her ears with a grimace and a curse, but had the good sense not to let them hit the floor. The budget was tight. Nothing would be damaged on her watch, she'd promised Mr. Goldberg that at the last staff meeting. That was why he liked her. Penny had no problem issuing her own ultimatums:

Mr. Goldberg, I swear on my job that we will not damage another head set this week. I swear it.
Mr. Goldberg, if Mark shows up late to work one more time this week, then I deserve to be fired.
Mr. Goldberg, if Starbucks screws up your coffee order again, I will personally get that negligent b*****d fired, or it's my job.

Her intensity was read as "moxie" by the aging head of the station, and his close friendship with her father meant there was more at stake than losing an employee, albeit one who really would do just about anything to achieve the goals of the station. Others might have been confused about why Mr. Goldberg tolerated Penny's potty-mouth, constant smoking, and crass behavior, but from day one, he had not wavered on hiring her, or promoting her. A large portion of the staff believed that she was working overtime under his sheets. Penny's response? <******** 'em. She was damn good at her job, and they were clearly intimidated. She could hardly blame them.

When her ears stopped ringing, Penny stalked out on to the set and glared up at the control booth high above. "What the s**t is this?" she demanded, face scrunching up like she'd just eaten a bowl of lemons. The producer in the booth buzzed her and said that the building was on lock-down, something about terrorists, something about police. None of that mattered to Penny. This was the second time that week that production had to be paused for whatever weird creature had crawled out of the sewer for the night. The first time it happened two months ago, the young assistant segment producer had been overjoyed. This was her chance! She could finally break some major news and come one step closer to her idol, the Most Hallowed Missus Barbara Walters.

Too bad every building on the block had the same report, and nothing notable happened. In Destiny City, "notable" was a relative term. Unless there was footage, pictures, or a very convincing eye witness account, the majority of the things that go bump in the night went uncovered. On slow news days, they might do a special interest story on one of the comatose kids in DC Memorial, or maybe about a survivor missing a leg who claimed one of the glowing girls did it. If it bleeds, it leads was the normal rule of thumb, but in Destiny City, it had become if it gushes, we rush it.

A familiar scowl set into the lines of her face, cheeks taking on a flush. "Oh, no it's ******** not. Who authorized this?" Penny pointed a chipped nail at a quivering intern who just happened to be in her eye line. The teenager paused, clipboard in hand. He glanced over his shoulder once to see if anyone was behind him and then slowly pointed a finger at his own chest. "HEY. Yes, you. You with the dippy glasses and Efron cut -- like your job? Good. Go bring me the head of whoever decided that ******** up my shoot was a good idea." She spun on her heels without further direction, marching over toward the tanned face and gleaming white teeth of her talent.

The intern started to stalk off slowly, uncertain, until a cameraman pulled him aside and explained that Penny was not being serious, she was just blowing off some steam. The teen looked unconvinced.

Penny hopped up onto the raised platform of the DCNN promo set with the ease of a kid jumping into bed and made a beeline for her current anchor. They were shooting intros and outros for their new TV face -- had been trying to do it for two days now, if Destiny City would just get out of the way and let them do it already. She opened her mouth to address him, but the emergency siren was buzzing loudly. He cupped his hands over his mouth and said, "WHAT?" The word was barely intelligible. With a sigh, Penny crossed to a control box on the opposite wall behind a blue back drop, flipped it open, and yanked a red cord out of its socket.

The alarm stopped. The anchor raised his eyebrows. "You can stop the emergency siren?" he said, surprised.

Penny rolled her eyes. "Marky, I could make this building come alive like the Statue of Liberty in Ghostbusters, okay? So how about we leave the thinking to me and you just croon out the news in that Morgan Freeman voice of yours." Mark Forrestor was new to DCNN, a fresh young face to deliver the news with a smile, and he was one of the people at the station who loved Penny. He had the crucial understanding that Penny, no matter how she did it or what she said in the process, would break her back in the name of making him and DCNN look good. It was a concept that previous talent had not understood, and it was invariably why they ended up canned while Penny stayed on, potty mouth and all.

She leveled an electric gaze on Mark, eying the fall of his jacket. Her eyes froze on his face. "Hey, can I get makeup over here? His forehead is a ******** lighthouse right now." A tall blond swept up beside her and padded at Mark's face while Penny spoke. "Mark, we are shooting these promos tonight. We are shooting them, and they are going to be fabulous because I'm tired of paying for everyone to show up and wait around for a bunch of fat guys in blue suits carrying guns to tell us to carry on. Now, I need you to get in the zone, clear your head, and knock these babies out in one take like the guy I helped get hired did on his screen test. You got that?" Mark nodded, said nothing. He'd found that this was the best course of action when Penny was in a huff. She'd noticed this about him too and liked it immediately. He read the room, he read her, and he did his damnedest not to cause waves. It was a trait that would keep him in her good graces for years to come.

Delivering an enthusiastic pop in the arm, Penny smiled at Mark and said, "That's my talent!" Her eyes darted to the makeup girl. "Now really let's do something about this forehead situation. I feel like I'm watching a television when I look at." The smile was gone, and Penny was too, stomping off in another direction. It was 10:50PM. The head honchos were already in bed, and the A-team that did the 7:00 show were probably stumbling drunk in a bar at this point. Penny worked the graveyard, Penny worked the hours no one else would, Penny rode in the b***h seat -- all in the name of jockeying favor for a Head Producer spot down the road. And at 10:50PM, Penny was the highest ranking producer on set. The power squared her shoulders, set her brow, and had her demanding more than she would if the Powers that Be were floating around on their high horses.

Slipping her head set back on, Penny looked back to the control booth. "I gotta piss. When I get back, I want everything set to shoot and wrap. Let's get home before the sun's up, people." The head set slipped back around her neck, and Penny was off again, maneuvering toward the bathroom farthest from the sound stage like she was navigating her own living room.

Halfway to the bathroom, Penny's hand slipped into her pocket, pulling out a white and blue pack of Camels. When Penny said "I gotta piss" what she really meant to say was: "I gotta go illegally smoke in the bathroom before I claw my ******** eyes out." The more seasoned staff knew this and would avoid her at all costs during that time. Normally, she puffed away on plastic smoke-less nicotine sticks, but it was like eating tofu cubes when she wanted a steak the size of her head. Whoever had told on her for smelling of smoke during work hours and affecting people's delicate asthma would pay -- one day. Whenever it was she found out who did it.

Impatience got the best of her, and she lit up before she hit the bathroom. The nicotine hit in a rush, and Penny closed her eyes and tilted her head back to embrace the moment of euphoria. It was cut short by the sound of something crashing. The bathroom door swung open so swiftly that Penny barely had time to dodge it, let alone the body that came rushing out. Penny was knocked to the ground, sliding a few feet into the far wall. She hardly had time to land a well-aimed curse at her attacker before the body was off of her and rushing back toward the bathroom door.

Candace Moseley, a sound tech, threw herself against the door with a flourish, head set askew, lip quivering, eyes wide. It was the same face she wore when Sex in the City went off the air and when Lance Bass announced to the world that he was gay. Penny did not like Candace, this much was clear, but in a crisis situation, degrading Candace to tears would be the worst thing to do if a solution was to be reached.

Rubbing at her temples, Penny pulled herself from the floor and tried to speak slowly. "Candace, why are you fleeing the bathroom?" She frowned at the sight of her extinguished and crushed cigarette on the ground. Candace whimpered. Penny came closer, laying a hand on each of Candace's shoulders and softening her voice as much as possible. "Candace, please... let me help. You know how good I am at fixing problems. Let me fix this. What is wrong in the bathroom?"

From behind the door, something growled. Penny quirked an eyebrow. Candace blurted out, "MONSTER!" Her breath came in quick puffs. "T-t-there's a m-monster..." The petite silvernette nodded, sending a flurry of bangs over one eye. She smoothly tucked it behind one ear, and then pushed Candace out from in front of the door.

Before the bewildered sound tech knew what was going on, Penny whipped the door open. There was something black and inky, about the size of an armadillo, with long spindly feelers coming out of its back scuttling across the floor. It took one look at Penny and lunged. She slammed the door shut, gripped the handle, and jumped when the weight collided with the door. A few moments of silence passed, then the agitated growling resumed. Penny released the handle, calmly grabbed Candace by the shoulders, and placed her back in front of the door. She started to walk away.

Candace frowned, lip quivering. "W-where are you g-going?" she asked, plaintive.

Penny turned and popped one hand on her hip. "You seem to have this under control." She threw Candace her cellphone. "Use this, call the police. Tell them to use the back entrance."

"The b-back e-entrance?"

"I don't want them traipsing across the set and ruining the shot."

Candace looked stunned, a fat tear rolling down her cheek. Her mouth sputtered a few times, eyes flitting back and forth. "You're going to l-leave me h-here, with this?"

"If you can keep that thing trapped in a bathroom simply by standing in front of the door, then I don't think we have anything to worry about. The cops will be here with guns, much more reliable than me. Don't worry, Candace, I will tell everyone about how brave you are being, and how you volunteered to contain the rabid animal yourself. People will be impressed." Candace didn't look convinced. She laid a shaky hand on her forehead. The animal behind the door growled again. "I promise."

The conversation had been marked finite by the producer, but as she turned to leave, Candace piped up again. "Y-you a-aren't supposed to smoke i-in the s-studio. S-some of us have a-asthma." Penny froze, back turned to Candace. A shadow crossed her eyes, but she said nothing, marching back to the set in silence.

When she got there, everything was in place, just as she had ordered. It really was nice when things went your way. Penny slipped her headset back on, pulling a long swash of silver hair over one shoulder. One of the sound guys buzzed in her ear and asked where Candace was. Apparently she hadn't come back from the bathroom. Penny pushed her headset to intercom and announced, "Sorry, Candace is taking a massive s**t in the bathroom. She said something about a**l leakage, or ruptured sores, I don't remember exactly. I don't think she'll be making it back in time for this shoot." Somewhere in the studio, Penny could hear metal banging. It was the sound of the back door opening. The cops were here; Candace would be fine.

A determined grin crossed her lips and she moved beside the cameras. "All right, people, enough dicking around. Let's show them what we get paid for. Counting it down in five... four... three... two." A finger pointed out, the red light of the camera came to life.

The show must go on.