In the pitch-black night, a bright moon hung high overhead. The wooden window lattice gleamed coldly beneath its light. A bespectacled middle-aged man sat by the window, reading a news draft with one hand while holding a phone to his ear with the other.
"Don't worry. The New York Times isn't some obscure little tabloid. Our online media has more than enough influence. Since going live, we've gained over two million subscribers—the highest subscription count among official accounts of traditional media outlets—and our reach extends across more than twenty states."
"In the next digital edition, we've arranged for two political commentators to debate the topic, 'How can ordinary people protect themselves in an era full of superheroes?'"
"One commentator will fiercely attack the gun-control camp while arguing that guns are for dealing with ordinary people. If people want any chance of escaping superheroes, they must possess stronger firepower. He'll also criticize that candidate as a one-sided gun-control advocate who doesn't care about public safety..."
"But I think we can intensify the conflict between ordinary people and superheroes even further. After all, if everyone shoots at superheroes on sight, bullets will sell better too."
"Oh, and those food preservative sellers pushing doomsday theories. If we can get in touch with them, we could run an issue about how ordinary people should establish defensive strongholds if superheroes conquer the world through hegemony..."
Just then, the middle-aged man noticed a flash of red light pass over the draft paper on his desk.
He startled, his hand shaking as the phone fell to the floor. When he turned around, he saw a red-glowing portal.
A black figure stepped out of the portal, raised a gun, fired, and blew his head apart with a single shot. Then he turned and walked back through the portal.