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Sunny day. A perfect weather to watch four scientist go to space. Sadly, this story coverage wasn't attractive to anyone on The Times Tribune, which meant that — editor in chief, David Nguyen had to randomly pick from the litter of rookies. And at the end of the day, Catalina Serrano was selected.

Catalina Serrano had work at the Tribune for two years now. The only stories she has covered are all fashion related or starlets who came to New York to film. She hated them. She hated this.

Catalina wanted big stories, she wanted to cover the civil rights movement, or the new era where women walked out on the streets asking for equality. Catalina wanted her name to stand for something big.

But instead she was heading to Alabama, towards the U.S Space and Rocket Center, a 16 hour drive with her best friend and coworker Jules Harper, with her tape recorder, notepad and the newspaper of the day folded on her lap.

The window was rolled down, warm air rushing into the car, whipping strands of Catalina's dark hair into her face. She didn't bother fixing it. Jules was at the wheel, sunglasses on, humming off-key to a Beatles song playing low on the radio.

"You know," Jules said, glancing at her, "most girls would kill to be assigned to cover four handsome scientists in jumpsuits heading to space."

Catalina scoffed, grabbing her cherry-flavored soda and taking a sip. "Yeah I know, the only thing I am looking forward is that there's a woman on the team." She glanced over at her. "It's about time they stopped pretending women don't belong in labs — or in space." She muttered.

"You might think this isn't a big story Caty, but it isn't like everyday a person heads to space, this is huge, their lives at are risk." Sure what Jules had said had a point. But when Catalina's interests are others, well, this story seems boring.

Catalina looked out the window focused on the highway and open fields. "I just, it's not the story I want. But it's the one I've got."

Jules nodded like she understood. "You're still gonna knock it out of the park though. You always do." That pulled a small smile from Catalina, she didn't say thank you, but Jules knew it was there, hidden behind her pride.

Opening her notepad on a blank page she wrote.

SPACE MISSION - LAUNCH DAY

Title to be changed*

The parking lot was full. Either with journalist or interested fellows that wanted to watch. Catalina stepped out of Jule's beat-up Pontiac, grabbing her press badge and soothing her skirt.

Jules squinted up at the giant structure in the distance. "Well, they weren't kidding about it being the biggest launch since the Soviets."

People were everywhere. Families in lawn chair, kids with American flags and journalists lined up near the gates, some which were already questioning security guards, others who just screamed out their questions hoping to get some kind of answer.

Catalina tighened her grip on her notepad, her heels clicked on the pavement as they approached the press check-in tent. She could feel the eyes on her, how the older men in suspenders and sweat-stained shirts, some already rolling their eyes, whispering. She wasn't the youngest journalist here, but she might've been the only woman without a NASA contact.

One of the guards took her badge, scanned the list, and waved her through. "The Times Tribune?"

"That's me." Catalina said. "Serrano, Catalina."

The guard barely looked at her. "Zone B for press. Don't cross the barriers or security'll boot you."

Catalina nodded, trying not to show her suddent nervous excitment. She and Jules slipped through the gate and into the roped-off media section, close enough to see the sleek silver rocket looming in the distance, shining in the sunlight like a monument.

Jules let out a low whistle. "Well... it's real now."

Catalina didn't respond. She was focused, scanning the crowd, spotting big names from Life, The New York Times (nemesis) and The Chicago Tribune, just to name a few. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and straightened her posture. She might've been a fashion/starlet writer last wekk, but today? Today she was here to prove she belonged, prove to every men here that she wasn't some dull journalist. Even if she didn't want this type of story.

She tightened her grip on her notepad, the leather edges warm under her fingers. Behind her, Jules had already started scribbling shorthand observations, but Catalina stood still for a moment, soaking in the chaos around her — the smell of sunburnt grass and gasoline, the hum of conversation between anchors prepping live shots, the press of heat through her blouse.

"Look sharp," Jules muttered under her breath. "Here comes the real show."

The crowd shifted. Catalina pressed the recording button on her tape recorder, clearing her throat she began to describe what was happening around her. "The scientists have just exited the east wing of the facility," she narrated, her voice low but steady. "Four of them. All in matching white jumpsuits. The crowd is responding with applause and camera flashes. The rocket is—" she paused, eyes lifting to the massive structure ahead of them, "—truly enormous. Like a monument to ambition."

Her focus followed the group of scientists, three men and one woman, as they made their way to the designated area for questions. Dr. Reed Richards was taller than she expected, his lean frame held with a kind of casual precision. His hair was neatly combed, the stereotypical man of science. Susan Storm followed closely behind , she was elegant, composed, and already drawing attention from the cameras. Then came Johnny Storm, all swagger and easy grins, sunglasses on indoors. Ben Grimm brought up the rear, broad and silent, arms crossed as he scanned the crowd.

Catalina had looked up their names, who they were. She had to study beforehand and not come emptyhanded, to not be some dull journalist or something like that. Cameras clicked. Reporters jostled. But Catalina didn't move. She started her tape recorder again and whispered, "The team looks calm. Too calm. Like they've done this before. But they haven't. No one has done what they will do today."

The team reached at a podium, at the middle section of their walk, microphone standing infront of Reed Richards. "Thank you all for being here. We'll be launching within the hour. We believe this research will offer valuable insight into our understanding of cosmic energy and space-time physics. That's all I can share at the moment.""

The questions started immediately.

"Dr. Richards, what kind of data are you hoping to collect exactly?"

"Is this a government mission or a private expedition?"

"Miss Storm, what's it like to be the only woman on this historic team?"

Catalina's fingers clenched tighter around her notepad. That last one again. Lazy. Predictable. Still, she watched Susan carefully. She gave the same tight, professional smile Catalina had seen on too many red carpets.

Before Susan could answer, Johnny stepped forward with a boyish grin. "Oh, she bosses us all around. You'd be surprised who really runs the mission."

A few light laughs. Catalina didn't smile. Instead her hand went up. Reed noticed.

"Catalina Serrano, The Times Tribune." She began. "Dr. Richards, you've mentioned 'energy research'—but there's no specific agenda, no clear findings you're pursuing, and no government oversight. So, why now? Why this launch? What exactly are you looking for out there?"

The tent quieted. Jules, behind her, stopped writing.

Reed didn't flinch, but his answer came slower this time. "Discovery doesn't always come with a neat agenda," he said. "The universe is full of unknowns. This mission isn't about a single result—it's about reaching out. Testing the limits."

Beside him, Johnny looked like he was barely paying attention, scanning the crowd with a smirk, probably looking for the next person to flirt with. Ben Grimm shifted his weight, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ground. And Susan... Susan's face remained carefully neutral, but her fingers fidgeted briefly at her side.

Catalina caught that. A tell. Small, but it was there.

"Thank you, no more questions," Reed said, stepping away from the mic ignoring the continuous screaming from the rest of the journalists and TV reporters. Catalina and Jules were ushered back into the press zone, the barriers holding them in like cattle, but Catalina barely noticed. She was too focused. Eyes sharp, notepad open again.

The countdown hadn't started yet, but everything around them was humming with anticipation. Engineers scurried around in the distance, final checks and radio calls flying across walkie-talkies. Soldiers stood at the perimeter. A medic van waited nearby, just in case. Catalina wrote it all down:

Security tight. Medics on standby. Crowd energy rising. No clear eyes on mission control.

Jules nudged her. "They're suiting up now," she said, nodding toward the small hangar-like structure by the rocket.

She spotted them emerging single file toward the boarding platform. Her stomach flipped. This wasn't something she found interesting, but she wasn't going to lie. She was nervous for them.

Catalina clicked the recorder back on. "The crew makes their way to the shuttle. No waving. No theatrics. Just quiet resolve. Maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's fear, but there's a weight to the air that wasn't here an hour ago."

Jules uncapped her water bottle and offered it wordlessly. Catalina shook her head. Her mouth was dry, but she didn't want to miss anything.

The boarding ramp hissed as it lowered. Applause broke out from the civilian side of the fence, scattered but genuine. Catalina glanced at the crowd, some were clapping, others filming with boxy cameras. A kid sat on his dad's shoulders, holding a homemade cardboard rocket.

A countdown began over the speakers: t-minus seven minutes.

Catalina scribbled in her notes:

No statement from NASA. Private project. Reed Richards never explained objective. Public smiles, private doubt?

Her eyes followed the four figures disappearing into the shuttle's body. The hatch closed behind them with a heavy metallic thud.

Catalina glanced up at the sky, it was blue and unbothered. Then down at her watch. She swallowed.

"Here we go." she whispered.

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Two days later

Chaos had settled into the edges of everything.

The media zone was double the size now, lined with cameras, satellite trucks, military personnel, and a perimeter pushed back at least a hundred yards. No one had expected the return capsule to land there in the water, and certainly no one expected what came out of it.

Catalina stood behind the yellow tape, her press badge now wrinkled from being clipped and unclipped a hundred times. Her notebook was open, pages fluttering in the wind, full of phrases she couldn't believe she'd written:

"Man made of rock."
"Stretching limbs—inhuman elasticity."

Sue Storm looked okay, her brother Johnny, seemed to have burned sections of his clothing but his skin looked perfectly fine, no visible burns. She looked up as a sharp voice came through the loudspeakers. "This is a secure area. Please remain behind the designated barriers."

Too late. People were already pushing forward, desperate for a glimpse of them—the four figures being escorted down the tarmac by armed guards and personnel in hazmat suits. Reed Richards walked with a limp but his expression was calm, analytical. When Sue and Johnny finally came closer to the crowd Catalina could see they were different. Johnny's skin still faintly glowing, Susan's form glitching like a broken projection. Ben Grimm wasn't to be seen, but there was something — or someone else with them, a big figure made of volcanic stone, his footfalls shaking the ground slightly.

Jules, next to her, lowered the long-lens camera and whispered, "Caty, are we even supposed to be seeing this?"

"I don't know," Catalina whispered. "But we are."

Sirens wailed as a second transport vehicle pulled up, government, maybe military. Catalina stepped forward slightly, scribbling notes as the four were loaded inside, behind tinted windows.

This wasn't a story about fashion. This wasn't a red carpet. This wasn't even just science.

This was history. And she was right in front of it.

The office of The Times Tribune was buzzing, its phones ringing off the hook, headlines being debated across desks, someone yelling from the back about a copy error. But the second Catalina walked in, it all felt like white noise.

She dropped her bag by her desk and collapsed into her chair, eyes gritty from the overnight bus ride. Jules, trailing behind her, tossed a crumpled granola bar wrapper into the trash.

"New York missed us," Jules said, sarcasm sharp in her voice.

A voice boomed from the corner office.
"Catalina Serrano, to the editor's office. Now."

David Nguyen didn't wait for her to knock. He was already pacing behind his desk when she entered, gesturing to the paper in his hand.

"Do you know how many rewrites I've had to approve in the last twenty-four hours?" he asked, waving the latest issue like it offended him. "Everyone wants a piece of this story. You left only to cover some scientist going to space and came back with four freaks of science and a potential government cover-up."

"They're not freaks," Catalina said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you talk to any of them after reentry?"

"They were taken away before anyone could," she replied. "No one's had access."

David dropped into his chair. "Which is exactly why I'm giving the story to Quinn. He's been on the science desk longer. He knows how to handle—"

"No." The word was out before she could temper it. David blinked.

Catalina stepped forward. "I was there before the launch, I was there when they came back. I watched Ben Grimm's feet crack the ground. I saw Susan Storm glitching as if she were to disappear in front of a live camera. And if you give this story to Quinn just because he's got more years behind a keyboard, you'll miss the angle."

David tilted his head, watching her.

"This isn't just science," Catalina added. "This is politics. This is fear. This is power reshaping itself in real time, and if you put a man like Quinn on it, he'll make it a story about particles and propulsion. This is something else."

"You're a fashion writer, Serrano."

"Not anymore," she said. "You sent me to cover a rocket launch no one cared about. Now you've got a world-changing event. And the only person who actually saw it from the beginning is sitting right in front of you."