The villa of Gurta Wurm is a picturesque, two-story home with a very metropolitan design. Great riches have been afforded to her by both the mafia and her publishers; much of this money goes into frivolous luxuries. The luxuries are not gaudy, but rather something to be jealous of; the types of things that a lot of her peers in journalism look enviously upon. As one of the best-known opponents of the NP, she enjoys a very high income for her work. The villa's location right at the edge of a known slum keeps animosities even higher, but it's as though she thrives off of the hatred of others...

Gurta sat cross-legged at her writing desk, tapping her pen up and down upon her notepad. Her work had begun to bug her lately; she was always very confident of her writing ability, but ever since the GNA had stepped in and put the Mafia and the NP on an even footing, berating the NP just didn't have its same appeal. "You know what I think, Morph? Screw the whole GNA," she muttered, taking a swig of whiskey with a long gulp.

The reporter had never been much to look at. Getting up near forty, her skin and face had begun to feel the toil of an unhealthy tobacco obsession and the alcohol alongside it wasn't helping things. Still, she dressed nicely, today wearing a purple suit and black turtleneck along with her signature gold jewelry. Her black hair fell lazily over one shoulder as she bit her pen anxiously. Now wasn't quite the right time to light up a cigarette, although almost any other time would do. "I miss the good old days, where the NP were everyone's knights in shining armor. Isn't it funny that the better I do my job the less I have to work with? Now that I've finally got us about level in the eyes of the public, I wish I had them to pick on some more," she chuckled, possibly attributing too much credit to herself in cutting the NP down to size.

MorphMan was an equally sickly looking creature, a pale-yellow worm with a slimy and rubbery body. The worm's personality has two fluctuations: morbid and sluggish, alternating with devious and keen. Currently, he was stuck on the sluggish setting. "What's wrong Gurta? Isn't there any news?" he mumbled, keeping a frown set wide across his disturbingly human like face. He blinked his red, glazed eyes slowly, not anticipating much.

"No, no there isn't. There's been that tower rising lately, but the best I could do their is blame the NP for not doing more to investigate it. As I've said, the best news is something that you can put people into controversy over... something that really says somebody's being oppressed. Any speculation over that tower right now is just that: speculation," she grumbled, setting her pen down and crossing her arms across her breasts. "Nobody's going to go up in arms over something that could be anyone's fault. And I'm not an investigative reporter, I'll let somebody else do the digging on this.... Dammit! Why doesn't the NP just do something? I dunno, anything? Weren't they supposed to start initiating people?!" she grumbled, nearly smashing her bottle of alcohol against the desk.

"There was that incident with police brutality recently that Chic talked about. That girl from Vivarte, remember?" MorphMan offered mildly.

"Psh! I don't want to do a little slut like that any favors," Gurta grumbled, taking another long draw of her drink. "And don't question me on the slut part; any girl that looks that good and is in the two-bit 'We're good guys but also bad guys' business has gotta be a slut." Gurta thumbed through the day's papers lazily, looking for anything that would be good to give an opinion on.

The more the NP looked like the Mafia, the less it was worth Gurta's time to sling mud on it. People want to see the good guys go down, not the guys who are already having a hard time. As Gurta turned this thought over in her head, an opinion began to form. "You know what? We need to move on from the NP. I'll pass on that mantle to the rest of the Creel, the guys who are more talented at recruiting than the stuff that really matters," she smirked. "I've got a new angle, work with me here."

MorphMan nodded, but offered no new advice.

"The GNA, Morph. They're the big, powerful, sniper-armed guys who are holding this whole arrangement together. They're telling the whole damn Police what they can do," she explained.

"Duh. The GNA's not possible to oppose, though. The public opinion isn't something that touches them," MorphMan sighed, lowering his head and sagging apathetically.

Gurta shook her head, then stuck her pen back into her mouth, chewing it out of habit. She really needed a smoke. "Nah, nah! You're wrong there. The GNA don't care if people think they're lazy, true. They know people have the public perception of them as perfectly neutral. But you know what? There's people in there. And people are crooks," she explained, nodding as if the logic was all perfectly evident. MorphMan simply frowned blankly. "You don't get it, do you? Somebody in that damned organization is doing something I can pin on the organization as a whole! They're abusing that huge, ultimate power somehow. It's a huge, ultimate power, that's just what you do with it!"

"Looking for evidence? I thought you said you weren't in to investigative journalism," MorphMan hummed dryly.

"Yeah, well, my name's big enough to let me squeeze in wherever I want. And hey, my hands are dirty in all kinds'a ways. If there's a mook out there that's going to incriminate the GNA... I might even already know him," she said with a final chuckle, reaching into her drawer for her cigarettes and then lighting one up without even moving outside.