Chapter 2: "Good job on the interview with Paulina." One of my old pencils gets picked up by Giuseppe, who then gently rubs it between his fingers.

"No issue, boss," I was able to create a piece on a buddy who was heartbroken and a big essay about eating disorders using the scant information I was provided.

Good pencil. Quixotically, he looks at the Castelli wooden pencil. "Max, this newsroom is not appropriate for someone your age. You, however, always manage to land on your feet.

The Turin Tiger, perhaps? I suggest. I'll take that for the byline.

I can only hope for a nickname that sounds meaningful these days. I remember the Elysian Times, when conventional newspapers, rather than Google, earned all the advertising cash, when I was flown to Rome to interview government ministers.

One of the first things a beat reporter does after receiving a story assignment is to get in touch with the family. I find the father of Paulina on social media and introduce myself:

I'm Max Serafino, a journalist with the Turin Register. I want to make sure I have all the facts straight because I'm writing a story on the sad occurrence involving your daughter. Please get in touch with me as soon as possible.

I get a response that seems to have been copied and pasted:

Please don't contact us again; we have nothing to say. A family named The Fiore

The Turin Register's newsroom is quiet about the Paulina case for a few days when I switch to another breaking subject.

Someone yells, "Max. Line 7!"

"City desk, Max Serafino," is my response.

A man introduces himself as the father of Paulina Fiore, "our daughter." All of it is our fault. We observed how much time she was wasting on her phone but did nothing to stop her.

I ask, "Is there a reason you decided to call me today?" "I'm sure it's not your fault, but I would like to hear more," I reply.

The cops asked us questions about the websites she was looking at after unlocking her phone.

"Do any of the names come to mind?"

"I'm not sure. He said, "But the majority of the articles were about diseases. I've never heard of any of them.

Was she in touch with anyone at all?

They did claim that she got the ItaliaApp URLs from friends.

Paulina hasn't been outside for months, according to claims from her neighbours. Online friends are required.

I make a call to Turin University's Professor Rizzo.

Could a patient's dread of sickness, viruses, bacteria, and other things lead to malnutrition? I ask.

"Mysophobia, often known as germophobia, can make a patient avoid handling food, eat with gloves, and do other things of that nature. Patients with problematic conditions may limit their social interactions and avoid going out in public.

"Paulina seemed to eat nothing except boiling pasta."

"That sounds feasible, but even in the most severe cases of mysophobia, I've never heard of starvation. Nearly every other psychological impulse pales in comparison to the power of hunger.

The urge to survive, though, isn't it even stronger? I speculate about the potential nature of the existential danger.

How was it possible for Paulina to totally avoid something as common as vitamin C? I provide the Chief Editor with an update on my casework.

The elements of a good human interest tale are present here—food, terror, and a female victim. Giuseppe appears content. "Continue your research, but stay away from any critical remarks about ItaliaApp. They provide 30% of the traffic we receive.

I get along with a lot of people in our city. When a listener is attentive, people love to talk about themselves. especially if they believe they are in an authoritative position.