AN: New Hey Arnold story. Warning this an AU and is a more dark and gritty take on Hey Arnold. This story is co-written by me and misssocrates. Neither of us own Hey Arnold; we're writing for fun.

I Was Not Magnificent

Time: 9:22 PM. A New York street and the smell of debauchery and fresh blood filled the air. Helga Pataki was standing behind the yellow tape hardly phased by the situation. The police were there pushing people back from the scene. Everything to Helga moved in slow motion as she eyed the pavement of the sidewalk, now tinted crimson red.

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath in the air. It was way too cold to deal with this. Cameras and news reporters began to appear, camera flashes and yelling voices followed.

"Any idea who would do this?" a shrill voice asked. She recognized it was coming from behind her.

Phoebe Heyerdahl stood behind her. Her blue pea coat and black leggings proved themselves distinguishable, even in the large crowd starting form. Phoebe had been working as a secretary for a big name law firm. Funny, a woman that types for a living can't even respond to a text until situations happen like this.

"Not sure Phoebs." Helga replied nearly whispering. But she was going to find out, she thought.

Time: 9:31. A crying mother throw herself to the ground in front of them. The emotion of sorrow filled the air. The smell of L'interdit by Givenchy hit Helga's nose. Expensive perfume for a second hand woman. They were watching that same woman break at her seams.

Helga faded back into the crowd, her blonde hair tousled by the dry winter air. The Givenchy fragrance hit Helga's nose again. Smelled like the flowers you would put on a casket. A socialite was dead.

~/~

Helga returned to her shitty apartment with the draft from the window. She took off her tan trench coat and leather gloves. She brushed her hair back with her fingers. It was tangled from blowing in the wind. She sat down at her couch and began to read today's paper she got from work today.

The headline read: Socialite to Marry CEO of Famous Research Company. She eyes the picture of the beautiful young woman standing next to her husband. The pearls wrapped around her neck and the tight bright pink body con dress cost more than a year's worth of Helga's rent. She was smiling hard while her fiancé in his grey business suit kissed her check. It was all so forced, she thought. The day she announces her marriage she gets pushed from the 12th story of a building. Her pretty face was plastered all over the pavement, just like it was plastered all over newspapers.

The door opens and Helga looks up. It was her roommate, Arnold Shortman coming in from work. He was an intern at the newspaper and he worked nights bar backing at a local night club. Arnold smelled like alcohol and sweat every night. He unbuttoned the first two buttons on his white shirt and jumps as he notices Helga sitting there.

"You're home early. Thought you would be working on that medical handbook tonight?" Arnold sat down next to her. Helga was a technical writer for a pharmaceutical company. Yes, she wrote the little warning label on your pill bottles, which was anything but inspiring for her.

"Yeah, decided to leave early. Writer's block." Helga proclaimed, placing the newspaper face down on her lap so he wouldn't see.

"How hard is it to write Warning: May Cause Drowsiness?" Arnold laughed. Truth is she hated living with him sometimes. They weren't together. Just roommates until one person got a better job. Arnold was nice and paid the rent on time so she couldn't complain about that. What she could be upset with is the fact that neither of them had been on decent date since they moved in together. They both worked hard to make ends meet. Frankly she was horny and frustrated, but Arnold never seemed to notice.

"Shut up Football Head! I'm sure you had a fun time serving whores their daily tranquilizer." Helga retorted almost hitting him after the comment.

Arnold walked to his room, probably to shower and change from tonight's workload. Once he left the room Helga looked at the picture again. She was perfect. Her bangs were perfect, her 7 inch waist was perfect, her makeup was perfect, but something was off. The caption under the picture was: Socialite and New Fiancé Share an Intimate Moment at their Estate.

The way he wrapped his hand around her waist. It was too tense, too tight, and almost possessive. Of course any man is possessive about their lover, but he just wasn't the possessive type to begin with. He was hiding something.

~/~

Time: 12:32. Helga was still awake, staring at the ceiling in her bed. How could a girl that young and lively be reduced to a corpse? She thought of times where she was mean to her and felt sick. She picked her phone up from the nightstand and began reading her texts. 3 unread messages:

Boss Man: Please finish the medical journal by 1pm tomorrow Helga. Sent 7:21pm

Olga: Hey sis. How are you? Just checking on you. Sent 8:13pm

Phoebe: Breakfast tomorrow? Sorry I haven't been texting back. Just so busy. Catch up tomorrow if you come to breakfast. Sent 9:20pm

The timestamp on the message was 2 minutes before it happened. 2 minutes too late.

"Fuck." Helga blurted out.

She heard dishes from the kitchen and decided to get up and talk to Arnold. He was heating up a Hot Pocket in the microwave.

"Thought you'd be sleeping." Arnold said as he placed his Hot Pocket in the microwave.

2 minutes on the microwave timer. 1:45 seconds of silence before Helga spoke.

"A-Arnold." Her voice was shaky. Arnold looked at her with concerned eyes, anticipating what she had to say. "Rhonda Whellington Lloyd is dead."

The timer went off.

A socialite was dead.

The night was dark and full of secrets.

AN: Interested in what happens next? Read more and find out. This chapter was written by Brie (peanutbutter123). Misssocrates and I will be alternating chapters from here on out. Please review. ~Brie