(This is my first time posting here, sorry if I make mistakes. I wrote this at three am, so there are probably some errors I missed. Any and all criticism is welcome and appreciated.)
(Contains violence and swearing.)
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Six months of recon, prep work, and planning. Five security guards bribed. Four security cameras taken offline. Three untraceable guns. Nearly two million dollars on the line.
And one fucking amateur screwing up the works.
“EVERYBODY ON the… ground…?” The man’s high-pitched shout echoed through the high-ceilinged lobby, trailing off into a confused question. He looked around and finally seemed to take in the scene, his gaze falling on us. We stood there, holding guns and and heavy duffel bags filled with gear, staring back at him incredulously. It was all I could do to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.
“Uh,” he offered, his 9mm still half-raised in anticipation of firing a shot into the air. He wore a simple white plastic mask with vaguely-defined features and holes for eyes, the kind of thing you could pick up for fifty cents at Halloween.
Delta broke the moment of stillness, her voice furious. “What the fuck are you doing here!?”
“Robbing this bank,” he said weakly, still not quite believing what was happening.
“Well, what a coincidence, us too.” My voice was filled with bitter sarcasm.
Whisky looked to him, and back to me. Even with the ski mask, I could see the indecision in his eyes. “Alpha, what do we do with him?”
I thought for a moment. This is an unexpected obstacle. Shoot him in front of thirty witnesses, and we get tagged with murder. Leave him alone, he might try to pull something, even if we take his gun. Maybe…
“Whisky, we have room for another in the van, right?” I asked, my voice low.
He gave me a strange look. “Yeah, I guess. Why… oh no, you can’t be serious.”
“We are short on hands, Whisky. I don’t believe in fate, but the chances of this happening… well, let’s say I’m due for a reevaluation. He can help you cover the hostages. We take him with, and if he’s trouble, we can deal with him then.”
He sighed heavily. “You’re the boss, boss.” Under his breath, I heard him add, “It’s your ass.”
Delta gave a similar dissatisfied grumble. “Your funeral.”
Ignoring both of them, I turned my attention to the newcomer, who still stood in the same spot, unsure of how to react.
“Hey!” I called out, and he started, looking at me directly.
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice apprehensive.
“What’s the first letter of your first name?”
He looked bewildered for a moment and hesitated, but decided there was no harm in telling me. “C.”
“Alright, you’re Charlie. That’s Delta and Whisky. I’m Alpha.” I pointed at each person as I named them. “Ever consider a life of professional crime, Charlie?”
“N-not really.” He paused, and added, “This was meant to be a one time kind of thing.”
“Well, don’t cross it off your career options yet. You’ll be helping Whisky here with crowd control. Just follow his lead and you’ll be fine.” The crowd in question was watching our exchange with wide eyes from their positions on the ground.
Charlie looked lost. ”Wait, what do you mean?”
I grinned nastily at him, even though it was wasted behind the fabric of my mask. “You’ve been recruited, Charlie. You can go with the flow, or…” I gestured at Whisky’s assault rifle. “...not.”
He swallowed heavily and said, “I think I’ll go with the flow.”
“Good man. Now, we have work to do and we’re behind schedule. Delta, your time to shine.”
The vault door barely clung to its hinges as it swung open with a shriek of protesting metal. The explosives had really done a number on it. The inside of the safe was blackened and a haze of smoke hung over the room, but nothing was badly damaged. I followed Delta in, and she began to search the wall of safe deposit boxes. Each one was about a foot square, emblazoned with three numbers and held shut with a lock that was more for show than security.
“106. That’s the one.” She grabbed a crowbar from her bag, and went to work on the piece of metal, wedging the tip between the door and the frame. A moment later, she pulled a large sledgehammer from her bag and gave the other end of the crowbar an almighty blow.
The door popped open, the lock giving way under the sudden pressure, and inside was our target.
A featureless eight inch cube of lead.
“That thing is worth two million dollars?” Delta muttered.
“Don’t ask me. Let’s get it out of here.”
I reached in and carefully lifted the cube, grunting slightly under its weight. This thing was easily eighty pounds, and I struggled to maneuver it as Delta opened a metal briefcase. After a tense moment, I dropped it into the predesigned container, heavy foam surrounding a perfectly sized cutout.
Delta closed the case, spun the heavy duty combination lock on the front, and handcuffed it to her arm. I gathered up her gear bags and tools, pulling my radio from my pocket as I did so.
“Whisky, we’re finishing up here. Everything clear on your end?”
Two deafening shots echoed through the bank, one after the other. A moment later, three shots sounded in quick succession, and people started to scream.
“Son of a bitch!” Delta and I swore in unison. I dropped the bags and drew my pistol as I sprinted towards the lobby. Delta followed behind, weighed down by the briefcase.
The scene that awaited us was splattered with red. Whisky was on his back in a spray of blood, shrieking incoherently. The previously subdued hostages were shouting and screaming, starting to stand up. Some of them wore blood, though whether it was their own or not I couldn’t tell. An elderly man lay motionless in a pool of crimson, a gun a few inches from his outstretched hand. Charlie held his 9mm pointed at the dead man, his hands shaking.
I pointed my gun at the crowd of panicking people and shouted, “EVERYBODY, BACK ON THE GROUND!” I punctuated the command with a quick shot above their heads, and they quickly obeyed, a few making soft sobs and whimpers. I turned to Charlie, raising my voice over Whisky’s cries. “What the fuck happened?”
Charlie stared blankly at the corpse of the old man. “Why did he… I didn’t want to…”
“It doesn’t matter what happened! Let’s get the fuck out of here! I’ll take care of the case, you two haul Whisky!” Delta headed for the door, and I moved over to my still screaming partner. He had a wound on his chest and somewhere on his arm, and his shirt was soaked with blood. I moved behind him, lifting him up from under his arms, and called out to Charlie, who stood frozen.
“Charlie! Give me a hand!” He complied, moving slowly and mechanically, still not fully part of this world. He lifted up Whisky’s legs, and we made our way into the daylight with an awkward shuffle. Delta stood impatiently at the van, the back door already open, and she helped us load in our uncooperative burden. Charlie and I climbed after him, and Delta took the wheel. I felt the engine rumble and we begin to move, the call of sirens on the edge of earshot.