Liquid Bank

Chapter 1 –Shot in the Back

Acrid sweat fell from Matthew’s dark, sodden hair beneath his helmet. The thin hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the bullet that sounded like an angry bee, buzzed as it whizzed past his ear. Instinct made Matthew slap at the absent insect, checking to ensure that his ear was still intact as he kept his stride.

In front of him, the wall burst into a cloud of white from the bullet’s impact. 

Whether it was shattered concrete or drywall dust, Matthew could not tell.

He prayed for drywall.

Inhaling, Matthew breathed through his nose as he ran; his feet stomping in heavy footfalls that echoed through the rotunda, and kept pace with his racing heart. The stinging sweat made his eyes twitch as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the man trying to kill him.

Twenty paces back, the man was dressed in a classic gray three-piece suit with white suspenders inside that rolled over his shoulders. His legs were spread wide and bent at the knees as he took aim with two hands on the grip of a black gun. The explosion out of the barrel resembled cannon fire, an eruption of white smoke as the next bullet was aimed to kill.

Fire skipped over Matthew’s left shoulder, lurching him forward. Drops of crimson blood smeared the cold linoleum floor as three bent fingers kept him upright enough to continue his manic pace. Shoulder slump and with a grunt of pain, Matthew stumbled forward. More bees whipped past him, making bursts of white chip the wall from the errant rounds, and he turned his undamaged shoulder, leaping into the haze.

The light black armor Matthew wore absorbed the brunt of the impact as he struck the wall with a grunt. Chalk cloud of white choked his throat as the drywall gave way to his weight.

The wafting white dust disappeared, changing to inky blackness. Shouting a curse, Matthew tumbled forward, gravity pulling him into the space beyond. His roaring yell filled his ears. Wind rushed past him as he fell, arms swimming in the gloom in a vain search for anything to stay his fall.

The plunge felt like minutes as the light from the hole he made in the wall above seemed to zoom away with each panicked breath. There was little time to prepare as he landed in a heap, the sound of his weight slapping metal that screeched and reverberated with a deep thoom.

The air rushed from Matthew’s lungs as an intense burning spread from his left ankle up to his hip. Warm, hot copper filled his mouth from a bit tongue and loose tooth whose screaming nerves added to the conflagration of pain as he struggled to catch his breath. His head was the last to hit the metal with a clang from his helmet, the impact forcing a cascade of thoughts and memories that swam through his mind.

The images swirled as the darkness closed on his eyes, and Matthew wondered how he found himself dying inside a wall, perhaps never to be found. In his memories, imagery of his daughter- curly brown and sun behind her kissing the freckles on her smiling face- gave way to him sitting at a desk, being told his life up to that point had been worthless. Behind that image was the chime of a phone call that would change his life forever.

A grunt imitated a laugh, mocking as it echoed off the enclosed metal walls, giving way to the darkness that consumed the last light of Matthew’s eyes.

Chapter 2 - Economically Viable

“I’m sorry Mr. Spark, but there is nothing we can do for you,” the bank manager said.

Matthew sat on the other side of the plain wood desk, dressed in a dark, ill-fitting suit- the only inheritance from his estranged father.

“Do you mind telling me why?” Matthew asked. His voice remained calm since he had heard the same refrain from the five previous banks he had applied.

The reply always played out the same. The bank manager shuffled the papers before him, pretending to go over each one again with a lick of his index finger. Matthew watched him, and waited to hear the two words that became a common refrain, as if they all read from the same prepared script.

The bank manager cleared his throat while pushing up his glasses. “Well, from our research Mr. Spark, it seems you are not economically viable,” he replied.

Matthew smiled, hearing the magic words. After he had heard the term the first time, Matthew found out that being called not economically viable was the banks’ way of saying they did not believe his revenue would be equal or be greater than his planned expenditures. In other words, a poor gamble.

Yet, draining his savings by consulting with accountants and business management firms said otherwise.

“But my business model is sound,” Matthew said in an even tone. “Even your man, Sam, said so before I applied.”

“Sam,” the bank manager repeated, smiling to himself. “Well, Sam is an advisor, not an underwriter. Our research takes in all accounts, and not just a business plan.”

“Your research,” Matthew said. “What did you find?”

The bank manager cleared his throat again, finger fiddling with his collar. “To be frank Mr. Spark, your education level is subpar --,”

“Subpar,” Matthew repeated.

“Yes,” the bank manager replied. “And we also found disturbing social media posts on the accounts you didn’t disclose to us.”

“Am I not allowed to have an opinion?” Matthew asked.

“You are,” the manager replied.

“But you don’t like them, so you won’t give me a loan,” Matthew replied.

“Like or dislike is not a consequence here,” the bank manager said, his voice attempting to sound impartial. “We must assess whether your comments would affect your business were they to come to light. We assess they will.”

“The Megas are a menace,” Matthew replied, leaning forward. “Someone has to say so. But that has nothing to do with my business plan. We plan --,”

“Mr. Spark, Mr. Spark,” the bank manager interrupted with a chuckle, waving his hands. “No need to get political here.”

“But this is political,” Matthew said, jaw flexing. “I have a constitutional right to express my opinion.”

The bank manager breathed through his nose. “We’re sorry Mr. Spark, there is nothing we can do for you,” he stood, putting out his hand. “If you have an issue with our decision, I suggest you reach out to our customer service representative in person or online.”

Matthew stood, shaking the bank manger’s hand and looking him in the eyes. “You have a good day sir,” he replied, before exiting the office.

*****

The door to Matthew’s apartment creaked closed as he flung his keys on the kitchen counter with a rattle. Moving to the refrigerator, the pale light illuminated the four beers inside. With a sigh, he cracked open a can with a burst of suds bubbling over the top from the warmth.

Walking into the living room, he pushed on the television knob, tuning into one of the local channels he was able to connect to through the antenna on the roof.

“One man was killed in what appears to be a home invasion,” the reporter on the news said, gaining Matthew’s attention as he sipped his beer and loosened his tie. “It is speculated that decorated Green Beret, Henry Collins, attacked the Mark family, gaining entrance through their loft. A gun fight ensued with the husband, an ex-Army Ranger whose full name is being withheld, before Collins was seemingly killed by the wife, the object of his obsession.”

“Yeah right,” Matthew muttered as he walked toward his couch, “nearly get killed for your country, and they still paint you as a lunatic when you come back with a screw loose.”

The springs in the couch groaned as Matthew sat, sinking deep into the worn cushion. Having had his cellphone turned off months ago, he leaned over and pushed on the answering machine that sat on the end table that was plugged into his landline.

The tape whirled inside then beeped to life.

“Hey, Matthew baby!” The voice rang out. “Call me when you’re home after being turned down from another loan.”

The voice laughed and Matthew shook his head while finishing off the last of his beer.

“You need to get back to me because I have that job for you, and this is a great opportunity,” the voice on the machine continued. “Call me back buddy. You want in on this.”

“Yeah, another great opportunity,” Matthew said as he stood and walked towards the kitchen, “working with one of them.”

Below the kitchen table that was littered with liquid-soiled envelopes stamped with red letters, the trashcan was a simple black plastic bag crumpled on the floor where Matthew tossed the empty can. Looking up, on the far wall was a framed picture of his daughter, sitting in a field with the sunlight highlighting the brown strands in her hair from behind. Her smile was full and sincere, saved only for her father. It was the last time Matthew was able to afford to take her out, which was months ago to his recollection.

He needed a job.

Taking down her picture, he walked back to the phone as he studied the image. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, Matthew heard the shuffling on the other side of someone fumbling as they answered.

“Hey, this is Matthew,” he said once the voice picked up. “Yeah, just calling you back. Yeah, I got turned down again. Look, you don’t have to take so much pleasure in it, you prick.”

He turned, looking down at the framed picture in his hand.

“Yeah, well, I had to try, right? Now, about that job,” he said, rubbing a thumb over the cheek of his daughter’s picture. “Is it still available?”

Chapter 3 – Doing the Job

“Where we taking this bucket today, tyro?” Valdez asked. Valdez stood by his forest green locker, putting his arm through the sleeve of his black uniform shirt as he spoke over a low hum that played through the vessel.

Pale streams of shower steam wafted past Matthew as he straddled the bench in the middle of the locker room aisle, leaning over as he laced up his tall black work boots while looking up at the guard. “Why are you asking me?” he replied as he pulled on the laces with short tugs.

A smile spread across Valdez’s tan face as he spoke. “Because you’re still the rookie here, Cabrón. So, it’s your job to know, so we don’t have to.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know, V,” Matthew said, looking up.

Even after several months on the job, the rest of the guards at the bank treated Matthew as if he were still on his third day. Setting up timetables, charting overlapping patrols and assigning posts at the facility for every voyage was his responsibility as a tyro, the nickname for the latest recruit. It would be Matthew’s title until the next new hire was brought on board the following week.

Looking up at the grinning guard, a breath blasted out of Matthew’s nostrils as he retrieved a plastic sheet that crinkled in his hands from the black gym bag by his foot. Sitting back up, he smeared away the mist on the plastic before he read the marine cartography map inside the sheet, tracing a red line moving over the Gulf of Mexico with his finger.

“Looks like we’re going from Olso,” Matthew replied, not looking up from the map, “to Port Everglades on the first leg.”

“Florida?” Valdez said, his grin widening as he ran fingers through his bushy black hair. “Aw right! Hey, Radio, you hear that? We can stop off at that Cuban place during this run. See that Chica with the enormous-” he paused, catching Matthew’s eyes. “- talent,” Valdez finished.

Matthew twisted on the bench to look back at the man Valdez was talking to. Radio stood on the other side of the locker room, surrounded by a group of black-clad guards as he latched the last of his dark armor at his side with audible clicks.

The Mega was tall, with a square jaw and chiseled physique common for his kind. Like most Mega’s Matthew had run into before, Radio had an ego as robust as his power. Radio was his codename, shortened from radiograph to sound daring, and he was the reason why they all commanded such high salaries to guard other people’s money.

Radio glared at Matthew as he combed back his brown hair in long, slick motions, before he met Valdez’s eyes. “Sounds good,” was all he said, before putting the comb back into the locker and slamming it shut.

Matthew huffed, a smirk twisting on his face as he watched the Mega walk away into the steam of the bathroom area. Just as Matthew turned to finish tying his boots, the door to the locker room burst open with a deep sigh at the hinge.

“What the hell is taking you girls so long, putting your makeup on?” Martin Freeman said as he stormed inside, the door closing in a whine behind him.

The chief security officer was the best supervisor Matthew could ask for after selling his soul to corporate America. Focused on the job, Martin cared little for what his troops did or said on the outside. Matthew guessed that work ethic was residual from Martin’s time as an Army Ranger.

Yet, Martin was still able to care for those in his charge. On Matthews’ second day, when he felt the most exposed to his new surroundings, Martin had pulled him to the side after noticing his poor attitude and malaise.

Putting his hand on Matthew’s shoulder, Martin had said, “Look what it took for you to get here. The multiple interviews, the paperwork, the background checks, that intrusive Praetermind probe that still gives me nightmares.”

Matthew looked away then, recalling the session spent with the female Mega who had explored his mind like an open book, searching for any nugget that would indicate a security threat. “I hate Praetermind’s,” he replied in a low tone.

“Well, who doesn’t?” Martin replied with a soft chuckle, “But you still took your licks and passed weapons training to boot. On the first try no less,” he continued. “You obviously wanted to be here.”

Matthew met his gaze then.

“Look, men oftentimes have to make the tough choices, believe me, I know,” Martin said beneath his breath, looking past Matthew. With a blink, he continued with a squeeze of Matthew’s shoulder, “Just concentrate on the job, son. Think about your little girl. Make what you can from the company, and then find out what you want to do in life. It’ll all work itself out.”

Looking away, Matthew said, “A man’s got to have a plan.”

“Damn straight,” Martin replied with a grin and nod. Since that talk, Matthew had put all his time and concentration into the job, with the CSO leaning more on him for additional duties.

In the locker room, Matthew stood as Martin loomed over him with his fist on his hips.

“You’re hardly even dressed, Spark!” Martin shouted, his military voice coming to light.

“Sorry sir,” Matthew fumbled, hurrying to his locker to finish dressing.

“And that goes double for the rest of you!” Martin shouted at the other guards, who quickly scrambled in response. “We have a tight schedule to keep on this run, and I have a date with a cute little girl and my buddy Shawn and his lovely wife, who makes the best damn brisket you’ll ever taste. The quicker we get to our posts, the faster we go!”

“Yes sir!” The guards’ shouts rang out as they hurried to finish donning their armor.

Radio returned from the bathroom still drying his hands while regarding Martin with a nod. For his part, Matthew wrapped the black security belt around his waist, armed with a stun gun on his hip and a taser in the back.

As he checked that the Glock-22 had a round chambered, Radio’s glare had returned. There was a glint of red in his eyes, and Matthew could tell the Mega was testing his power to see inside the gun like an X-ray.

Reciprocating the Mega’s stare, Matthew returned the slide and put the Glock back into its holster, a move that seemed to break the Mega’s trance.  The corner of Radio’s mouth curled up, both knowing that if he were inclined, he could blow Matthew’s hip clean off the bone with his secondary power of telekinesis that had an energetic reaction with metals.

Early in his second month, Martin had told him the story about Radio maiming a foolish bank robber who had managed to smuggle a weapon into the bank during the early days. Even with security strong then, the criminal was able to pull the Baretta from his trench coat, threatening the tellers who shivered in fear.

With just a piercing red glance from Radio, that gun had misfired in the would-be thief’s hand, severing his thumb and index finger, which left the man writhing on the ground, squirming as he painted the floor with his own blood. That story alone was enough to ensure a high-end clientele that trusted the bank with their money. 

“Let’s move, Spark!” Martin said with a roaring clap that reverberated through the locker room.

After the guards quickly donned their armor, Matthew led the group on their rounds. Their thin, flexible armor echoed a cadence as they left the locker room and marched down Security Hall.

Their initial rounds were to ensure that the multiple security features at their bank were operational before opening. Taking an elevator up to the ground floor, the communication room was inspected first to ensure the massive computer console inside maintained a constant encrypted connection with headquarters.

“Roland, you’re up,” Matthew said, reading from his prep list as he pointed at the gray communication console that dominated the far wall.

“Gee, thanks for making me miss breakfast, tyro,” Roland said as he sat at the console with a squeak in the black leather chair.

“We’ll make sure to bring you some cranberry juice for your cycle later,” Martin replied, patting Roland on the shoulder as he eyed the system diagnostics dials.

“Security check, security check,” Roland said into the microphone, adjusting the knobs on the console as he spoke.

With Martin watching close behind, Matthew leaned over a separate computer, the monitor light washing his face in blue. Pressing the requisite buttons, he clicked through the state-of-the-art security camera system that monitored every corner of the facility, the recordings uploaded to a company satellite for safe keeping.

The entire system was backed by an artificial intelligence named Plutus that monitored the customer’s vitals that could indicate potential health or security hazards.

“Everyone synch,” Matthew said as he finished the review, checking off his sheet.

Behind him, the guards tapped their individual security codes into the small computer monitors banded on their wrists. The codes synced the monitors into Plutus, and would update and alert the guards throughout their shift, giving the bank a real-time network of defense.

Leaving Roland at his post, the next stop on their security detail took the guards to the bank manager’s private office that was just outside the main vault. The office was large, well-lit by overhead lights but sparsely decorated, with fake plants in two corners, and paintings of the bank’s neoclassical exterior decorating the walls.

“Valdez, Colt, you have first run on the vault,” Matthew said, reading again from the shift sheet.

“Good choices tyro. And if I find you two goofing off again, it’s going to be your jobs,” Martin said before he and the bank manager shook hands.

“Yeah, good choice,” Colt said, giving Matthew a playful tap with his shoulder as he passed to stand behind the bank manager’s broad, mahogany desk, the only piece of furniture that had value, Matthew noted.

Yet the main attraction was down a corridor that stretched behind them.

When Matthew first saw the vault during his third week, it looked nothing like the image he had in his head. Instead of a giant metal wheel that looked like it would take two men to turn, which was typical for Class-3 vaults, their bank vault was a simple, plain wall.

A cold silver, it looked like one seamless piece of metal, absent hinges or a security box to open it. For a criminal, it would be impossible to know where the door began or ended, throwing a wrench into their plans if they planned to break inside.

As a junior officer, Matthew had never seen the vault open, and only the bank manager and chief security officer had access to the room during the shift, yet he knew that the security hidden along the corridor to the vault was severe and deadly.

“All is well?” Simon, the manager asked.

To Matthew, Simon always reminded him of a cartoon rat. He was short, but his back stood straight as if he were six feet tall, fortified by being in charge of such large sums of money. He wore thin glasses on a face that appeared too small for his round head, whose hair thinned at the crown. Although he made more in a month than Matthew saw in a year, Simon always wore cheap suits that were usually brown and always seemed one size too small.

“Right as rain, sir,” Martin said, his bottom lip jutting out as he looked down at his arm and keyed in his monitor device. Simon did the same as the two synced their devices to stay in constant contact throughout the shift.

“Well, with that being done,” Simon said with a bright smile, “Off we go.”

Walking next to a computer console beside his desk, Simon leaned over and lifted his glasses, allowing the Adion system to scan his retina. Once scanned, the computer asked for verification that Simon quickly typed in with a series of clicks that sounded like he was writing a novel instead of a password.

“Done,” Simon said, standing up.

Looking about at the overhead lights, Matthew mumbled, “Here we go.”

The air shifted cold inside the room. The constant hum Matthew always heard turned into a low whine, and he said a short prayer, kissing the cross he kept around his neck, feeling the nearly imperceptible motion as the bank began to move.

Atop all the high-tech security- and having their very own Mega at their disposal-the true strength of the bank’s security was the fact that it floated over the ocean.

Many secret negotiations that changed businesses and nations happened inside the bank’s walls, and that required the utmost privacy. Customers that could afford the banks’ services were picked up at secured ports along the coasts and allowed to bank in peace as the small fortress glided to the next destination.

Often the customers were the elite of the elite, which was why the wait staff walked the premises with caviar and glasses of wine for the patrons to partake as they waited and conducted business.

On pleasant days, those who paid the fee were allowed onto the deck to bask in the sun during the journey, watching as the ocean sped beneath them through a glass floor. For someone with Matthew’s middle-class background, each voyage resembled a swank office party rather than an actual business.

It was because of all the booze that flowed, and the fact that they worked over the ocean, that the guards had nicknamed their facility the liquid bank.

As the bank began to glide, Simon looked up at the ceiling, eyes closed behind his glasses as the flowing air tickled the remaining strands of hair on his head. “Ah, I love that feeling,” he said with a grin, then looked back at Martin, “finish, your rounds gentlemen, onward and upward as they say. Time to keep the economy going.”

“Yes sir,” many of the guards said, and Matthew led the crew out of the office.

A long walk past private offices took the group into the main banking hall. As they walked, the liquid bank opened to a large rotunda with dim lighting. The aroma of breakfast food wafted from the in-house kitchen, filling the high walls. Marching forward, Matthew studied the tall white pillars interspersed around the circle that led up to a second story of private offices and parlors.

Each pillar held white, oval-shaped security cameras that resembled UFO’s as they rotated directions in overlapping intervals, keeping the main customer service hall under constant surveillance by Plutus. Matthew had learned that those particular cameras were bullet and waterproof, created from a metal that made it impossible for paint to adhere to. Testing the theory, Martin had let him spray paint a camera a jet black, and he watched as the liquid dripped off like warm cake icing seconds later.

As the guards walked down a small staircase, their heavy boots echoed off the beige marble floor, up to the massive concrete dome. The dome was decorated like a medieval fresco, depicting the visual history of the bank. Yet, the dome had the additional technology to become transparent to allow in the sun once safely over the ocean.

To their right, standing next to a pillar was a group of service staff who waited for the first batch of customers.

Passing the reception area, Matthew smiled at the bank tellers dressed in their smart dark suits and dresses. A redheaded woman named Sheila kept her green eyes on him longer than the others, and Matthew mimicked a hat tip to her as he passed.

“Keep your mind on the job, son,” Martin said behind him.

“Yes sir,” Matthew replied, as he took the guards up the opposite staircase near the bank entrance.

The door was a solid, thick glass surrounded by gilded gold that shined even in the low light. The glass was tinted midnight black and also would become transparent once Martin gave the command to open the doors.

At the door, Matthew turned and faced the guards.

“Fitzmartin, Shultz, Thomas, Wurlitzer,” he said, reading out the names in order of position. As the guard’s names were read, they marched to their designated positions that were strategically placed around the rotunda for maximum view, cover, and effectiveness.

“Cavanaugh, Smith, Wong, second floor,” Matthew continued, then looked up as he folded the paper into his pocket, “and Radio.”

Radio was always the last name read, since his post closest to the door never changed. From where the Mega stood, his special eyes could scan every customer entering the bank, searching beyond their fancy fabrics to neutralizing any weapons that could have slipped past the security checks at the ports.

It was layers upon layers of security that the bank called the Strata Method, a fancy name that the clientele could tell their friends.

Martin stood next to Matthew, fists on his hips as he surveyed and rechecked all the security features they had already gone through during the rounds. Satisfied, the CSO entered a code on his wrist monitor and Matthew heard a deep clunk behind him as the entrance door was unlocked.

The dark shade on the doors melted into a light gray before giving way to strands of sunlight that crawled along the reception area and made the interior glow a soft white, giving the appearance of a normal bank. The sound of cawing birds leaked through the seams. A salty scent of ocean water splashed through the vents, giving the bank a fresh aroma.

With a smooth jolt, the structure’s speed increased, taking the bank to its first destination.

“All right, let’s get to work,” Martin said in a loud voice.                                

“Yes sir!” the guards replied in unison and the liquid bank was open for business.

Chapter 4– All Aboard

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, and I hope you’re having a wonderful morning,” Simon’s squeaky voice announced over the intercom system.

Standing at his post at the side of the door, Matthew checked each customer’s membership ID with his Adion smart scanner that beeped with every positive confirmation. Martin stood on the opposite side, ushering in the smaller line of loyal patrons who paid extra for a faster entry. 

“The weather this morning is sunny, with a low south-eastern breeze for those who want to enjoy time on the deck, for a fee of course,” Simon continued with a laugh as the last of the customers trickled inside. “Our journey takes us along the beautiful Florida coast onto our destination to Port Everglades. At twenty-four knots, that should take us approximately four hours. Please partake in some light refreshments during your journey and enjoy your banking experience. Welcome aboard the Pelagos.”

“I think I like liquid bank better,” Wong said into the guard’s earbud mics they all shared, which caused a mix of laughter.

With a finger in his ear, Martin said, “Stay alert, Wong. We have several more hours of this.”

“Yes sir,” Wong replied in a shallow tone.

The wait staff, dressed in their best black and white attire, mingled with the guests as the glass doors behind Matthew closed with a mechanical thump. Air seeped through the cracks with a low hiss to pressurize the structure and kept the lapping seawater at bay.

With a keen eye, Matthew monitored the guests. For the enormous amount of money that must have been spent on the facility, his final head count only went to forty-two guests in total. Despite the small number of customers, the bank made its investment back with the vast sums of capital transacted by the clientele.

Many of the customers queued in front of the teller’s kiosk, taking care of common exchanges as they sipped expensive wine that still numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Others were led upstairs to have their higher-end finances conducted in private, each one watched diligently by Cavanaugh, Smith, and Wong, who had been posted at fixed intervals along the balcony that ringed the rotunda.

Several hours later, the first leg of their journey to Port Everglades ended with only a few hiccups during the voyage. One child was lost for a moment before Plutus alerted that she was hiding inside a first-floor fern, and a new customer had grown ill midway through the journey, a mess that Martin ordered Matthew to clean up afterward.

The more serious interruption came when the propulsion system drew too much power, forcing Simon to lower the bank’s speed to twenty-two knots, making them late to their destination by eight minutes.

Even though suppressors were installed to hide the sense of movement, Matthew could feel the pull of his skin as the speed decreased. The bank moaned, turning as the magnetic field towed the bank into its mooring at the Port Everglade stop.  Even though his stomach quavered from the motion, it was Matthew’s job to file the customers in a line, checking their faces on his wrist monitor against the ID’s he had collected.

“Cleared,” Matthew coughed, waving his hand over his head as he stopped at the end of the line, and brought his fist to his lips to hold back the wretch.

“Still a tyro,” Martin replied with a shake of his head before releasing the bank doors with a clunk that let the customers leave single file. “Have a nice day,” he said, bowing as he forced a grin but waving them forward to speed up the pace.

Protocol stated that the next group of customers could not enter until all current guests had disembarked, and a sluggish exit would ripple throughout the day, giving the entire team a negative rating for timeliness.

As Matthew watched the last of the guests leave, static played in his ear.

“Hey, someone left their bag!” He heard a voice say. Turning, he saw Fitzmartin approaching, holding what looked like a child’s backpack that was a faded pink.

“Hold soldier,” Martin said with his hand out, “Did you have it checked?”

“I’m not a rookie sir,” Fitzmartin replied with a glance at Matthew. Stopping near the teller kiosk, he unzipped the bag, and retrieved a ragged brown doll that he placed on the desk, along with a small lime green box that looked like it held a retainer. The last thing he brought out was a white plastic neck brace that he held up to the light.

“Is that it?” Martin asked, his voice crackling through the earbud.

“Yes sir,” Fitzmartin replied, shaking the upside-down bag, “Plutus says nothing deadly.”

Martin sighed, “Put it in the lost and found, and we’ll send out a text alert to the passengers once we check the footage.”

“I’ll take it,” Matthew volunteered.

Fitzmartin grinned, making his goatee a lopsided square. “Well, all right, tyro. About time you embraced your position,” he said, dangling the bag on his index finger that Matthew took and slung over his shoulder before jogging back to his position next to the door.

“You gonna keep that pink bag over your shoulder?” Martin asked.

Matthew checked his wrist monitor. “We only have twenty-eight guests at this stop,” he replied, “we’ll check these customers in to save time, and then I’ll slip away to the lost and found.”

Martin’s brow furrowed by the change of plan, with even a plant facing the wrong direction irking the CSO in the past, before he checked his wrist monitor and sighed.

“Fine,” he replied, “But never let that bag out of your sight. And twist away, will you? I don’t want guests seeing that thing on you. It’s unprofessional.”

“Yes sir,” Matthew replied, lifting the strap higher on his shoulder.

With that, Martin opened the doors to a salty breeze. A moment passed before the new customers began to walk the short gangplank down from the Port Everglades service area.

As before, the customers were checked in by Matthew, who forwarded them into the bank interior.

“Thank you laddy,” an old man said as Matthew’s scanner beeped from his ID. His voice had an accent, Scottish if Matthew had to guess. He wore a vintage grey suit, three pieces with shining silver buttons and clean white suspenders. His saggy skin quivered as he coughed before saying, “glad we have a strong guy like you watching our backs.”

“Thank you, sir,” Matthew replied, waving him along with a nod.

Hunched over, and held up by a cane, the old man grinned and gave a weak wave back, his cane clicking the marble as he joined the queue at the teller’s kiosk. The monotony of the job made a yawn tremble Matthew’s lip.

“Aaah,” he yawned, but covering his mouth with the back of his hand when a shapely frame blocked the rays of the sunlight doors.

The click of high heels took the person out of the shadows, and Matthew swallowed, taking in a woman’s figure. She wore a white summer dress that fell just above her knees, adorned by colorful flowers that appeared to be raining down. Her dark hair was highlighted with streaks of blonde, and her skin was a suntanned brown that seemed to shimmer from her red lipstick. Her head turned towards him. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but her lips parted in a quick smile.

Having no expedited travelers to push through, Martin helped ID the customers, getting through the main line at twice the pace. As the final passengers pushed through the door, he turned away and entered the code to close it behind them, signaling to Simon to begin the next leg of the journey.

“You got it from here, boss?” Matthew asked into their shared comm system.

Martin threw up his hands until Matthew pointed at the pink backpack still slung over his shoulder. Realizing what he meant, Martin waved him away, then pointed at his wrist monitor to let him know he and the AI were keeping track of how long he would be away.

The old man’s coughing echoed through the rotunda as Simon’s voice bleated his canned announcement through the intercom. With a glance over his shoulder at the shapely woman, Matthew veered towards Radio, who was watching the passengers already checked in with red-tinted eyes.

“Radio,” Matthew said, stopping near the Mega. “Hey, Radio.”

The Mega’s eyes returned to a dark brown as he looked towards him. “What do you want, Spark?” He replied.

“Check out that woman coming in next,” Matthew whispered with a grin and a nod behind him.

Radio’s head leaned to the side to look past him, and Matthew saw that subtle pupil dilation of physical attraction in his eyes.

“Lord have mercy,” Radio mumbled.

“They say you can look past clothes?” Matthew said. Those dark eyes met his as Radio considered what he had said. They stared at each other a moment before Radio’s head leaned again to the side, eyes shining like a small red sun.

As Radio studied the woman, Matthew asked, “As good as I imagine?”

Radio finally grinned, “You have no idea.”

Waves crashed against the exterior of the bank in crescent splashes that fell in droplets. It was always a soothing white noise to Matthew that was drowned by the incessant coughing of the old man that continued to crescendo and echo through the bank.

“You okay sir?” Matthew asked, turning towards the kiosk line.

The old man he had checked in had left the teller queue, his cane clicking as he stumbled towards him. Radio continued to stare at the woman until the older man stumbled into them both, breaking his concentration.

“Hey watch it!” Radio said, eyes returning to their original color. “You’re going to need to get back into line, sir.”

Moving quickly, Matthew caught the man who held a white cloth to his mouth, still letting out heaving coughs.

“You have me thanks,” the old man panted, a smile sprinting on his lips as he dabbed the spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“You need a doctor, sir?” Matthew asked, holding the man beneath his armpits, and making the pink bag slide to the crook of his elbow. 

“No, no,” the man replied, his weight leaning against Matthew, who felt far heavier than his frail appearance. “But thank you again, lad.”

There was a glimmer in the old man’s eyes as he looked up, a fierceness that belied his advanced age.

“Thank me for what, sir?” Matthew asked.

The old man smiled again. “You saved me the time I was going to take finding this,” the old man replied, flashing the white neck brace he had pilfered from the pink bag without a rustle.

Just as Matthew’s eyes sprinted up to the stolen item, the wind rushed from his lungs, the old man’s knuckles digging deep into his gut, finding the soft thread point in his armor. His fingers grasped at the man’s loose gray suit as he fell to his knees, wheezing as he tried to force in air.

The old man turned faster than Matthew could have imagined for his advanced age, slapping the brace around Radio’s neck in one swift motion.

“Aaagh!” Radio screamed, fingers clenching near the sides of his head as it jerked back.

A scream reverberated through the bank, drawing Matthew’s eyes towards the entrance where the last of the passengers stood.

“Everyone get down! Code white! Code white!” Martin shouted as he unclipped his service pistol.

One of the passengers in a deep black suit met his movement with a left hook that shook the blood from Martin’s mouth, dropping him to the ground and sending his gun skittering behind a potted plant.

Other passengers began to scatter, screaming in panic. In the scrum, small black canisters burst from the crowd, twisting as they tinkled along the ground before popping open on the main bank floor. Gray smoke roiled from the top as they settled, turning the interior of the bank into a small fog.

“Get down! Down!” Matthew heard one of the guards he posted shout.

Through the gray gloom, he saw the passengers in the back push the frightened customers forward who fell like a slow wave, covering their heads as they curled into the smoke. Several passengers stood in the back. They dressed in various solid colored suits, black sunglasses covering their eyes as they scanned about. Baggy suit jacket flittered up like doves as they produced jet-black rifles that were quickly shouldered and aimed at the second floor.

Nearly in unison, the gunmen disappeared as they stepped into the swirling cloud.

“Hold it!” A voice called out. Looking up, Matthew saw the silhouette of Cavanaugh on the second floor aiming down to the rotunda.

From their vantage point, he, Smith, and Wong had the high ground and angle, but Matthew could see Cavanaugh struggle to fire as the shooters blended with the customers and were shielded by the gray haze.

White bursts of light flashed from the rifle muzzles hidden in the smoke, popping like fireworks against a cloudy sky. Each shot was aimed in three separate directions. Streaks of white rocketed upward, shattering concrete along the banister and columns, taking out the three guards with what seemed like practiced ease.

Still on his knees and sucking in air, Matthew’s hand went for his sidearm as well until he felt the cold metal of a barrel against his temple.

“I wouldn’t do that son,” the old man said, his voice sounding more youthful than before. Stepping over Radio, who was unconscious and twitching on his side, the old man gave Matthew a nudge with his knee. Raising his hands, he surrendered his gun that the old man took with a tug against his belt.

A ringing of gunfire stung Matthew’s ears as he watched the passengers fall. Twisting in the haze, their screams were a shrill cacophony as more bullets ripped through the crowd. Yet, Matthew noticed that the customers were not the only targets. Using the passengers as moving shields, the shooters aimed towards the rest of his fellow guards that ringed the rotunda.

Fitzmartin fell first, the rounds somehow eating through his armor in gray puffs of thread and smoke, making him stumble back. Wurlitzer was next, able to pull his pistol and take aim but failed to fire due to the rush of passengers before a spray of bullets stitched a zigzag line across his chest.

“The hell with this!” Thomas shouted before firing his side-arm into the crowd.

A woman dressed in a fancy white gown stumbled forward, her chest bursting open in a spray of red from an errant shot from Thomas’ gun. The guard kept firing, sending the robbers ducking to the floor, until Matthew saw something jump from the shadows behind him, pulling Thomas down. The gleam of a knife was the last thing he saw before the gunshots from Thomas ended.    

As the shooters moved together in a skirmish line, one of the new passengers broke away from behind the shooters, running towards the teller kiosk that was surrounded by kneeling guests with their hands above their heads.

“H’ere,” the old man said to him as he tossed the lime green retainer box that sailed in an arch across the distance.

Catching the box in stride, the passenger reached inside his suit jacket to retrieve a thin laptop. With a swipe of his arm, he wiped away the top of the counter, tossing pens and papers that provoked screams from the guests that cowered beneath.

The rapid sound of booming gunfire echoed through the bank as the man tossed his fake black hairpiece to reveal a head of scarlet red. Swiftly disrobing from his suit jacket, Matthew watched as he cracked his knuckles and donned black-rimmed spectacles before he began typing on the small keypad.

Moving like an automated machine, the man cracked open the retainer box, turning it over to remove a silver thumb drive that he plugged into the top of his laptop.

“We the’re yet?” The old man asked, loud enough to be heard over the sporadic gunfire.

“Almost,” the man shouted back as the gunfire came at shorter intervals.

Glancing back to the bank’s main floor, Matthew watched as the shooters walked patiently through the rotunda. With listless rifles aimed at the floor, they gunned down cringing customers and pleading tellers at the kiosk, finishing off those that dared to continue breathing.

“Got it!” the passenger on the laptop shouted, slamming it shut. “Who’s the best intruder in the world?”

Looking up past his raised hands, Matthew watched the old man’s pale green eyes move towards the cameras along the pillars that lolled as if their power sources were cut with an ax. For a moment there was an opening as the old man’s head turned away to look at the others, and Matthew’s legs tensed, until he felt the hand clench the scruff of his collar, as if the robber could sense his thoughts.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the old man said, his gaze returning to the one who called himself the intruder. “Guess I owe Patrick a pint because I didn’t think yew could do it.”

“For all its hype, AI is rather childish in its simplicity,” the Intruder said as he hopped over the teller counter, pushing down a body slumped over the station with his foot that fell with a thump. Behind the kiosk, he ducked down, head-bobbing as he duck-walked below each station, probing to see if the silent alarms were tripped, Matthew surmised.

Standing back up, the Intruder’s grin widened, and he continued, “It’s as lonely as any child. And like any child, you introduce it to an AI friend, and suddenly it’s taking your orders as if you were a parent offering it candy for dinner. No alarms.”

An ear-splitting shot rang out.  Its deep sound was different from the rifle gunfire, and Matthew felt the old man turn towards the door, pulling him along by the scruff of the neck with a strong hand.

“You murdering psychopaths!” Martin shouted.

Looking nearly dead from that thunderous blow moments ago, the Chief Security Officer had returned to his feet, and began fighting one of the shooters for his rifle. Squeaks of rubber echoed off the marble as the two men scrambled for control, Martin clutching the barrel with both hands as he pushed his shoulder into the shooter.

With a step forward, the old man aimed Matthew’s gun at the two combatants, arm swaying as he followed the struggle with the point of the barrel. A breath blasted through his nose before his finger squeezed back on the trigger. A spine-chilling bang made Matthew flinch, shaking his armor.

Neither Martin nor the shooter he wrestled with moved, until his boss took a staggered step backward, his hand clutching his stomach. A bubble of red formed on Martin’s lips as he tried to speak, wide eyes staring at Matthew before he fell back with a deep sigh.

“No!” Matthew shouted as he pushed his shoulder into the old man.

A haze of white-hot anger fell over his mind as he swung a right cross that cracked into the man’s jawbone, pushing off the white-haired wig he wore. The punch loosened the old man’s grip on the gun as Matthew’s hand swept down his arm to pinch the weapon away as he turned.

Pow! Pow!

Two shots rang out as Matthew injected rounds into the nearest thief’s chest, the shooters soles skidding against the floor as his legs jumped out from beneath him from the impact. Behind the fallen thief, another gunman took aim that Matthew ended with two more rounds that tore into his body before a third bullet sent a spray of blood from the middle of his head. 

Acrid gun smoke stung Matthew’s nostrils. The sound of his beating heart throbbed in his ears as he watched the one called Intruder duck beneath the kiosk with a yelp.

“Run!” He shouted in his mind as several of the remaining shooters recovered from seeing their mates gunned down and turned towards him with rifles rising.

Pushing past the old man, Matthew’s feet pounded the floor as the gunshots punched through the air with buzzing zips that clipped the leaves of standing flowers and chipped the marble at his feet. Ducking from the gunfire, a solid white wall beckoned him as he fled down the hall. Glancing back, Matthew saw the old man stumble to his feet, legs spread apart as he fired, sending wildfire into his shoulder.

With a guttural scream, a leap of faith pushed Matthew through the drywall, falling into the darkness beyond that swallowed him whole.

Chapter 5–  The Plan

There was a sound of voices as if they were filtered through a glass bottle, growing louder and more lucid as Matthew’s eyes fluttered open. He couldn’t make out what the garbled voices were saying but heard the clamor coming through a ragged light above.

Shadows fluttered through the white light in frantic motions, the silhouettes of humans moving about through the hole he made during his escape.

Besides the light from the opening above, everything else surrounding Matthew was draped in pitched black. The air tasted warm, like his shallow breath had little room to roam. Lying on his side, Matthew groaned as he attempted to turn on his back, the movement creating a sound like an aluminum can being crunched beneath him.

“Ah!” he hissed, feeling a lightning bolt of pain fire up his leg as he turned.

The crunching sound came again as his elbow touched something hard above. There was a long, deep clicking sound as Matthew pushed against the ceiling that gave way to his elbow, hearing the opposite when he let his arm down.

There was just enough room to move his arm up his chest to click latches on either side of his chin. Gritting his teeth from the pain of each movement, Matthew was able to push off his helmet, which felt like a vice crushing his brain.

“Where is this?” He thought, shutting his eyes to clear his mind.

A hum rattled the metal beneath him, shaking metal screws that were loose in their housings from his fall. A rush of cool air tickled his neck.

“I’m in the air duct,” Matthew mumbled as the groan of the metal expanding surrounded him.

The liquid bank was a relic from the prohibition area chosen for its classical aesthetic but has since been modernized with an internal conditioning system. There were spaghetti strands of black metal leftover in the vent where Matthew had plowed through and he looked past them to the hole that had to be ten feet above.

“How did I…,” Matthew’s thought. His eyes widened as he remembered his predicament, the memory of well-armed customers returning in a flood. “The robbery! I need to get out of here.”

Leaning his head back, Matthew peered into the darkness, hoping to see a glint of the silver ducts that he knew ran along the roof of the basement. Then he remembered the monitor on his wrist.

Fingers followed the spirals that splintered along the monitor glass until he felt the top of a button. Pushing it down, the monitor flickered on. Its feed was scrambled, with Plutus still lost with its new best friend. A click at the top started the flashlight function that was dim from the shattered screen, illuminating the area around him like a small candle.

Matthew checked the time blinking in the cracked corner. “It’s only been minutes,” he mumbled.

Rolling to his stomach, Matthew crawled along the length of the duct, dragging his left leg that throbbed fire at the ankle against his boot. The metal depressed with loud clunks with each movement forward through the gloom. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and sweat stung his eyes that he wiped away as he put one arm in front of the other at a slow pace.

Ambient light from a vent ahead glinted off the silver metal, illuminating the small space that barely fit his body with the armor. Increasing his speed, the air duct expanded from his weight as he moved, the sound of the metal twisting out of place like a garbage can being hit by a sledgehammer, a blaring alarm that Matthew knew would alert the gunmen to his position.

Fingers of pale light filtered through the grate that Matthew neared when he heard boots pounding down a stairwell in the room below. Peering through the gaps in the grate, he could just make out the shadows of legs pumping down the concrete stairwell outside the propped open door.

“Dammit!” Matthew grunted as he scrambled to move.

The clanging sound of his air duct cage grew faster as he rushed forward with huffing breaths, praying to reach the section where the ventilation went through the next wall. Gunshots pinged behind him, punching Matthew’s eardrums. Circles of light perforate the aluminum, the bullets piercing the duct just as the last of his legs made it through to the next room.

Matthew’s breath huffed as he crawled faster to the next grate, using the echo of gunfire as cover. Reaching the grate, he angled his head to the side and gave the room below a cursory inspection, seeing only a mountain range of boxes lining the walls.

Unable to stand, his elbows punched down on the metal with successive bangs.

“Ah hell!” Matthew thought when he heard the gunfire cease, knowing that one of the gunmen must have heard his attempt to break through. Sweat collected at the end of his chin, falling like raindrops as his elbow fell harder and faster.

“C’mon!” he grunted, striking the grate with loud clunks.

The left side of the grate gave way with a crunch and Matthew doubled his effort, ignoring the sting from the bruise forming on his elbow until the duct fell with a clattering bang to the floor.

Matthew followed it down, falling through the opening with all the grace of a leaping trout, crunching the grate beneath him as he landed on his back. The armor again absorbed much of the impact, but it still felt like someone had stabbed him in the middle of his back.

 “Shiiit,” Matthew breathed, face twisted as he lifted himself up and scrambled through an open door, looking right and expecting to see the barrel of a rifle but instead, seeing a dark brick corridor.  

It took a moment to orient to his surroundings, but Matthew quickly realized that he was in the underground storage room. Right led down a corridor that turned to the room the gunmen had been in, so Matthew turned left, holding his leg that he dragged behind him as he searched for an exit. The storage area opened to a larger room teeming with more boxes nearly to the ceiling that Matthew passed as he moved forward.

“There he is!” A voice shouted a moment before the monitor sitting on a box next to Matthew was shattered by a bullet that missed him by inches.

Blaring cracks reverberated as bullets sped through the room. Ducking and holding his breath, Matthew broke out into a limping run, teeth clenched against the pain that hobbled his ankle as gun fire punched through furniture and boxes, sending glass and wood sailing into the air. Glancing back, he saw the gunmen, still dressed in their suits, spread out and ducking behind cover, making sure he could not double back and escape.

Aiming backwards, Matthew fired at shadows, hoping to find the luck that had abandoned him. Even though he fired indiscriminately, the shadows still ducked down, giving him time to reach the door.

“C’mon!” Matthew shouted.

Sweat slicked his hand as he tried to turn the knob that refused to budge. Seeing the reader next to the door, he pulled his badge that whirled from the metal string connected to a clip on his belt. The badge reader beeped, and Matthew fumbled as he entered his code. The light blinked green, then red, rejecting his first attempt.

“You’re kidding me!” Matthew raged, twisting down as a round shattered the door frame. Kneeling, he fired where he thought he heard the gunshot originate, moving the gun to cover several angles until he heard the click as the slide pushed back.

With his gun empty, Matthew holstered the weapon and stood to pound on the door with his shoulder, feeling the pain as he ripped open the gunshot wound in the meat.

“Open!” Matthew shouted. The shoulder guard on his armor shattered as he held onto the doorknob and pushed all his body weight into the door.

Gunfire buzzed by while others bit into the door, forcing Matthew to shut his eyes as he struck the door again and felt it budge. Stepping back, his arms went up as he rushed forward. As he ran, a sting bit the side of his neck, sending a splatter of blood against the door as Matthew struck the obstruction with all his might.

With a grating crunch, he heard the lock fly off as the door swung open and Matthew spilled forward, tripping over his feet. Gunshots pinged into the adjoining room as he turned and crawled back, kicking the door closed.

Risking a chance to stand, he grabbed the metal locker against the right wall and pushed it over, which crashed with a bang as it hit the floor. Stepping back, Matthew repeated the motion, sending a second locker down that clanged as its side hit the edge or the other, its door springing open and spilling out its contents of clothes.

Not satisfied with the makeshift barrier, Matthew sent a third locker down that landed with an audible scream.

“What the hell?” Matthew thought as he took out his gun and pulled back on the slide.

Reaching down, his shaking hands pushed the locking mechanism down and stepped back as the door flung open, clanging against the floor. White and colorful flowers rolled along the ground and Matthew aimed his gun at the figure.

“Who are you?!” He shouted as the shape of a woman unfurled near his foot.

The woman’s hands went up. “Please, don’t hurt me!” She shouted.

“Tell me who you are!” Matthew shouted, pulling the slide again for emphasis. “You with them?”

“No!”

“How did you get in that locker? How!”

The woman looked up at him, hazel eyes glistening with tears, “I knew a guard! I was in the bathroom, and then heard the gunshots.”

“The customer bathrooms are upstairs!” he shouted as he put the barrel on her forehead.

“There was an old man! H..he was coughing and I snuck past after he gave me a nod!” Her eyes shut and head bowed. “I used the badge he gave me!” She screamed, and then flashed a badge like his own, and Matthew read the name.

“Damn, you too, Shultz?” Matthew muttered.

Despite all the high-tech security, and Martin’s stern oversight, many of the guards used the liquid bank as a mistress transport. It was harder for wives to discover any cheating when the other women appeared to be just another customer on the list.

A banging on the broken door made the first locker skid against the ground and clang against another. The gunmen had stopped firing indiscriminately into the room and were trying to push their way in.

“Come on!” Matthew said, pulling the woman up by her thin arm and dragging her behind him as he left the locker room. Her heels clicking on the floor in short steps, he turned right down a corridor, then left before stopping in a room past the showers.

“What are we doing in here?” The woman asked as she looked around.  The room was closed on three sides, lit only by a dim gaslight lamp on the far wall. “You led us to a dead end!”

Limping forward, Matthew moved to the lamp and pushed it down, sending the sounds of mechanisms moving behind the wall. From the roof, a panel fell, and a small ladder sprang down still several feet from the floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the woman said as Matthew jumped with a wince and pulled the ladder down.

He then turned and pointed the gun at her face, forcing her to raise her hands once again. “You first,” he said. “Quickly!”

“Okay, okay,” the woman said, her feet shaky as her heeled shoes slipped on the wooden step.

Looking back, Matthew climbed behind her, using his shoulder to push the woman up faster.

“Hey, watch it!” The woman shouted over her shoulder as she pulled herself into the darkness above.

Matthew followed her, pulling up the ladder behind them. Finger to his lips, he kept the gun aimed at the woman as he listened below until he was satisfied that no one had seen them enter the hidden room.

With a click, he turned on the flashlight on his wrist monitor, and then waved the gun, “go,” he said.

Under the glare of the light beam, the woman’s face soured, flashing with anger before she complied and began crawling forward.

Matthew holstered his pistol and followed her, hobbling on one arm, and dragging his leg behind. Blood from the wound on his neck dropped in small red spots on the dusty floor as he followed. 

“What is this place?” The woman asked, her knees scraping against wood.

‘The bank is from the prohibition era,” Matthew explained, watching her dress of now dirty flowers bounce against the back of her legs. “This was a storage room to hold contraband, and probably where Shultz was going to hide you.”

“Classy,” the woman muttered, then she glanced back at him, feeling his eyes. “What?” She asked, but he just shook his head then nodded forward.

The room widened, and the two were able to stand in a crouch. A dim light highlighted an old-time wooden desk in shadow to their right, and elongated the profile of the dust bunnies that littered the floor.

A mattress lay on the floor against the far wall which Matthew indicated with his gun. Clicking her teeth, the woman plopped onto the mattress, arms crossed over her chest, while Matthew eased to the ground across from her, still aiming at her head.

“What’s your name?” Matthew asked.

The woman leered at him with the side of her eyes. “Meagan.”

“You a call girl, Meagan?”

“What?” she gasped. “You don’t even know me asshole, how dare you!”

Matthew shrugged. “I took a guess. Now keep your voice down.”

“No, I will not keep my voice down!” she shouted, and Matthew leaned forward with the gun. “Ooh, if you didn’t have that gun!” She seethed, eyes narrowing.

Laying his elbow against his knee, Matthew sighed and pulled back the slide, clicking the release to drop the magazine. “It’s empty Meagan,” Matthew said, “I’m not going to –”

Before he could finish, Meagan leaped at him with a shriek, knocking Matthew to his back.

“You asshole! You scared me half to death!” she shouted while raining punching down that beat against his chest.

Matthew fended off the punches, swatting them away until an errant blow hit his wounded shoulder.

“Agh!” Matthew grimaced, pushing Meagan off, and scrambling away as he curled to his shoulder.

Meagan stared at him with wide eyes. “What did I do? Are you hurt?” She asked, moving her hair behind her ear.

Ignoring the question, Matthew winced as he slowly peeled off his broken armor that clattered to the floor piece by piece. He then unbuttoned his shirt down to a sweat-stained t-shirt streaked in red.

“Oh my God, you’re shot!” Meagan shrieked before she crawled off the bed and searched around, tossing loose clothing and empty beer cans away before putting a bottle in the dim light. Her eye thinned, reading the label. “What is this? Lube?” She said, her voice dripping with disgust as she held the bottle with the tip of her fingers.

Pouring a palm full of liquid in her hand, Meagan turned and jammed the substance into Matthews’ wound, twisting to push the contents inside.

“Ah! What are you doing?” Matthew shouted, swiping her hands away with a slap.

Meagan gasped, sitting on her calves as the bottle rolled along the wood. “I’m trying to help you, you dick!” She replied.

“By putting that sex crap in me?” Matthew said, touching his burning wound and pulling back blood. “Who knows what kind of infection you just gave me.”

Meagan huffed before scrambling for the bottle and holding it up. “It has Yarrow in it. It’s an anti-inflammatory and aids healing,” she looked about, “I have no idea what you guys were doing up here.”

 “Take a guess,” Matthew sighed as he leaned his back against the wall. “And them, not me.”

“Boy scout, huh?” Meagan asked, eyebrows twitching up.

“Far from it,” he replied, looking away.

Meagan’s eyes thinned. “Well, it looks like the bullet went through,” she said with a low voice, then ripped a portion of fabric from the bottom of her dress.

She crawled towards him then slowly raised her hands that Matthew eyed as she slipped the bandage under his armpit.

Matthew’s eyes went to Meagan’s, “You a doctor?”

She grinned while pulling the bandage over his shoulder. “I was pre-med. For a while. Till it got too expensive.”

Matthew looked up at her. “Why didn’t you get a loan?” He asked.

With a snuff of her nose, Meagan smoothed the bandage and replied, “I tried. They said I was too much of a risk. They can saddle some snot-nosed high school graduate with crushing debt for a degree in gender studies, but somehow, I wasn’t good enough for them.”

“So you found more money in being a call girl?” Matthew asked, a grin sprinting on his lips.

Meagan glared at him then tied the bandage tight enough to make him double over.

“Done,” she sang before walking back to the mattress, looking at the well-used furniture before deciding that the floor was cleaner.

“So, you’re not one of them,” she said, and Matthew looked up at her, “and you know I’m not one of them. So, what are we going to do? What is even your name?”

“Matthew,” he replied, getting back to his knees to twist his arm to test the bandage. It was crude, but his arm already felt better.  “And I have no idea, Meagan. I’m just reacting to the situation. I haven’t had time to think.”

Arms folded over her chest, Meagan rubbed her shoulders to stop shaking from a cold breeze. “Well, you have time now. I mean, it’s obviously this place is being robbed, so that means your buddies are coming right? We should just stay here and wait to be rescued, right?”

Shaking his head, Matthew looked at his empty gun that sat on the floor. “No one’s coming,” he replied in a low voice.

“What?” Meagan gasped, “How do you know?”

Matthew glanced at his wrist monitor, seeing the error screen. “They were organized. I think they got to the AI in time.”

Meagan looked around, “Well, aren’t there backups? A fail-safe? Aren’t there any humans watching this thing?”

Matthew looked up.

“What?” Meagan asked, seeing something in his eyes.

“This storeroom leads to a lot of different secret entrances that I bet they don’t know about,” Matthew checked the time on his monitor. “C’mon, I have an idea,” he said, slipping his work uniform shirt back on but left unbuttoned.

“Where are we going?” Meagan asked, following Matthew as he limped further into the storeroom.

“The communication room,” Matthew replied. 

Chapter 6–  The Communication Room

“Sssh!’ Matthew said in a whisper, putting his finger to his lips.

Meagan moved behind him into the shadows, peaking over his shoulder through the small grate that bled slivers of pale light into the darkness. Voices filtered through the dusty slates, echoing in their narrow corridor that pressed them close together.

“I think that’s him,” Matthew whispered, also looking through the grate, “the leader, the old man who sucker-punched me.”

“You got beat up by an old man?” Meagan whispered back, her warm breath on his shoulder.

Matthew glanced down. “He’s not really an old man. Look.”

Meagan’s eyes squinted as she peered outside. She saw nothing but an old man in his gray suit, leaning back with his palms against a shiny, brown desk. Yet, there was something odd about his stance and appearance. His skin was coarse and with the proper amount of wrinkles, but having seen old patients during her studies, she noticed that his back was far too straight for his apparent age. Also, his beard was almost white, but didn’t match his sandy red hair.

Behind the old man, just beyond the desk, she could see four legs splayed on the ground of two people who were either unconscious or dead.

“They got Colt and Valdez,” Matthew said in a low voice.

“Can they hear us in here?” She whispered.

“Not from this distance,” Matthew replied below his breath, “not with that hum the bank makes,” he looked at her, “and not if we whisper.”

Meagan nodded as she turned back to the grate.

“About three hours till the next stop. We have the bank secure, Broden,” a man beyond their vision said, his shadow draping on the carpet, “for the most part.”

“For the most part, eh?” Broden replied, his voice ripe with a deep Scottish accent. Leaning against the desk, Broden’s fingers dug beneath his chin to pull away wrinkled skin that peeled in pink clumps. “Out wit it then Joshua. Just tell us what you mean, man.”

“Plutus was taken down. No alarms. We have that Mega secured. He aint going nowhere,” Joshua replied, “but,” he continued, his voice lowering, “We lost track of that guard.”

“Lost track did ya say?” Broden said. Pieces of wrinkled skin clung to Broden’s face as he wiped his neck down with a handkerchief, rolling the residue off. He looked around. “What are you, an idio’t? We’re out in the middle of the ocean, man! Did he take a kelpie out of here?” He laughed, putting his hands on his hips. “No, I doubt that. But he’s obviously a canny bastart, that one. Send Cooper and Keech ta find him. Eh! You keep your eyes open too.”

“Sure,” Joshua said. “And the manager?”

“Him?” Broden grinned as the rag wiped away the last of the mask that altered his appearance. Left behind, was a youthful face, with stark green eyes and a round chin. “That shitebag is cowering in the vault. He aint goin nowhere either. Now do as I say, time is of the essence h‘ere.”

“Yes sir,” Joshua said, and Meagan watched as his shadow melted away.

“That’s a good lad,” Broden said as he leaned off the desk. Before he walked away, he shot a look at the grate, emerald eyes studying with such intent that Meagan gasped, and took a step back, bumping into the back wall.  

Matthew looked at her as Broden’s eyes lingered for several seconds until he stepped out of her view.

“C’mon,” Matthew said with a breath while checking his wrist monitor. “We have to move.”

Hunched and walking slowly, he led her down the corridor, inspecting outside each grate as they moved. Seeing the manager’s office had oriented Matthew to their position inside the bank, and he used the hidden passages inside the walls to find the exit he was searching for, stopping at a large square grate.

“Do you see anything out there?” Meagan asked as Matthew turned his head left and right, peeking outside.

“No,” Matthew replied, “This grate should put us right outside the comm center. I’ve seen it a dozen times. But you heard them. They’re searching- for me at least. They could be anywhere,” he continued as he grabbed the grate, voice straining, “but we don’t have much choice.”

The grate whined as Matthew pushed outward, jaw tight as he tried to keep it from falling.

“Careful,” Meagan whispered, hands near her mouth as she moved to help until the metal screeched as the grate gave way. Matthew turned the grate to its side, careful not to scrape the edge as he pulled it into the corridor and slid it further down, inches away.

“I’ll go first, and you follow, okay?” Matthew asked before he climbed out of the opening and dropped like a cat with a patter on the carpet, winching as he kept his weight off his damaged ankle. Arms up, he caught Meagan, her dress sailing outward as she dropped with a mouse-like whoop.

“Thank you,” she replied, caught up in Matthew’s arms. Her face flushed as she looked away, arms curling to her chest as she backed from his grasp. “So how do we get back up?”

There was a hint of red on Matthew’s cheeks as he looked at the floor, then to the right, anywhere that would not meet her eyes. Behind the dried blood and dirt, she thought his features could be striking, with light eyes and that dark hair.

“Watch my back,” Matthew said.

Limping to a hallway chair, Matthew dragged the furniture beneath the grate. Standing on the padded cushion, he pulled the grate into the opening, leaving enough give to open easily on their way back.

“That should do it,” he said as he dragged the chair to the left to not draw attention to their exit, “C’mon, it’s this way Meagan.”

The hall was wide and clear of any adornments. Matthew kept to the shadows that fell like dark tear drops at intervals from square lights along the wall. The hum was deeper below the bank, a soft breeze that tickled Meagan’s bare arms. The sensations made it seem as if she could feel the movement of the bank gliding over the ocean beneath her feet.

“Why do you keep it so dark down here?” Meagan asked.

“The manager, Simon, is cheap. Despite my warnings, he insists on lowering the lights during the voyage to save on power costs,” Matthew replied in a whisper. “He had so much faith in his precious Plutus,” Matthew continued, his gaze taking her eyes towards the ceiling where cameras hung like dead ferrets. “And the cameras are still out.”

After several turns, Matthew stopped at a solid gray door and hunched down.

“Well, the good news is that it doesn’t look like they’ve made it down here yet,” Matthew said, looking about. “Hope this works,” he continued as he pressed his badge against a small box beside the door.

The small light on the box flashed a dark green. With a glance back at her, Matthew turned his shoulder.

“Really?” Meagan said, hands on her hips as Matthew hid the box with his body and punched in his code with audible beeps.

When the last digit was pressed into the box, a low hiss sang from the door. With deft speed, Matthew pulled Meagan to the side by the wrist, pushing them both against the wall as the door opened inward, sighing at the arm mechanism.

Standing behind him, she watched as he leaned forward, using his left eye to peek inside as wan light from the communication room spilled into the hallway.

“Let’s go,” Matthew said, pulling her into the room behind him.

The room followed the same motif as the hallway, nearly bare, except for a large computer console in the center. As they passed the door, Meagan noticed the leather chair near the computer, turned on its side, a wheel still spinning.

“Hands up asshole!” she heard a man shout. She gasped as the black barrel of a gun jutted out from the shadow behind the door. She nearly bumped into Matthew’s back as he froze mid-step, letting go of her wrist to raise his hands.

The door creaked as the man pushed it aside to step out of the shadows.

“Spark?” He said and Matthew turned to face him. “Oh, thank God!”

“Roland!” Matthew exclaimed, giving the first smile Meagan had seen on his face as the two clasped hands.

“Shit man,” Roland said, holstering his gun, “What the hell is going on out there? I heard shots and then the door locked-”

“Did you call HQ?” Matthew interrupted.

“No,” Roland sighed with a shake of his head that wiped the smile from Matthew’s face, “can’t get anyone on the horn. It’s the damndest thing. Just weird squawking on the line. Like two kids playing some game. I think I was starting to get through when I heard the door start to beep.”

“We have to let them know what’s going on here, call for rescue, but the Mega’s can’t come in blind,” Matthew said, limping towards the console and picking up the chair, “we have to let them know how many there are, their tech and fire power.”

“So, we are getting robbed then? Where are the others? Where is Mr. Freeman?” Roland asked, following close behind.

Meagan noticed that he looked younger than Matthew, barely out of his teens. He had long dark hair and a soft face that struggled to grow facial hair, with fright in his twitching eyes. Meagan lingered by the door as Matthew picked up the chair and eased into the seat favoring his injured ankle.

Roland stood beside him looking on. “Well?” He pressed, “The cavalry coming or what?”

“They didn’t make it,” Matthew said as his eyes rolled over the console’s controls.

“All of them!” Roland exclaimed, “Even Radio?”

“Keep your voice down!” Matthew yelled in a hushed tone with a glance up at Roland. Then he turned back to the console while retrieving a box from the cargo pocket of his pants. “I don’t know about Radio. I saw them put some device on his neck and he just went down. Could be alive.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Roland asked, leaning over.

Matthew opened the box, taking out a disk that he inserted into a slot on the console.

“We need to reboot the system,” he replied, typing on the keyboard, “Try to get the word out that we’re even being robbed.”

“They don’t know?” Roland said beneath his breath, “but the failsafe’s. Plutus?”

Matthew continued pressing buttons, rolling the chair along the carpet.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Meagan asked near the door.

Matthew turned the chair towards her; his face fallen. “Not really. I mean. I was trained on a simulator a few weeks ago, but I only did it once.” 

“We’re all going to die,” Meagan sighed, leaning her back against the wall behind the partially open door, its shadow draping over on her body.

“Who’s the girl?” Roland asked with a nod in her direction.

“One of Shultz’s,” Matthew said, turning his attention back to the console to enter more steps.

“Oh,” Roland replied, his eyes looking Meagan up and down, “call girl.”

Meagan’s face screwed up, seeing Matthew smile against the glow of the monitor that washed his face a soft blue. The monitor screen flashed a series of codes, windows opening and closing before going blank.

“Mind closing that door, Roland?” Matthew said as he took out the disk and crushed it over his knee. “Don’t need one of them coming up behind us.”

“Man, I’m stupid for not doing that immediately,” Roland said, with a pat on his shoulder. As he walked to the door, Meagan could feel his eyes on her, and saw the wry grin on the young man’s face as he drank in her figure.

“Guess you like call girls then, huh asshole?” Meagan said, arms crossed over her chest.

Roland’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Sorry about that ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his head, “gallows humor.”

“I think I got it!” Matthew said, checking his wrist monitor. “Hopefully, once the system is back online, we can re-encrypt the signal and let HQ know what the hell is going on here.”

Thwip!

The sound, like a pebble thrown into a bottle, made Meagan nearly jump out of her skin. With trembling fingers, she covered her mouth, slinking into the shadows of the door as the top of Roland’s head exploded, sending his body tumbling to the ground, and painting the carpet with a crimson splash.

As the once lively guard tumbled to the floor, the tip of a long black gun barrel entered the room, white smoke curling from the front that gave off an acrid stench. It was carried by a tall man, dressed in pinstripe slacks and a white button shirt that was open at the collar.

He let out a throaty laugh.

“Well, ain’t I glad the boss sent me here,” the man said with a scratchy voice as he stepped over Roland’s body.  He sounded like the voice Meagan heard before, that the fake old man called Joshua. “Here I am, supposed to take out the comm system operator while I keep an eye out for you, and then I find you here. Must have done something right in another life.”

He aimed his weapon at Matthew, who gripped the chair’s arms, unblinking eyes staring down at Roland’s body. “No need to stand up friend,” Joshua said, bending his legs at the knees. “You killed my mates. You don’t get the honor of dying on your feet.”

Back stiffening, Matthew’s eyes shut tight. Meagan’s heart pumped in her chest even though her hands felt like ice. The gunman was a mountain of a man that looked like he could pick his teeth with one of her legs. Looking at his dark eyes, she saw the bloodlust swimming inside as he took aim. There was little doubt what would happen to her once he took care of Matthew.

With a scream, Meagan kicked out, hitting Joshua’s outstretched arms, which felt like kicking a oak tree. Yet, she didn’t kick the gun away as she hoped, his grip too strong, but she heard the suppressed shot as Joshua’s arms flew up towards the ceiling.

“What the fu--,” Joshua said, anger filling his eyes as he turned towards her, gun first.

Arms up, Meagan cringed, guarding her face as she waited for the gun to fire until she heard Matthew pounce from his chair with a growl, tackling Joshua against the wall with a deep thud that cracked the drywall. The gun tumbled away as Matthew sent a series of punches into the bigger man’s torso, cursing him with every blow.

“Stop flirting with me,” Joshua said with a smirk as his arms curled up by his head, letting his body absorb the punches.

With a grunt, he sent his elbows down on Matthew’s clavicle bones, buckling his knees. Sweeping his arms in a semicircle, Joshua pushed Matthew’s arms away before his large hands grasped his throat. A gurgle left Matthew’s lips, when Joshua’s knee dug into his gut. A follow-up head butt crunched his nose in like an accordion, covering Matthew’s lips in a river of blood.

A stiff right uppercut pushed the rest of the air out of Matthew’s lungs, followed by a left cross that smacked his cheek. Hand fumbling at his side, Matthew turned at the hip, holding a small black canister in his hand that sprayed a noxious stench.

Laughing wildly, Joshua lapped up the spray, his thick, pink tongue licking his chin. “Tastes like when I put ghost pepper flakes on my carbonara. Mom use ta really ride me when I did,” he said. A black boot kicked the pepper spray out of Matthew’s hand, before Joshua grabbed him by the collar, “but what does she know? Probably why dad left her.”

Joshua’s left fist reared back and punched out like a cannonball that ripped a cut on Matthew’s cheek and sent him stumbling back. Joshua pressed his advantage, following up with a right like a trained pugilist.

With a split-second reaction, Matthew caught the right hook, curling it beneath his arm. A flex of his forearm sent an obvious jolt of pain into Joshua’s elbow, making his back curl from the agony. His eyes went wide as Matthew stepped into his hip and flipped the bigger man over his shoulder, who landed hard with an audible thud onto the floor.

“Yes!” Meagan exclaimed, punching the air as Matthew scrambled to get atop the man, “get him!”

Kicking a leg out, Joshua twisted at the hip to entangle his shin between Matthew’s legs, which sent him down beside him. Legs rolled back over his head, as the big man scrambled to his feet, but Matthew had beat him to it, sending out a war cry as he rushed forward to tackle Joshua’s back into the computer console.

Sparks jumped from the system as Matthew landed a series of punches into Joshua’s face with wet thaps that drew blood. With a grunt, Joshua’s pushed up at Matthew’s chin, palm sliding from the slick blood before Matthew bit down on his fingers.

“Ah, you bastard!” Joshua screamed, pulling back his hand as he kicked out his foot, striking the injured ankle.

Meagan winched as Matthew howled, crumbling down to clutch his ankle as lightning pain must have struck his nerves in waves. Seeing an opening, Joshua punched Matthew’s shoulder, splattering blood against his black shirt as he reopened the gunshot wound. The punch sent Matthew down to his hands and knees.

Joshua loomed over his fallen opponent. Blood dripped from his chin as his hands curled into tight fists.

“His name was Laird!” Joshua yelled, his boot thumping as he kicked Matthew’s ribs, rolling him over. “His name was Grier!” Another kick slapped into Matthew’s face, rolling him again. Blood coughed from Matthew’s mouth as he lay on his back wheezing deep breaths.

Taking out a small knife from his boot, Joshua bent down to one knee, and grabbed a handful of Matthew’s hair to pull his head back. “I’m going to carve their names into your chest, real slow,” Joshua said, his voice darkening as he licked the blood from his lip.

“Screw you,” Matthew said, breathing deep to spit a wad of blood into Joshua’s eyes.

Joshua flinched back long enough for Matthew to use his own head butt, which cracked into his opponent’s mouth in a splatter of blood.

“Mmmfhhr!” Joshua mumbled, stumbling back, and holding his mouth as crimson poured through his fingers that painted his white shirt.

A right cross from Matthew sent Joshua down, hugging the computer console to keep his knees off the ground.

Then Meagan screamed as Matthew lifted his boot and sent it onto Joshua’s head that struck the cold metal. White sparks screamed over Joshua’s own as his body jerked from the current that surged from the exposed wires, blackening his cheek. Insulated by the rubber on his boots, Matthew kept his foot in place until the smell of burned flesh and hair permeated the air. Joshua’s fingers twitched for several long seconds before Matthew took the boot away.

Joshua slumped to the ground, smoke curling from the melted plastic of his buttoned-up shirt.

“Oh my God, Matthew!’ Meagan shouted as she ran to the man who was standing on weak legs as he leaned against the console. As she reached him, Matthew slumped down with his back against the computer as he held his shoulder, red trails of blood running through his fingers.

Meagan knelt next to him, studying his many wounds as she felt his heavy breath against her face. Moving away his hand and peeling back his shirt, the gunshot wound on his shoulder looked worse than before, with dark puckered skin. More blood streamed from multiple cuts on Matthew’s face. Purple bruises were already beginning to form there as well, swelling his cheekbone where Joshua’s large shoe left an outline.

Her eyes then moved to his forehead where darker blood curled like tributaries around his eyes.

 “Hold still,” Meagan said. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around a hard white object that was imbedded deep into the flesh of Matthew’s head. “This is going to hurt,” she said, easing Joshua’s broken tooth out with a squirt of blood.

“Ah!” Matthew said through gritted teeth. Meagan sat on her ankles and looked him in the eyes. “So much for getting the word out,” he continued as he looked towards her.

The comm system burped out sparks before the lights dimmed on the console board.

“What are we going to do now?” Meagan asked softly as she wiped her hands on the dress material draped over her knees. Tears stung her eyes as she continued, “Matthew, no offense, but you’re a mess.”

“Can you find the gun?” Matthew asked before he turned and spat out blood onto the carpet.

Meagan looked about, trying to remember where she last saw the gun during the fight. She walked to the darkened corner, trying not to look at Roland’s leaking body with her peripheral vision. Wobbling on her high heels as she bent down, she poked her hand into the shadows of the corner of the room until her fingers brushed against cold steel.

“Got it,” she said and ran back to Matthew, who had somehow stood back up.

Waving his hand, she gave him the gun that he quickly checked for a chambered round and popped the magazine out.

“Great, only half a mag left,” he said, before sliding the magazine back in with a punch at the bottom. Holstering the weapon, Matthew checked his wrist monitor before inspecting Joshua’s body, digging into his pockets.

“Gotcha. Thought I felt something in there. This smoke grenade should come in handy,” Matthew said as he clipped the device to his belt. He patted down the body with his good arm and turned him over, revealing the charred side of Joshua’s face that made Meagan wretch. “No extra magazines though. Par for the course for this day,” he finished as he stood with a grunt and limped towards the door.

“What about Roland’s gun?” Meagan asked.

Matthew glanced at the body of his friend that was surrounded by a growing pool of blood. “Roland got here just before I did. Still hadn’t passed the shooting exam. We were shorthanded, which is why I assigned him down here,” he replied.

“Where are you going?” Meagan asked, following behind as Matthew limped away.

“Those shots were suppressed, but people will be looking for him, so we need to get out of her before then. I have a new plan,” Matthew replied, his voice wavering.

Reaching the door, Matthew’s hand went to his head as he reached out and leaned on the handle.

“Matthew?” Meagan asked just before he tumbled to the ground with a groan, arms spilling into the hallway as he fell to his stomach. “Matthew!”

Chapter 7– Conversation

“Knock knock,” Broden said with a laugh as he leaned in and spoke into the microphone on Simon’s desk. “C’mon now, don’ be a tadger. I know you can ‘ere me.”

Intruder sat on the other side of the desk, programs from the laptop screen in front of him reflecting in his glasses as he typed away.

“Broden,” a voice said on a radio clipped to his side. Looking down, Broden unclipped the device and depressed a button on the side. “Connor, Shaw, report your progress.”

The sounds of heavy waves breaking in the background filled the radio as Connor spoke over the crash, “Everything is on schedule. We got down to the proper depth, and it’s exactly where you said it was.”

Glancing up, Intruder gave him a quick smile.

“Great to er’, how long till you’re done?”

“Give us about two hours,” Shaw shouted, “how are you getting along with the vault?”

“Still closed,” Broden said, with a laugh that made Intruder giggle.

“Still? Thought you had the gift of gab friend?”

Broden laughed again, “If you ‘ave a way to bypass their pressure mats or reveal their invisible lasers that don’t set off the secondary alarms from the aerosol, I’m all ‘ears. Shoulda tol me before we started this caper.”

There was a pause on the radio before Connor said, “Understood. Will reach back in an hour with our progress.”

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Broden returned the radio to his belt.

“I heard every word of that,” The microphone in Broden’s hand crackled to life. The cackling of the keyboard ceased as Intruder paused to look up. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but the authorities are on their way. You’ve lost,” Simon’s voice said.

 “Are they now?” Broden replied grabbing the microphone as he collapsed back in Simon’s chair, knocking a family photo to the ground as he kicked his feet atop the desk. “Guess I better huff and puff and let myself in.”

“Good luck,” Simon said, and Broden could imagine the smirk on his face. “This is Savoy tech. You somehow seem to know what security we have, which I will get to the bottom of when this is over. But there is no way in here unless I let you in and that is not going to happen.”

Wheeling the chair a foot over, Broden leaned over and looked down the bland hallway that led to the anti-room outside the vault that the bank manager had locked himself in.

“I’ve got hostages,” Broden said into the mic, mouth frowning as he shrugged at Intruder, but there was only static in reply. “I guess that doesn’t matter to you. Human l’ives never does to you people.”

“What do you want?” Simon asked.

“We want your money,” Broden replied.

“That’s it?”

“Thas it,” Broden grinned.

“You speak about people like me. People like you usually say you want to make a point. Stealing from those that do because you can’t,” Simon replied. “I won’t let you steal from the producers that keep this world going.”

“Ya wound me chief, I appen to have excellent credit,” Broden said, leaning forward. “Ya may ‘ave a point there though. I’ve only been good at one thing and that’s thievin’. Who am I to deny God’s great gift ta me?”

“Excellent credit?” Simon replied, “you’re a parasite then.”

“Maybe so,” Broden said, leaning back again, “and I plan on bleedin this bank dry whether you decide to help or not. But in the end, I believe you will let me in.”

Chapter 8– New Plan

A sensation of wetness trickled down Matthew’s face, in streams of cold that tickled his eyelashes, and ran down his shirt to soak the t-shirt beneath.

With a start, Matthew opened his eyes, bringing his arm up to protect against the person kneeling in front of him with a plastic bottle of water. Vision clearing, he made out Meagan’s soft features as she sat on her legs. Her brow was furrowed, worry making her bite her bottom lip pink.

“Where are we?” He asked, looking around and seeing tall, rusted metal racks, their empty rows covered in dust.

“I found a janitors closet that was turned into a storeroom, I think,” Meagan replied.

Matthew winced as he lifted his back against the wall. “You dragged me here?”

Hands on her hip, Meagan said, “You think I can drag someone like you? No, you were semi-conscious. I nearly broke my ankle walking you here,” she lifted her shoe, “I did break a heel though.”

“I guess no one saw us,” Matthew sighed.

“The robbers did come like you said, but I got you inside before I heard them running by to the control room. This door is hard to see from the outside. I nearly missed it myself,” she replied.

“Don’t think even I’ve been in here, thank God for paranoia,” Matthew replied, “How long have I been out?”

Water trickled from a spout as Meaghan filled a crumbled water bottle from a sink near Matthew’s head. He took the time to check his wrist monitor.

“That long?” Matthew said, “We need to move!”

“Hey, what’s your hurry,” Meagan replied, putting a hand gently on his chest to ease Matthew back down. “You are seriously injured Matthew. That oaf put you through the ringer. I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

A thumb massaged Matthew’s temple as he tried to rub out the throbbing he felt behind his forehead, and he found it difficult to breathe from the blood that had dried in his nose. “My head is killing me,” he said.

“No surprise there, hotshot. The guy kicked you right in the face,” Meagan said, leaning over, “here you need to hydrate.”

Several gulps felt cool down’s Matthew’s throat, giving him enough energy to grasp the edge of the sink and pull himself up.

“Easy,” Meagan whispered, hands out as Matthew slid his back up the wall. Heavy breaths escaped his lips with every foot. A trail of dark red blood followed him up, smeared by his weight.

Meagan began to chew her bottom lip again but Matthew assured her with a nod, and said, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’ll take your word for it over my eyes,” Meagan said, voice low with sarcasm, “before you collapsed you mentioned something about a plan?”

“Yeah, but we’re running out of time,” Matthew said, sighing as he leaned off the wall and limped towards the door.

“Well, you gonna tell me what it is?” She replied, following close behind.

“We’re going to rescue Radio,” Matthew said, and then felt her hand on his arm.

“Are you crazy? You want to walk into the lion’s den to save that Mega?” Meagan yelled in a whisper.

“This place is locked down, with no communications to the outside, and half a magazine between us,” Matthew said, looking back, “I’ve never gotten used to the motion of this bank, and I can feel we’re no longer headed towards our previous destination. I don’t know where these people are taking us, but we need to get out of here to get the word out, and Radio is our best chance.”

Looking down at the ground, Meagan let go of his arm and Matthew went to the door, peaking through a crack that he opened.

“Anyone out there?” Meagan asked.

Matthew looked back, and replied, “How many lives dp you think we have left?”

Her soft, dirty features fell into a frown, and Matthew grinned, feeling the sting of the bruise on his cheek. Opening the door, light filtered into the storeroom as he went into the hall.

“Guess I won’t need this,” Meagan said as she broke the other heel on her shoe to make it flat, tucking the stiletto away in a pocket hidden in the pattern of her dress. 

A trip through the hidden catacombs in the walls took them to the second floor. Exiting through another grate, a filthy Matthew exited with Meagan close behind, dress now a dirty brown.

With a noticeable limp, Matthew leaned against the wall as he led them down the hallway with the gun up close to his head and holding Meagan behind him with the other hand. Whenever there was a sound up ahead, he would stop and keep them in the shadows, slowly taking them towards the rotunda’s entrance.

“We’re only a few turns away,” Matthew whispered as he edged towards a turn.

As per his routine, he stopped at the edge and looked down the hallway turn.

“Wait,” Matthew said, fingers tightening on the gun grip.

“What?” Meagan gasped, leaning close enough to his back to smell the sweat and dried blood. “Is something down there?”

She looked at the back of Matthew’s sweaty neck as he continued to examine the hallway, then he turned back to her with an intensity in his eyes.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Matthew asked.

She looked down at the black metal in his grip. “A gun?” She swallowed. “Well, my dad took me shooting as a kid, but I haven’t gone in years.”

“How long and how many times?” Matthew replied.

“What, my dad?” She looked away, thinking. “On and off for a few years, mostly from junior high and through high school.”

Matthew’s lips tightened. “I guess this is the part where I say that this is the dangerous end, but I think you already know that,” he handed the gun to her and leaned in, whispering, “I don’t see anyone down there, but something’s not right,” Matthew held his gaze until Meagan looked him in the eyes, “I’m going to take a look. Watch my back.”

There was the air of exhaustion in his face, deep, heavy lines about his eyes and tired skin, but still a fierce determination in his eyes. Meagan nodded, holding the gun in both hands as she watched Matthew turn and walk slowly down the hall, hugging the wall with his back. The hallway was ill-lit like the others, with bell-shaped shadows falling in intervals that he did well to stay in.

Halfway down the hall, he glanced back at Meagan, sweat leaving lines of dirt on his bruised face, assuring her with a soft nod. When she responded by stepping around the corner further, Matthew continued his lethargic pace. He crept through several dark patches draped along the wall before his hand went up, stopping Meagan in her tracks as she held the gun down. Head on a swivel, he looked up and down the hall, before staring at the darkness at the opposite end of the hallway. 

There was a nervous step forward, as if he were about to explore the pall before an arm jumped out from the darkness behind him, curling to clutch Matthew about the neck.  Matthews’ eyes went wide, teeth and jaw clinched against the muscled bicep that cut off his breath.

“Gotcha, lad,” the attacker said. His attacker wore dress slacks, but was stripped down to a black t-shirt that hugged his muscled frame.

Meagan breathed in when Matthew’s hands went up to stop the other arm. Both men struggled as he held it by the wrist, keeping the gleaming silver knife it held in its hand inches from his face.

“Don’t struggle,” the man said into his ear, “it’ll all be over soon.”

The two struggled in their embrace. Matthew favored his injured ankle, limping as he drove his attacker back into the darkness, hitting the wall with a loud thump.

Taking a step back, he attempted to toss his attacker over his back but was stopped when the man kicked his foot against the wall, stopping his momentum.

“Not gonna work,” the man said, breathing a laugh against his neck.

Red rushed into Matthew’s face, hands slipping as the knife inched closer.  Improvising, Matthew looked down and bit the veins protruding from the forearm, drawing blood as he ripped out a chunk of meat when he drew his head back.

“Aaah!” The attacker screamed, pushing Matthew away and following with a crescent slash to his back that returned the cost in blood.

 Black material frayed from Matthew’s work shirt when his back curled from the cut that made him stumble forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Meagan raise the gun, taking aim at his attacker before another assailant jumped from the shadows, slamming her into the wall with his shoulder.

“Meagan!” Matthew shouted, holding his leg as he began to limp towards her. A silver gleam caught his eye, and he jumped back in time to dodge the knife that nearly ripped his neck in half.

“Don’t worry about her, son,” his attacker said, tossing the knife between each hand. He swiped at Matthew several times, drawing blood as the knife slashed through the sleeve of his shirt to cut the top of his arm.

During his defensive tactics training, where he learned how to subdue a drunk or angry customer without lethal force, Martin warned him about getting into a knife fight. Using a plastic knife, he tagged Matthew several times, demonstrating how an attacker could still harm him even while flailing about. And he saw this firsthand when he dodged a knife plunge and answered with a left cross to the jaw of the attacker, only to be slashed on his trapezoid as the attacker stumbled back.

Wiping the blood from his lip, his attacker grinned. “Nice punch for such a skinny lad,” he said seconds before he dove with the knife pointed down.

Once again, Matthew caught the arm, keeping the knife at bay even as the man delivered rapid body punches that drove him back into the wall.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

There was the unmistakable sound of Meagan’s gun going off that echoed down the hall, making Matthew’s blood run cold.

“There goes my brother taking out your burd,” the man said, grin widening, “took him long enough. A fighter that one must have been.”

Back stuck against the wall, the tip of the knife looked like an arrowhead moving slowly towards his eye, moving closer to Matthew’s face as his wounded ankle gave way. The smile vanished from his attacker’s face, eyes twitching as he anticipated watching the inches of cold steel plunging into Matthew’s skull.

Thwip!

Hot, sticky liquid splashed against Matthew’s face. Blinking his eyes, he watched as his attacker tumbled over, a quarter-inch hole in his temple squirting blood. His arms went up defensively when he saw a shadow rushing up to point the gun at the downed assailant, firing into his body until the gun clicked dry.

Wiping the blood from his eyes, he saw Meagan standing before him, her chest heaving with anxious breaths as she continued to fire the empty gun.

“Meagan?” Matthew said, putting his hands out slowly onto her trembling shoulders, “he’s down Meagan.”

Yet, her wild eyes stayed steadfast on the body, as if her anger and rage could be fired through the barrel into the dead man at her feet.

When Matthew grabbed the gun, Meagan’s head twitched up to look at him. That’s when he noticed the bruise on her cheek and the trickle of blood that ran from her nose. The top of her dress was ripped, exposing the pink skin that bled beneath.  Taking the gun back, he checked the chamber then looked back down the hall to see a second man in a dark suit sitting with his back against the wall, blood pooling beneath him.

“He tried to kill me,” Meagan said, bottom lip trembling, “he jumped out of the shadows. I never saw him…” she trailed off, glancing back at the body, “I never…,”

Seeing the tears welling in her eyes, Matthew reached out and drew her in, feeling the warmth of her body against his. A sob tickled his chest as Meagan drove her face into his clothes, her sorrow for taking a life forcing her to ignore the blood from his wounds that soiled his clothes.

“You saved my life,” he said in a low voice.

Meagan sniffled, leaning back in his arms to look up at him. Her hazel eyes sparkled a soft sheen from her tears as she forced a wan smile. “Well, now we are even, right?”

“Right,” Matthew whispered. There was a pause between them as he stared into those eyes, electricity that jolted up his spine as her warm hands laid flat on his chest.

Blinking away, Matthew let Meagan go, stepping to his left as her hand slipped down his arm. “Well, we’re out of bullets,” he said, tossing the empty gun atop the body.

“Well, that’s a switch,” Meagan replied.

With a sigh, Matthew went down to one knee. “Don’t think these guys have any. I get the sense they liked to kill up close.”

“I agree,” Meagan said, hugging her body as she looked again at the body down the hall. It was obvious to Matthew that whatever she did to escape her attacker was not something she wanted to discuss at the moment.

“At least we have this,” he replied, holding up the knife, “think the other guy has one for you?”

“I don’t want it,” she replied, looking back at him, “I’m not going to dig it out of where it is.”

A huff shook Matthew’s shoulders as he looked at the dead body. “We’re running out of time, so we’ll stick to the plan. Just going to have to get creative now.”

Chapter 9– Rescue

“Eh, you have a light?” Murray asked.

Clements glanced at him while holding his rifle that was slung across his body, the black sling wrinkling his gray suit. “Broden said we’re not supposed to smoke in here,” he replied as his fingernails scratched his brown hair.

Murray glanced about as he put the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, looking up at the lights and dead security cameras, “what, we gonna set the alarms off in here?” He mumbled.

The two stood in a niche just outside the bank rotunda, in front of twin lacquered wooden doors that led up to the second floor. At Clements’ feet was the Mega he was told to guard, sleeping like a baby on his stomach from the dampener on his neck and with hands zip tied behind his back.

“Eh, I saw Broden smoking just after this started,” Murray continued.

“Seriously?” Clements replied, looking up from Radio.

Murray eyebrows twitched up as he put out his hands, hoping to emote the truth of his lie. “Would I lie?” He said, the cigarette dangling between his lips as he spoke.

Clements sighed, “Fine, here,” he said, digging into his pocket to toss him a silver lighter.

 “Ah, you’re a Godsend, my friend,” Murray said, catching the lighter. Twisting the rifle he had slung over his body to his back, there were three clicks before the fire lit the tip of his cigarette. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled in a long drag that burned his lungs with sweet relief.

Two snaps called his attention as Clements called for the smoke before Murray could finish it all. Face twisted from having to share, Murray took two quick inhales before holding out the cigarette just as he heard a tiny voice.

“P…please, don’t hurt me,” a woman said.

White smoke coughed from Murray’s mouth as he fumbled to bring his rifle back up. Clements had already beat him to it, tossing the cig to the ground and shouldering his rifle.

“Stop right there!” Clements shouted.

The woman froze in her tracks. Waving the cloud of smoke away, Murray could see that this woman was shapely, cutting a nice figure inside a flower dress, shaking like a frightened deer with her hands up. Yet, as scared as she was, there was something off about her sudden appearance.

Behind her, there appeared to be something that twisted in the ambient light, but it was impossible for Murray to tell if it was just dust or a trick of the light.

“Eh, where did she come from?” Murray asked, still coughing.

Clements’ shoulders shrugged, “Dunno, guess she has a high tolerance.”

Glancing at each other, the two walked forward one step at a time.

“Just stay right there,” Murray said. He took in her image, noting the filth that covered her dress. “Eh, why is she so dirty?”

“Dunno that either,” Clements kept walking slowly; eyes trained on the woman. “Call Broden,” he said.

Murray fumbled with the radio on his belt, just getting the device at his mouth when the woman glanced at him and then ran.

“Stop!” Murray shouted with a tense flinch, just getting his radio back to his belt. Ear-ringing shots fired by Clements tore into the wall beside her as she turned the corner, the flower-laden dress trailing behind her.

Clements and Murray ran, feet pattering against the carpet as they gave chase. They turned the corner in unison, running into a gray cloud of smoke that filled the hallway from floor to ceiling, twirling in pale spirals where the woman ran into it.

“What the hell is this?” Murray shouted with panicked breath, his nostrils stinging from the stench.

Rifle still on his shoulder, Clements side-stepped into the thick of the fog like a hunter tracking a shadow.

“Clements, are you crazy man? This radge is going to get us both killed,” Murray mumbled, breath twisting the smoke as trails of sweat tickled down his armpits, “just hold up, and let me call Broden.”

Lowering his rifle, Murray put the radio close to his mouth.

“Gah!” Clements yelped. A line of gunfire ripped the floor as something pulled him into the fog that puffed out to swallow him whole with gray fingers.

“Clements!” Murray shouted. The radio shattered on the marble as he brought his rifle to bear.

A shadow rippled in the smoke, running as it moved from Murray’s ten to two o’clock that he followed with a burst of gunfire.

“Go!” Murray heard a male voice shout, forcing his head to the right to follow the sound.

Emerging from the fog, and running with an obvious limp, was the guard that had been the rat in their cellar, taking out his friends. 

“Ah, the buftie stops hiding!” Murray shouted as he ran behind him, “don’t know who the bonnie was you got working for you, but I’m coming to get’cha!”

Watching the gunman chase after Matthew, Meagan slinked through the last of the grenade smoke that had begun to dissipate, tiptoeing around the corner. Lying on the floor was the Mega Matthew had charged her to free somehow.

He was a large man, still dressed in his black armored gear and with his hands tied at the wrists behind his back.

“Hello?” Meagan said with a poke to his side, “hey…hey!”

Yet, the Mega didn’t budge, drool dribbling from the corner of his parted mouth as he dozed like a sleeping baby.

During the briefing of his plan, Matthew said he saw the Mega topple when they put some device on his neck. Looking down, she saw what looked like an off-white neck brace, not the futuristic technology she was expecting. Feeling around the collar, there were no latches or seams she could feel to pull it open.

“Oooh!” Meagan groaned, glancing around when she heard more gunshots echo in the distance, followed by the pattering of rubber boots on the ground. More gunmen had appeared to hunt Matthew down in the rotunda, their sporadic gunfire shattering glass.

 “Wake up you stupid Mega!” She shouted, pushing at his side. Around her were potted plants and a shiny wooden bench against the far wall, but nothing that she could use to try and pry the collar off.

“Wait!’ She screeched, reaching inside her dress pocket to find the stiletto from her broken heel.

Ra-at-tat!

More bursts of gunfire blared behind her, coming closer as Matthew was leading them back to where he hoped the Mega would be waiting. Tongue sticking in the corner of her mouth, Meagan used the broken heel to stab at the collar at where she thought she felt a soft point, yelping when it finally broke through. Several more stabs shattered the mechanisms inside and there was an audible click when the brace detached.

“Ah!” Radio shouted, perking up in an instant. His strong hand broke the zip tie on his wrists in one motion.

Leaning on his hands, his eyes were wide as if he had just woken up from a bad dream. Sweat drenched his dark hair into spikes that fell about his face, his back arching as he took in deep, shaking breaths.

“Are you okay?” Meagan asked, standing and leaning in.

Hearing her voice, Radio looked up. Seeing Meagan’s shining hazel eyes staring at him brought a stiffness to his back as he used a hand on her shoulder to rise to his feet.

“What happened?” Radio asked, palm on his forehead as if he were trying to work out the cobwebs. Gunshots made his head jump up. “Nevermind,” he said as he moved past Meagan.

Down the hall, Matthew slid into view, using a bloody hand on the ground to stumble forward as rounds sailed over his head in white streaks. After he lumbered a few steps, three suit-wearing gunmen turned the corner behind him, rifles on their shoulders and ready to fire until they saw Radio staring at the trio.

“Ah hell,” Murray said, fumbling to remove the rifle slung across his body.

The other two gunmen chose the opposite path, getting over their shock to take aim.

Teeth clinched, Radio’s eyes burned a fiery red. Murray felt a rumbling inside his rifle, the metal vibrating to a clatter.

“Eh! Drop your guns!” Murray shouted, still squirming to get out of the sling that was caught in his jacket. Working it loose from the tails in the back of his suit jacket, the black metal slammed against his chest as he slid the sling over his sweat-slicked neck.

Boom!

“Oh!” Meagan screamed, watching as the rifles exploded into the gunmen.

Black shrapnel ripped flesh into strips of red ribbons, metal tearing into the gunmen that cannoned red slicked organs through their backs, exposing jagged bones to the light.

The three fell in a splash of red, limbs twitching from residual brain function that spilled onto the marble from shattered skulls.

“Uh,” Matthew groaned as he fell facedown onto the cool floor.

“Matthew!” Meagan shouted as she ran to his prone form and went to her knees, “Let me see, are you shot?”

Huffing deep breathes; Matthew looked up at her, “No. Few scrapes. Just tired.”

He tried to stand, but his arms wavered, prompting Meagan to help him up under his arm. Radio came to lend a hand, leaning Matthew against the wall to keep him up.

“What’s the sitrep, Spark?” Radio asked, hand on Matthew’s chest and looking around.

“We’re being robbed,” Matthew replied with a swallow.

“No shit,” Radio said, and then turned his eyes back to him, “where are the guys? And why the hell hasn’t the cavalry shown up?”

“Got the drop on us,” Matthew replied, head lolling as he caught his breath.

“Bullshit!” The Mega spat, “even if they took me down, the AI would have smoked this entire facility with a sleeping agent the minute it spotted a gun.”

Matthew looked up.

“It’s a failsafe,” Radio replied, seeing the accusation in his eyes, “no one but me, Martin and the managers know.”

“Well, they got to the AI,” Matthew said, pushing Radio’s hand away to stand on his throbbing ankle.

“But…that would mean….,” Radio flustered, turning on his wrist monitor to hear it playing a whimsical tune.

“Yeah, we’re on our own,” Matthew said in a low tone.

“Not only that but the AI controls the navigation,” Radio said, looking around the ground, “without it, were a runaway ship.”

“Then we need to get out of here,” Matthew said with a sigh as he hobbled towards the rotunda with Meagan following close behind.

Bodies littered the bank floor. Armored guards, wait staff still wearing their suits and ties, and customers were sprawled out like cotton-stuffed dolls, forcing Meagan to walk gingerly over outstretched arms and legs.

“Oh my God, it’s a massacre,” she said in a hushed tone.

“I don’t remember any of this,” Radio said, his head looking about.

“They got you first,” Matthew said, “that brace’s effects were instantaneous. Do you even know what that was?”

“A device that can turn off a Mega?” Radio asked as he stepped over a body. “No, could be a Praetermind invention or M.D.C. tech, or both.”

This brought a glance from Matthew.

Radio met his gaze. “So, what’s your master plan tyro,” he asked.

A furrow creased on Matthew’s brow, the pain wracking his body making him less tolerant of the jab.

“What’s a tyro?” Meagan asked.

“Nothing,” Matthew replied.

A smirk spread across Radio’s face as he glared at the rookie guard.  

“My plan is that we walk right out the door. You know the customer gangway extends pretty far from the ship. If we can get the door open, we can get past whatever interference that is keeping the comms down.”

“And what are we going to call them on, genius?” Radio replied.

Matthew knelt, hovering over a red puddle, and turning over a body. As the body turned, Radio recognized Martin’s face, half painted in blood.  “Those bastards,” he gasped.

“Sorry friend,” Matthew muttered, turning over Martin’s body until he found the device in the back of his belt.

“His radio?” Radio asked.

“It has a sat-phone setting,” Matthew looked up, “another failsafe.”

“Let’s check the door,” Radio said, walking past Martin’s prone form to grasp the gilded golden handles.

Back flexing, Radio gave it a strong push outward, but the door did not move. Taken back, Radio’s face stiffened, and he put his shoulder into the door that barely disturbed the hinges.

“You son of a…,” he muttered, grabbing hold of the handles in a tight grip. With a steel gaze, his eyes burned a soft red, using his power to probe the door to blow off the locking mechanism, before he let go of the handles as if stung and took a step back.

“No good?” Matthew asked next to him.

Radio looked around the edges. “We’re on lockdown,” he said, “it seems like the one thing that did work on this barge was the locks that activated when the sensors detected lead dust or cordite. They even used a material that negates my power on the locks. Unless you have several bricks of C-4 somewhere, we’re not getting out of here.”

As the two guards were talking, Meagan looked down at Martin’s body, and then at a well-dressed woman she remembered seeing at the departure zone. The woman looked peaceful lying on her side. Her red lipstick still appearing fresh and Meagan wondered if the woman was a wife or mother with kids who would never see her again. Looking at her dress, she noticed something odd about its appearance, the lack of blood from a wound.

“Guys,” Meagan said as she walked towards the woman, “guys, I think I found something.” She knelt, touching the woman’s throat, and then twisted to look at the pair of guards several feet away. “Guys!” she shouted that got their attention. “This one is alive.”

Duck-walking to a white-haired man who was flat on his stomach with arms outstretched over his head, her fingers went to his neck.

“This one is too,” Meagan said, standing and looking about, “I think they are all alive.”

“Not Martin,” Radio said.

“Or Roland,” Matthew added.

“No,” Meagan said in a low tone, remembering the young guard, “but I think them and the woman are the only ones.”

“Can we wake any of them up?” Radio asked.

Squatting down, Meagan pealed back the man’s eyelid, staring into the pupil. “There are some stimuli to the light, but he looks like a patient under general anesthesia. He’s not coming around until whatever is in his system wears off.”

“Tranq rounds. They didn’t want to kill anyone,” Radio did a full turn, looking about, “what the hell is going on here then?”

“Who knows,” Matthew said, showing Radio his arm, “the bullet shot at me was real enough. Nothing has changed. We need to get out of here.”

“How many more thieves are there?” Radio asked.

“Enough,” Matthew said, leaning his back against the barred door, “too many for even you.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, body relaxing.

“Can we force them open?” Meagan asked.

“I just tried,” Radio said in a kurt tone.

“No, I mean, tell the doors to open somehow,” she replied.

“How? Plutus is wasted,” Radio said and patted his sides, “and I don’t have a key.”

 “Meagan you’re a genius,” Matthew’s eyes shot open. “We need to get to the generator room,” he said, looking at Radio, “If we can overload the genny then that would reboot the system…”

“Forcing the doors to unlock! That might even fix the AI,” Radio finished, but then his face fell, “but we don’t know what shutting down Plutus will do to this barge. We could stop in an instant, killing everyone inside.”

“You have a better idea?” Matthew asked.

Radio glanced at Meagan, who shrugged, then looked at the floor.

“Guess we have a plan,” Matthew continued as he leaned off the door with a groan, “think you can overload it?”

“Never tried something that size,” Radio said, “plus my power doesn’t work that way. We want to disable the generator, not destroy it.”

“Guys, I found this,” Meagan said as she walked towards them holding Martin’s service firearm. As organized as the thieves were, they somehow missed accounting for the gun.

“Guess we’ll have to figure it out, Radio,” Matthew’s face stiffened, furrowing his brow, “and at least we’re armed now.”

Chapter 10 – Escalation

“Broden!” someone shouted, forcing Broden from peering over Intruder’s shoulder to see several of his men running down the hall.

“Tell them we’ll be in touch,” he whispered to Intruder and turned towards the men who sprinted towards him holding their rifles, suit jackets flapping behind them as they stumbled to a stop in front of him.

Broden crossed his arms over his chest, “What is it boys? Ya look like yur about to throw up, Finlay.”

“We found Clements, he was skewered in the hallway,” Finlay breathed out, “and then we found Rogers and Gun,”

“Yeah, I sent them after I thought I heard some shots,” Broden replied, “did they tell you what happened? Is that guard dead?”

Finlay caught his breath, “They’re dead Broden, and so is Murray. We found what was left of them near the stairwell.”

Broden stood up straight. “The Mega?”

Finlay shook his head, “gone. I’m guessing with that guard.”

With a sigh, Broden walked to the other side of the desk, “Do I have to do everything myself?” He said, as he retrieved a wrinkled paper from the desk drawer.

With a sweep of his arm, Broden cleared off the rest of the desk, making Intruder have to pick up his laptop lest it be thrown to the floor. He unfolded the paper on the cleared space.

“Finlay, over here,” Broden said as he leaned over the desk.

Doing as he was told, Finlay leaned next to Broden’s shoulder, looking down at a paper schematic of the bank. The paper looked dated, a dingy brown parchment, chipped and rolling at the corners.

“You found the bodies here?” Broden asked, pointing at the map.

“Yeah, I believe so,” Finlay said, squinting.

“So, they made it to the rotunda, eh,…,” Broden whispered as his finger traced the route on the schematic to the faded lines that outlined the bank’s interior. “They must have found the door locked. Where would they go then?” He said in a low tone, finger moving down the map.

Broden rose, tapping on the schematic with a wry grin. 

“I have ah idea where they are goin’,” Broden said. “Gather the boys, we’re going huntin. Aye, before we go, I have some words for you all on what to do when we get there.”

Chapter 11 – Overload

Bwing!

A bullet bounced off a piece of metal, sparking a firecracker white as it caromed closer to Matthew’s head than he would like and made him duck down.

“Dammit, keep them off me!” Matthew shouted as he knelt at the box connected to the massive silver generator that chugged a smooth rhythm.

“I’m trying!” Meagan shouted back as she hid behind a round metal pipe that was painted a light cream. Bursts of gunfire pinged against the pipe that made her cower further. When there was a momentary break in the barrage, she held out both arms, taking careful aim and fired a single shot.

“Did you get one?” Matthew asked as he pressed buttons.

Gun fire echoed off the walls.

“Guess!” Meagan shouted back, “and I only have seven rounds left. I thought we had a Mega helping?”

Between a jumble of red steam pipes, Radio’s eyes glowed the same color as he held out his hand. “Get off my back!” he yelled as more gunfire erupted. She noticed that the shooters seemed more interested in him than her, concentrating their fire to keep him pinned down. “I have to actually see the weapons before I can destroy them,” two more rounds burst near his head that made Radio duck for cover, “and they keep weaving!”

“Smart,” Matthew muttered as he pulled on levers and turned the dials.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Meagan shouted just before firing off a shot.

Matthew glanced back at her, “no,” he said, then turned back to the panel, “but if action movies taught me anything it’s that if you turn everything up to capacity, something will blow.”

“That’s it?” Meagan asked, her back against the pipe, “That’s the plan?”

“Yup,” Matthew replied as he went down the panel and clicked random switches.

“We’re going to die,” Meagan said, taking a breath before firing several shots. “Five rounds left!”

Mathew studied the panel. He had pushed every button and turned every dial he saw, yet all he was able to accomplish was change the generator noise from a low hum to an angry growl.

“Think, think think! What makes a machine overheat?” He yelled to himself as the sound of gunfire grew closer.

The generator was top of the line, made with solid steel and with an Automatic Transfer Switch that would transfer the power to a smaller generator to keep the emergency power on. There was a power source other than traditional diesel, but the machine parts inside still needed to protect against friction. Looking about, Matthew studied the signs.

“I got it!” Matthew shouted, “Radio, Meagan, I’m going to need cover!”

“What?” Meagan shouted, but Matthew was already in a stride that his ankle would allow, bullets pelting the surrounding metal.

Looking to her left, Megan saw Radio leaning through the pipes, eyes burning a red that cast a blood shadow on the wall. In the distance, she heard the same distinct explosions as the stairwell, hearing the screams as several of the advancing gunmen fell from his power.

There was nearly hope in her heart that they would live until a round punched Radio in the stomach, pushing him against the pipe behind him, his back making a sickening thump.

“Radio!” Meagan shouted, but gunfire kept her pinned.

Touching his stomach and bringing back red, Radio groaned, “Okay, that’s it!”

A red surged over Meagan’s crouching spot, forcing her to bring her hand up to see a shadow walking through the haze. Clutching his stomach, Radio crawled between the pipes to stand out in the open, the red light of his eyes covering his body like a burning sun.

The light reached out to cover many of the gunmen in his aura.

“Take this!” Radio shouted as their rifles exploded in a cacophony of explosions that sent shards of flesh and metal piercing nearby pipes that vomited steam.

Looking over her pipe hideout, Meagan saw that Radio’s attack killed the advancing gunmen, leaving painted streaks of blood where they once stood. Yet, he did not get them all. The man she saw while in the tunnel, the one they called Broden, had kept several men behind who rose up from their hiding spaces to fire.

Bursts of gunfire ripped through Radio, who stumbled back into the pipes, the red light around him dimming into darkness.

“Oh my God,” Meagan gasped, seeing the Mega on his back, body torn by the barrage. “You murderers!” She shouted while taking aim and firing, hitting one of the gunmen in the head, which made his head flip back in a spray of blood. As the rest of the gunmen took cover from her shots, Meagan ran in Matthew’s direction, ducking beneath pipes and blowing steam.

Sliding beneath the generator motor, Matthew’s eyes moved in all directions. In his mind, he knew that the dying red light he saw meant Radio had fallen and Meagan didn’t have enough bullets to last very long.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Matthew shouted until his eyes found what he was looking for.

He twisted a rusty valve, fingers slipping from the substance slicked around it, until the metal fell with a thump and rolled off his chest. A slick black substance followed, coating Matthew’s lips that he spat out before rolling from beneath the generator. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw Meagan running towards him, eyes wide.

“Radio is dead,” she said in huffs.

“I know,” Matthew replied, taking her hand, “C’mon, let’s go!”

Holding her hand, Matthew limped his way further into the generator room, sparing seconds to turn red knobs on the pipes that coughed steam.

Behind him, Broden peered over his cover then down to the puddles that used to be his cohorts.

“Let’s get these bastards!” Finlay said just behind him as he changed his magazine. Only he, Broden and two other men had survived the Mega’s fury.

“No,” Broden replied.

“No?” Finlay replied, eyes twitching with anger. “First you told us not to kill them until that Mega went nuts, and now we can’t kill them again?’

“Jus give it a sec,” Broden said as he peered about.

The chugging from the generator increased, a low whine that turned into the sound of a jet engine spiraling to earth. The generator screamed, shaking the pipes near them, and making the other men cover their ears before Broden heard a click and the room plunged into darkness.

The’re it is,” Broden said in the darkness.

Sirens blared from the loss of motion and power as all around them the bank lurched to a stop. The black only seemed to amplify the sound of glass shattering around them. Pipes rattled in their moorings, others screaming as they burst water from busted seams. It felt like an earthquake had struck the bank. Broden hugged a strong pipe, feeling the barge ease to a stop as he waited for the ATS to kick in.

Pale light illuminated portions of the generator room and Broden looked around, only letting go of the pipe when he felt the rattle cease beneath his fingers.

Broden turned away as he spoke into his walkie-talkie, “Is it down?” He asked.

“Checking,” Intruder’s voice replied. There was a static on the other end and Broden tapped his finger against the plastic. “Yes, that did it.”

A smile broke out on Broden’s face.

“You’re smiling?” Finlay said, rushing to clutch Broden by the shirt collar. “Our mates are dead, and you’re smiling!”

“Yeh, I’m smiling,” Broden said, glancing down at the clutched fist beneath his chin, then at Finlay’s eyes. “Knocking out that genny reset the vault security. We have moments to get inside and get the loot,” then he nodded towards the dead men, “or do you want your mates to have died for nothin?”

Finlay’s face fell as he unclenched Broden’s suit jacket.

Leaning forward, Broden clutched him by the shoulders. “You want your revenge, eh?” He said, “Now you’ll get it. Take Reese and Gary with you, hunt those basturd’s down and kill em.”

Finlay finally looked up and nodded, chambering a round of his rifle with a metallic click.

Broden watched as Finlay and the others made their way through the pipes and steam, then turned and said into the walkie, “Connor, Shaw, you had better be done down there by now,” he said, “and meet me in the vault. We have a bank to rob.”

Chapter 12 – The Turn

Matthew ducked, taking Meagan with him by the hand as the bullets sprang off the metal pipes.

“You okay?” Matthew shouted, waving his hand through the mist.

“Yes!” Meagan replied, stumbling behind him.

The steam trick did well to hide them but the previous patience the gunmen had shown was now replaced with a spray of rounds that punctured the pipes he and Meagan weaved through.

“Where are we going?” Meagan shouted.

“Out,” Matthew replied, “How many rounds do you have left?”

Looking down at the gun, Meagan said, “Four…I think.”

“Good, make them count,” Matthew said as they exited the maze of pipes and hobbled as he ran to a service door.

Trying the handle, the door jingled in his grasp but failed to open.

“Figures,” Matthew said.

There was a black card reader next to the door, but a quick check of his belt proved that he had lost his ID somewhere in the steam.

Matthew scanned down the wall, seeing red in the shadow that caught his eyes.

“Stay here,” he said and limped down the wall. “And keep an eye out, will ya?”

Meagan turned and knelt, scanning the steam for shadows through the sights of the gun. There was a crash of breaking glass before she saw Matthew returning with an emergency ax in hand.

Matthew glanced at the ax, “Well, it is an emergency,” he said.

“Hurry!” she replied with the gun out.

A loud clang made Meagan’s shoulders flinch. This was followed by several more that sounded like shotgun blasts as Matthew struck the door handle with the ax. Holding the gun out with both hands, her arms began to tremble, knowing each strike was a clarion call for the murderers who were hunting them.

She wiped her sweaty left hand against her dress. “Matthew!” she shouted, and then heard a clang of metal skitter against the concrete.

“C’mon,” Matthew said, his strong hand lifting her by the bicep.

Turning, the door handle was on the floor, bent and broken. The door was ajar with a black space beyond. Meagan began to run into the opening until she felt a tug on her arm.

Looking up, she looked into Matthews’ eyes as he hesitated.

“What?’ she asked. “Why are we stopping?”

****

Steam misted on Finlay’s forehead as he held his rifle with both hands and waded through the maze of pipes. The boys flanked him on his left and right, just a bit ahead to flush out the rats. There were drips of blood on the ground that they followed like breadcrumbs, weaving through the metal until it led to an open door.

“Get in there Gary,” Finlay said with a nod of his head.

Gary complied and began a trot through the door. Ramsay followed close behind him and Finlay looked around, getting a sense of something off about the situation.

“Gah!” Finlay heard Gary scream and turned to see him doubled over inside the door. Hunched forward, he was clutching his gut, and there appeared to be a wooden handle sticking out of his side.

Blam! Blam!

Two shots twisted Ramsay against the wall. Two more sent a spray of red from his head.

“Son of a…,” Finlay said, turning his rifle in the direction of the shots behind them.

“No!” Matthew shouted, emerging from the shadow inside the door, pulling the ax out of Gary, who slumped to the floor. Leaping over the body, he slammed his shoulder into the Finlay, who twisted from the impact.

The blow sent the rifle flying, crashing to the ground before it slid into the steam. The gunman had recovered quicker than Matthew had intended, his blow weak from the loss of energy, and he blocked his ax swing by wrapping his left forearm around his.

A right hook followed that nearly took Matthew’s head off and dropped him to the floor. A kick sent him against the wall, dislodging the ax from his hand. He expected another kick, when he saw Meagan jump on the gunman’s back, clawing and scratching at his eyes.

“Bitch!” The gunman said, twisting his shoulder to drop her to the ground. The kick Matthew anticipated went into Meagan’s gut, doubling her over as she wretched.

Crawling off the wall, Matthew scrambled to the ax.

“You tried that one already, boyo,” Finlay said, stalking behind him as he adjusted his tie.

Using the handle to get to his feet, Matthew glanced over his shoulder and limped away.

“Oy, and a coward ta boot,” the killer laughed as his gait quickened.

The metal ax head clanged against the concrete as Matthew hobbled away. He made it several feet until he was stopped by a dead end. Leaning his head back he took a deep breath, and then looked over his shoulder, seeing the thief just behind him. Matthew turned around and brought the ax to the side of his head.

“You might as well take that final swing,” Finlay said with a grin, “because once you do, I’m gonna take that ax from you and shove it up your ass.”

“Okay,” Matthew said, before he twisted at the hip and swung the ax behind him.

Metal clanged against metal sending sparks flying, and Matthew jumped away with the ax in hand. The pipe he struck shook in its moorings as a spout of steaming hot water spat from the gash he made in its side.

Screams echoed off the walls as the boiling water showered Finlay from head to toe. The pink of his skin reddened, blistering the instant the water splashed against him. Hands clinched by the sides of his face; Finlay was frozen from the agony as the burning water trailed beneath his clothes leaving rivers of liquid hot down his skin.

With a swing of his arms, Matthew sent his ax between Finaly’s eyebrows, his eyes staring into the distance as his suffering ended.

From the edge of the steam, Meagan walked slowly towards him, still holding her stomach.

“I’m out,” she said as the gun clang against the ground.

Matthew held her by the arms to keep her up.

“You all right?” He asked, looking at the top of her lowered head.

“Can we get out of here now?” Meagan whimpered.

“We can’t,” Matthew replied, and he felt her body give a touch.

Meagan’s head sprang up. “What? Why? You said taking the generator would open the doors!”

“I’m sure it did,” Matthew said and looked around, “but don’t you see? There are only three of them. I saw more than that before. Where did the rest go?”

“Who cares!” Meagan yelled.

“Simon,” Matthew said as he looked beyond her, “God, I’m so stupid!” He shouted as he turned.

Matthew limped away, waving his arms through the steam.

“What, we’re not leaving now?” Meagan said as she followed. “We need to get out of here and radio for rescue!”

Leaning down, Matthew stood back up with Finlay’s rifle in hand.

“Don’t you see, Meagan?” Matthew said as he checked the magazine and slapped it back in, “none of these are that Broden guy we saw. He sent them after us but doubled back, and I think I know why.”

“Why?” Meagan asked as Matthew walked towards her.

“When I shut down the genny, I reset everything. Even the vault failsafe’s,” he replied.

Meagan looked around, “but the lights are on.”

“Yes, but it takes the vault systems time to fully reboot, and Broden knew that,” Matthew replied as he walked past her, “this is why he didn’t kill us when they first attacked. He wanted us to trip the power to secure the vault, then kills us. Two birds with one stone.”

“So, we’re not leaving then?” Meagan said, shoulders slumping.

Matthew turned and looked into her eyes. A sigh left his lips, and he tossed her the satellite phone.

“I can’t ask you to come with me anymore. Take the radio and get outside and make the call,” he turned, “but I need to end this.”

Meagan looked at the phone in her hands, chewing her bottom lip.

“Wait, I’m coming with you!”

Chapter 13 – Theft

Sweat matted Broden’s hair to his brow as he donned his dark wetsuit, meant to insulate his body heat. Even with the anti-theft devices currently deactivated in the corridor, the vault still had a heat sensor monitor that triggered a lockdown when the temperature went above sixty-three degrees.

“Hurry up mate,” Conner said. Cool seawater dripped from his dark gray wetsuit as he watched his leader dress. The bank manager’s office was in disarray from the power outage. Papers and furniture were strewn about which mixed with the dirt from tipped-over potted plants.

Intruder stood nearby already dressed in the same suit, hugging his laptop like a small child to his chest and wearing a small black backpack.

“Get into position,” Broden said as he pulled the line that zipped his suit up in the back. Conner nodded to Shaw, who was also dripping wet. Picking up large leather bags, the two ran, rifles jingling in their other hands, and stood with their backs against the wall on either side of the hallway that led down to the vault. Intruder stood behind Shaw’s back, who took the right flank.

Broden trotted behind them and stopped just on the edge of the carpet, looking down.

“Anyone br’ave enough to take the first step in?” Broden asked as he glanced at the men.

Intruder vigorously shook his head.

Shaw looked at Conner and then said, “It’s your plan.”

Broden smiled, “aye,” he replied, and then took a nervous step into the hallway.

The vault was normally protected by weight sensors. Any pressure on the mat while the security was activated would have sounded the alarms and cut the person off behind solid steel plates that would fall from either side.

There were even rumors that death devices would spring out from the walls to kill the would-be thief like in some Indiana Jones movie scene, but as Broden looked around, none of the security features engaged.

Broden turned, “I’m still alive boys, no lasers burning my fa’ce off,” he said with his hands out, “now let’s get the loot.”

As they reached the end of the hallway, a wide wooden door was shut tight.

“Knock knock,” Broden said as he pounded on the door, knowing that Simon the bank manager was behind it. “I’m giving you one chance to open this door of your own free will or my boys here will shoot indiscriminately until it’s down.”

“Its bulletproof,” he heard a muffled voice say beyond.

“So was your guard’s armor,” Broden replied.

He glanced at Conner and Shaw behind him, and they cocked their rifles at the sides with loud clicks.

Broden leaned his cheek against the cool door. “And I canna promise one bullet don’ have your na’me on it, Simon,” he said.

There was a moment of silence until he heard a click at the handle. The door opened wide, and Simon hid behind it, glasses fogged over as he looked up at the thief.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Broden said as he walked in and eyed the solid steel wall at the opposite end of the room, “Tol ya you would open the door for us.”

Intruder entered and looked at Simon. “I’m going to need his wrist monitor,” he said.

Broden turned and looked Simon in the eyes. “C’mon now, Simon,” he said in a low tone, “you’ve been bra’ve enough for one day,” he leaned in, voice lowering, “we’ll tell them we took it from you, or we can just cut your hand off.”

Simon shivered, and he saw the truth in the thief’s eyes as Broden patted at an object beneath his black wetsuit. Head lowered, Simon unhooked the wrist monitor and handed it to Intruder, who went down to his knees to place the laptop on the floor and connected a wire to the device. Broden watched as Intruder quickly typed in a code, shooting a glance at Simon’s face that fell after the hacker produced a second wrist monitor from his bag. The front glass face of the monitor was caked with dried blood.

“You killed Martin,” Simon said beneath his breath.

Broden said nothing as Intruder hooked up the second wrist monitor and furiously typed in more code. As he did so, the lights inside the room grew brighter, shining off the solid wall that was the vault. The security was rebooting, and it would be only moments before the AI returned and locked the vault for good.

“Yes!” Intruder shouted.

A buzz played through the solid wall. Broden watched a small rectangle off-center to the right rise into the ceiling as if it were melting into the shadows above. A trick of the light from the glare of the remaining walls made the aperture still appear solid, but he could feel the change in the air from the entrance appearance. Before it had done so, Broden never would have considered that the door would be where it was and had to applaud the creative ingenuity that used a person’s own sight against them.

He walked towards the opening followed by his men and looked inside, his mouth nearly falling open from the amount of treasure stacked within.

“Well done, Intruder, well done,” Broden gasped, and then turned towards his men, “get to work.”

Shaw and Conner said nothing as they unzipped the bags and began to fill them with the vaults prized currencies. Conner went about stuffing in jewels, rare notes from various countries, along with security and treasury bonds printed with more zeroes than Broden had seen in a lifetime of theft.

Arms crossed over his chest, Broden tapped his finger to the right, “Don’t forget the hard drives,” he said.

With a nod, Shaw unfurled a bundle of plastic from his bag before walking up to Simon and holding out his hand.

“Give us the key,” Shaw said.

Simon looked at Broden, who shrugged and said, “We’ll say we stole that too. I can punch you in the face if that will make it more con’vincin.”

Sweat trailed down the side of Simon’s face and his hand trembled as he produced a flat device with two prongs that jutted from the sides.

“Just the one?” Shaw asked.

“Yes,” Simon replied and lowered his head, “we never thought anyone would get this far.”

Arms out, Broden laughed, then bent at the waist in a lavish bow, “my pleasure,” he said, lifting his head to show Simon his grin.

Shaw passed him, making his way to the silver deposit boxes that looked as smooth as the vault wall, and slid the thin key into a slot in the middle. Once inserted, the box slid open until he took out the key and the box slid back in.

“What the hell?” Shaw said, looking over his shoulder at Broden.

“Oh for God’s sake, man,” Broden said, throwing up his hands. He looked at Simon and said, “only one can be open at a time?”

There was a quaint smile on Simon’s face.

“You minted swick’s don’t even trust each other,” Broden said beneath his breath. Rubbing the top of his nose, he continued, “Intruder, get yo’ur hands out of your pants and give Shaw a hand.”

A system quickly developed as Shaw opened the box and Intruder took out the hard drive, a rhythm repeated until they cleaned out the middle row.

“That it?” Shaw asked.

“That’s it,” Broden replied, “Intruder, get the dolly.”

As Intruder went running outside the vault, Shaw produced a small hose from his bag that he fed with the top of the plastic bag. There was a loud hum as the hose sucked in the remaining air, vacuum sealing the hard drives in rigid plastic.

After Intruder returned wheeling a black dolly, Shaw and Conner loaded their bags laden with stolen goods that made the orange tool groan from the weight.

“Bloody hell,” Conner winged as he arched his back and pushed the heavy cart out of the vault and down the long hallway.

“C’mon,” Broden said to Simon as he pushed him out in front, trotting to follow close behind the cart.

Brrt!

A burst of gunshots rang out ahead, sending Conner twisting to the ground. Moving quickly, Broden pulled Simon in, using him as a shield and putting a gun to the small of his back. Running at full stride, Shaw dived behind the mahogany desk in the manager’s office, returning fire into the office door opening where they both saw the gunfire originate.

Pulling Simon down, Broden ducked as he watched two bodies run through the room, covering themselves with rounds that burst the wood of Simon’s desk. One was the guard with nine lives, followed by a woman, dress trailing behind her as she ran.

“Well done,” Broden said beneath his breath.

Green lights blinked on the walls of the corridor. The weight sensors inside would be active the moment they went solid.

“Intruder, get the cart!” Broden shouted, pushing Simon forward, who screamed and covered his ears as he fired over his shoulder.

Pushing up his glasses, Intruder stepped over Shaw’s body and grunted as he struggled to move the cart out through the office door. Broden followed close behind, holding Simon in front of him as he sidestepped through the office. Broden saw the guard return fire through the window, shattering the glass as he peppered the desk Conner used as cover with more rounds.

“Move!” Broden said, shoving Simon by the collar as he followed Intruder out of the office.

****

“Still glad you came?” Matthew shouted as the return fire ripped through the office.

“No!” Meagan replied as she knelt next to him and covered her ears from the clatter.

Peeking through shards of broken glass, Matthew saw the gunman behind the desk, rising up.

“Shite!” He shouted before ducking down, rounds sailing over his head by inches.

“We’re pinned down!” Meagan shouted behind him, “Why did we even run in here?”

After checking the rounds left in his magazine, Matthew punched it back into the rifle, then said, “Watch.”

Shaw’s back was cold against the desk, breath heaving in his chest.

“Gotcha now, ya ponch!” He shouted as he lifted his arms and released a burst of blind gunfire over the desk into the room. “Ya, gotta be running out of rounds mate! Give me that curvy number I saw runnin behind ya and I might let you out of this!”

With a laugh, Shaw prepared to fire again by changing out his magazine before a crash from a grate made him turn his head. With a burst of gunfire, the guard he was hunting sprung head first from an opening above, firing his rifle that punched several rounds into Shaw’s body like burning spikes.

Matthew fell to the floor with a thump, landing at the feet of the gunman, who slumped against the desk like a limp doll, eyes still open.

“You’re crazy,” Meagan said as she emerged from the anti-room, “you could have told me about the hidden passage.”

Lifting himself up with a groan, Matthew dropped the rifle and picked up the gun from Shaw’s dead hands. “What fun would that have been?” he said with a smirk as he examined the magazine of the new gun. He turned towards her, face grim, “the leader is getting away, and I can’t take you with me.”

“What?” Meagan said, eyes red with growing tears, “but we’re a team.”

“You’ve done enough,” Matthew said, and turned to limp away before Meagan grabbed his arm and turned him. Warm lips greeted him, sweet and salty at the same time. Her body was a small sun against his, and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

Matthew blinked, pushing her back. “Here,” Matthew said, taking the cross off his neck and putting it around Meagan’s neck. “A little something to remember me by.”

“I’d rather have you here, tyro” Meagan whispered as she looked down and touched the gold adornment. Taking a step back, she said, “You don’t even know where they are going.”

Lifting his gun, Matthew replied, “Yes I do. I opened the damn door for them.”

Chapter 14 – Failsafe

Stars shined like jewels in the night sky. Salt-filled water broke against the side of the bank, rising to splash Matthew’s raised arms and stinging his many cuts. Licking away the seawater, Matthew walked forward with the rifle dug in his injured shoulder and aimed high. His left leg ached at the ankle, burning like fire with every step. The right was no better, having to compensate for the injury all night that strained the muscles, yet Matthew limped forward.

Through the mist, further down the gangway, Matthew saw the one called Intruder soaked in his wetsuit as he struggled to push the dolly into a red and white lifeboat that lolled along the crashing waves. The boat was enclosed, resembling a long bullet and a fin that jutted from the top with large windows that looked out to the ocean. The plank to the boat was down, connected to the bank’s gangway by a rope. Yet, Intruder had trouble navigating the peaks and dips of the water as he pushed the dolly across the platform.

Looking to the right, Matthew saw Broden standing several feet away. The splashing of the ocean water fell on him like rain as he held the gun to Simon’s head, who shivered beneath his suit that was dark at the shoulder from water. It took a moment before the leader noticed his approach.

“Good to see you,” Broden said, his red hair dripping with ocean spray that made him lick his lips.

“You too,” Matthew replied and beckoned with one hand.

“Go,” Broden said, shoving Simon in the back.

Hands up and taking a step, Simon glanced over his shoulder, expecting to be shot in the back, but Broden had the gun down, holding it with both hands. He swallowed hard, picking up his pace so that his feet sloshed over the wet gangway. Reaching Matthew, Simon sighed, and allowed himself to smile.

“Thank you, young man,” Simon said, hugging Matthew before leaning back and continuing, “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for this. Well compensated. You can bet on that.”

“You’re welcome,” Matthew replied, before twisting at the hip. The butt of the rifle made a sickening thud as it cracked against Simon’s chin, sending him down to the gangway like a sack full of coins.

Seawater sprayed down, dripping off Matthew’s hair as he looked down at Simon’s unconscious form. “Am I economically viable now?” he said.

Cold, wet hands grabbed the sides of Matthew’s face and forced him to look up.

“Brother,” Broden said and pulled him in. Dropping the rifle that clattered against the stone, Matthew returned the hug, knees wavering. “Easy, easy,” Broden said, pushing Matthew back and looking him up and down, “shite man, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Matthew said, waving Broden’s hands off his shoulders.

“That was hairy,” Broden said. “All of our timing was off.”

“Yeah,” Matthew replied, “All went tits up when I fell.”

“Yo’ur leg okay? Saw you limping badly in the generator room. Took one h’ell of a lie to stop the boys from killing you the’re.”

“Sure, and that was smart. The Genny was harder to restart than I expected,” Matthew said, his leg still bent as he stood.

“Finlay was out for blood. I was worried he m’ight succeed,” Broden said.

“Yeah, but I got them all didn't I?” Matthew replied with a grin. “And I see you found the escape boat I marked for you. The last true failsafe for the rich of the Pelagos. Escape. Not so bad an outcome when you say it all out loud.”

“Aye, it was just where you said it was. It didn’t take Conner and Shaw long to find it. And yes, you did get them all. Never trust a thief, I say,” Broden said, mussing Matthew’s hair.

“Easy man, it hurts there too,” Matthew said with a laugh, then his face went cold, “You didn't have to kill Martin though. That wasn’t the plan. No innocents were supposed to die.”

Broden studied the night sky, and then said, “He moved.”

Matthew nodded, “Aye, that he did, but our future goals will be muddy because of it.”

Knee’s bending, Broden looked him in the eyes and asked, “Was the comm system set up?”

“Yes,” Matthew said with a nod, “had to do it with her watching, so it took longer than expected. The system was busted up pretty bad during the fight with Joshua, but the program I entered should have taken over once the emergency power kicked in.”

“You didn't verify?”

Matthew looked around at his various bleeding injuries, “I was sort of busy cleaning up brother but if it worked, the Mega's should be talking to Plutus and his friend Tykhe for hours. Plenty of time to get away.”

“Good job man, I knew you were perfect for this job,” Broden replied with a grin. “They said I needed a team, but I tol em we only needed one Matthew.”

“But you just had to send Joshua to the comm room, didn’t you?” Matthew asked with a sigh.

Broden flinched back, “You said you could ta’ke him killer.”

“Aye, good test against a former amateur champ,” Matthew said, rubbing his jaw, and the two shared a laugh. “Nearly derailed the entire job that one. And he killed poor Roland before I could stop him, my timing was just off. I’d be dead too…if it wasn’t for her.”

“Who was that chippy?” Broden asked in a flat tone, and Matthew looked up into Broden’s eyes.

“Just a passenger,” Matthew replied.

Broden shoulders straightened, “You didn’t kill her then?”

“I needed her help,” Matthew answered, glancing at his ankle, “we wouldn’t be here without her.”

“That’s not what I asked. Where is she now?”

Matthew stood up as straight as he could. “Safe,” he replied.

“You know the praeterminds are going to rip her mind to shreds for clues. She saw the whole thing. They’ll get both of our faces and put pieces together,” Broden replied.

“I’m willing to take my chances,” Matthew said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Waves crashed against the side of the bank as the two stared at each other until Broden broke into laughter, “I’ve seen that look in you ey’es before, so I know there is no use arguing with you now. C’mon, Intruder can’t push tha thing on his own.”

Matthew limped behind Broden, glancing back at the bank entrance that spilled pale yellow light onto the gangway.

As Matthew reached the dolly, he shouted at Intruder over the breaking waves, “Which one is the bag with the jewels?”

Intruder pointed and Matthew unzipped the bag, digging out a small black box.

“Pen, paper,” Matthew said, motioning to Intruder who glanced at Broden before digging in his backpack to retrieve the items.

Taking the pen, Matthew quickly wrote on the paper as the mist began to soak the parchment. Limping off the platform, he walked several feet down the gangway and put the box down atop the paper, next to the bank exterior wall where erosive seawater found it hard to reach.

Broden waited by the entrance of the lifeboat that bobbed up and down from the waves, watching Matthew as he limped past him. As the platform door rose, he laughed, “You’re too soft for your own good, lad,” then he grabbed the back of Matthew’s neck and brought him in close, “I told you that you wouldn’t regret this job din’ I? And we’ll show those fat cats what fore once we get those hard drives to the right bidder. We’re about to rock the world.”

“Rock the world?” Matthew replied with a wan grin. “I’ll feel better when I’m sitting on a beach, earning fifty percent with my lil girl.”

“Die hard? Really?” Broden’s head went back as he bellowed a laugh, “You're such a nerd, brother.”

Inside the lifeboat, Intruder used a finger to wipe his sodden glasses and asked, “fifty percent? What about me?”

Matthew and Broden stared at him as the door closed behind them with a thunk. The propellers began to whirl on the lifeboat, churning the ocean as it moved slowly away from the boat with subdued chugs.

From the light of the bank a frail shadow dipped its head out and watched as the candy-striped lifeboat became a dot along the horizon. It slinked out along the gangway, staying close to the bank wall until it reached a small black box half illuminated by the moon.

Bending over, Meagan picked up the object, glancing at the lifeboat before opening it. Inside was a ring shining with exquisite diamonds along the band and a large square clear stone in the middle that gleamed in the starlight.

“Wow,” she whispered, then look at the paper.

Scrawled in fading black ink were the words, “May all your dreams come true.”

Several more shadows made their way from the rotunda as more guests began to awaken from their tranquilizers. Meagan held the cross around her neck with one hand that had crumpled the note as she watched the lifeboat disappear into the mist beyond. A wave broke against the bank wall, raining down into her hair that mingled with tears in her eyes.

“So long, tyro,” she said. “Thank you.”