Next Up

Track 20

"Ayo," Zheanni pointed an acrylic nailed finger to the long line of people, "Peep this. I think that's the bank hall."

Conor, her twenty-year-old brother, was born of a different mother. They looked related, but he resembled his mother more, tall and dark-skinned, while she resembled their father, Paul. As he casually scanned the surrounding area, responded, "Looks like it." His diamond teeth sparkled as he grinned, stepping through a crowd of people, dismissively shoving through.

"So we go on around the back, and-"

"Nah," Conor stopped her. "We goin' through the front right here."

"Bruh," Zheanni sighed contemptibly, "We literally just got here- hol' up," she looked to her right. Kholwa, a girl a few years younger and a head shorter, walked beside her. "What're you feelin'?"

"It doesn't really matter," she blew a strand of long, straight brown hair from in front of her face.

"She gets it," Conor chuckled. "Dad said I outrank you. Sorry," he gave Zheanni a sad, mocking look, holding up his right palm, revealing eight symbols tattooed across it.

"Bull-fuckin'-shit," Zheanni muttered under her breath. "Still not the highest rank."

"Higher than you. I'm the highest in the room," he said in a sing-song voice. "That's all that matters!"

The three pushed through the long line of the crowd. The people were silenced upon seeing the tall, inked, and bejeweled man; heavy gold and diamond chains hung off his neck, the pendants lightly clattering with every step. Behind him, the girl with black hair with red streaks, heavily tatted, thin but toned, long acrylic multi-colored nails that had gems glued to them. Both had 'KTA' indelibly drawn onto their faces; Zheanni's below her right eye, and Conor's was above his left eyebrow; over his right was 'XXX'. Kholwa followed close behind. The front of her hair was flat and straight, her bangs ending millimeters above her eyes; the back had long curls, almost like drills; unlike the others, her skin was spotless and pure. She wore no jewelry and no designer clothing, only a black and grey hanbok—a short silk jacket paired with a long dress. The embroidered designs of dragons raced along its long collar.

"All I'm saying is: Don't be hatin' 'cause I'm winning," Conor finished, swinging open the glass doors of the building and stepping through onto the carpet.

It was a tall, boring marble building. Its name, 'Bank,' was on the outside above the entrance in bold black letters jutting from the tan stone. Below that, twelve pillars stood tall at its front, each a different shade of marble—cracked and stained.

A guard wearing a camo ballistics vest and a black ski mask stepped toward him, a rifle slung across his chest. The man started yelling, still in a language none of them understood.

"Winning? Okay."

Zheanni smiled, "Kholwa, as the saying goes: God made man, but the Glock made everyone equal."

The guard's brain oozed from the empty socket where his eye was just moments before.

Zheanni then pointed her pistol at the black security camera overhead, destroying it with one shot, all before the guard had time to hit the ground. 'Shoulda shot that first.'

"Damn!" Conor yelled, pulling out a machine pistol and aiming it at the guards on the floor above. "What'chu do that for?" He screamed over the ensuing gunfire.

Several of the guards began to run, retreating deeper into the bank.

"Huh?" Zheanni asked slyly, "This was your idea."