The Final Heist

Chapter 1: Cold Feet

January, 6637

Saturday, 0600 Hours

My alarm woke me up that morning. I never woke up to an alarm. Regardless of how trite it sounds, I knew for sure that nothing about today would be trite.

My mundane apartment contained three different rooms: a combined kitchen and living room, a bedroom, and a small bathroom. The building didn't even supply a washer and dryer for each apartment; instead, there was a laundromat on the ground floor. As far as decorations were concerned, you could say I was a bit spartan. It almost looked as though I was moving out that day.

I tapped a small device called a "P.I.G" on my ear, powering it on. PIG stood for "personal information guide" and they were given to most verified citizens by the age of ten. They were bound around your earlobe and wired directly to your brain for an "effortless and straightforward response" as the advertisements used to say.

Personally, I thought both the name and design were tacky, being that the earpiece was pink and even had a curly tail. Because of this, I preferred a plain white model, so people could take me seriously.

When I tapped the PIG, a hologram display materialized in front of my eyes. It read out the news to me, which was nothing but a bunch of over-exaggerated titles bolded in flashy colors. I couldn't be bothered.

As I got up from my bed, I checked the time on my clock. 6:10. I wandered the short distance from my bed to my bathroom and inspected my tattered red hair in the mirror. My reflection showed me my dull green eyes as I washed my oily, pale face.

"Ugh," was all I had to say about my miserable appearance. After showering, I picked out my usual black tee and jeans. This wasn't much of a choice, however, since that was all I ever really wore. I pulled over a dark red hoodie and decided I was ready for the day, setting foot outside my apartment.

Every building on Earth tended to be at least ten stories tall in the second-rate year of 6637. Most often, if the building wasn't residential, it was corporate, towering over the apartment buildings. Even with the practical uses of the monstrous structures, they made me feel cramped and claustrophobic.

The whole reason there were so many residential buildings was obvious. Earth inhabited thirteen billion people, a milestone that had been reached just a few weeks ago. The people of Earth were able to control their population by relocating citizens off-planet. To most that would be a dream come true, however; I didn't mind living on our quaint little dirt-ball.

As the elevator doors opened, the ground floor of my apartment building met my eyes. Stepping out of the lift, I mimicked everyone else in the lobby by tapping my PIG and utilizing it's interface. Nonchalantly I opened the dialing system to call a friend of mine who was in on the underground mission I had woken up so early for.

"Hello? Jim?" I said, touching the earpiece to activate the mic. I headed out the door into a cool drizzle. The mist washed over the crowd of bodies that populated the streets and sidewalks, cramped together because of the lack of room. I barged between the herd of people and started walking toward my destination.

"Martin. I see you're finally awake. You're five minutes late." Jim said flatly. Jim had always been a stickler for schedules, which irritated me. You could say I'm a little more relaxed.

"We both know why I made you wake up so early on a Saturday, Martin. The Volantine Heist." Jim was straight to the point, no beating around the bush.

"About that..." I started.

"About what? You can't seriously be bailing on us right now, Marty. 'Cause you are not getting out of a deal like this that easy." His tone turned threatening.