II. The Heist

The Heist

    The banks of New York City had been plagued for months by the Phoenix Crew. Five ruthless bank robbers, who had hit every major bank in the city. They left hundreds dead in their wake. Men, women, children- anyone who tried to stop them. They shot hostages, killed police officers, and executed witnesses. The media reported on every hit they made, always wondering how they got away with it time after time. They liked to say that the crew kept rising again and again, just like their namesake. Every attack was calculated with precision, each hostage situation negotiated perfectly. Now there was just one more bank they needed to finish their mission. They had scored millions of dollars, and this one would put the pin in it.
    On a cold evening, an armored car rolled down the bustling street of New York City. It pulled into an alleyway behind a bank. Vents in the ground poured steam into the air as five men exited the bank. Each pushed a large wooden crate, labeled as packs of currency. The guards were told that there was an overstock on bills and they had to send some back to the head bank. They were also told to be on the lookout for any signs of the Phoenix Crew. A second armored car pulled into the alleyway.
    "Hey, check those crates," the driver said to his partner.
    He grunted and jammed a crowbar under the lid, prying the wood off with a sharp crack. Inside the crate was just a large stack of bills, nothing special.
    "Alright, now check those guys out. Five is an uneasy number nowadays."
    "I.D.s, gentlemen, one at a time," the guard said.
    Each worker produced his I.D. accordingly, and the guards checked them. Meanwhile, three more guards exited the second armored car.
    "You all check out. These will do nicely," one guard said as he twirled the card in his fingers. A look of confusion arose on the worker's faces. The other three guards pulled out silenced pistols from their holsters. They shot the workers in the back, who collapsed in a pool of blood.
    "Alright, let's clean up this mess. We haven't got all day," a guard said.
The bodies were pushed into a dumpster, and stripped of their uniforms. Each of the heisters had put on the worker's jumpsuits, and began to put ski masks on.
    "Remind me again why we have to wear these things?" one of the guards said.
    "Professionals have standards," replied another.
    "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy," said the man who had pulled a yellow ski mask over his face.
    "Always is. Still, I think we should'a hid in the boxes. Like we did at Prestige!" called the man with the green mask.
    "Oh shut up, both of you. Let's not screw up our last job in this town," barked Red.
    The crew split up: Black and White took the first truck; Yellow, Red, and Green took the second. Tires screeched as they pulled out of the alleyway and sped down the street. The sun had set, and the dark night was illuminated by the neon lights of the city. The armored cars rolled past skyscrapers, moving closer and closer to their target. The Empire State Building shone like a beacon in the distance.
    In the back of the car, the heisters prepared themselves for their last job. They slammed magazines into their weapons and sheathed knives under their clothes. Yellow slipped a grenade into his pocket, while Green grabbed canisters of tear gas. They opened the back doors of the cars while still in motion. The bright yellow lights of New York flew past the door, each building that shrunk into the distance was replaced by another. The cold night air flooded into the vehicles.
    "Two minutes, boys!" Black called from the driver's seat.
    The heisters in the back slid the priming handles of their weapons into place, hearing the soft clicks as a rounds were chambered. The adrenaline levels spiked as they flew down the street.
    "Let's rock and roll!" Red shouted as the car suddenly grinded to a halt.
The armored cars stopped in the garage outside the bank, near the back door. Red grabbed a shotgun and pumped the handle. Black pulled out his pistol and yanked the handle back. The crew jumped out of the cars and began to march towards the door. The bank employees in the garage were frightened for only a moment before being gunned down.
    A frail and old security guard scrambled for his radio before Black placed two clean shots into his chest. The guard was terrified, wheezing as he struggled to stay alive with crimson blood rolling down his shirt. Black strolled up to the mortally wounded man and placed the gun up to his head. Black had no concept of mercy- he killed for the fun of it.
    "Goodnight, old man."
The crew pushed their way into the building and ran down a hallway. Their shoes shined with blood, and their red footprints squeaked. Red kicked a door open and blasted away the startled security guard behind it. It was a beautiful feeling for Red. There was no where else he could get that high. Green pulled the pins from the tear gas canisters and lobbed then into the crowd of people waiting in line. They began to cough and choke as the gas spread amongst their innocent ranks. The sound was music to his ears. The crew ran through the clouds of vapor, inoculated from the effect after countless heists.
    "Come on guys! The vault is th-" Yellow shouted, before being cut off by the sharp report of rifle fire.
    His head snapped back as a round pierced his skull, eviscerating it. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor. The other robbers turned and saw flashing lights, blue and red, outside the bank. Through the front door moved a cluster of black-clad police officers, weapons drawn.
    "Christ! SWAT team! You guys keep moving! I'll cover you!" White yelled to his team.
    "Don't try to be a hero! We've already lost Yellow!" Red shouted back.
The heisters took cover behind desks, and began to return fire on the assaulters. Brass casings spilled onto the floor and mixed with blood.
    "We've got to keep moving! We can't stop now!" Green yelled.
    "Just go, you bloody fools!" White cried as he jumped from cover, spraying bullets at the police.
    The other three heisters leapt over the teller's counter, and began to sprint towards the vault. Behind them they could hear gunfire being exchanged between White and the police. Already the crew's plan was falling apart. This time the police were ready for them.
The remaining members reached the heavy, metal door protecting the vault. Black used the worker's I.D. cards to unlock the security system, and the massive door swung open. Inside was a bank robber's paradise. Racks and rows of cash, all neatly stacked on top of each other. Metal safes lined the walls, each begging to be lock-picked. There was even a locker filled with gold bars. Red shut the door behind them to delay the police. Green slammed his body against the wall, and tried to catch his breath.
    "You have got to be kidding me. This can't be happening," Green said with exasperation.
    "Of course we screw up our last heist. I knew it was a bad idea!" Black retorted, pacing in circles.
    "Shut up, the both of you. Someone must've tipped off the police, they breached right when we did. If White wasn't a fool and hadn't stayed behind, we might actually have had a chance," Red argued.
    "So what exactly do you suggest we do?" Black asked.
    "I say we grab as much cash as we can carry, bust outta here, and kill as many fools who stand in our way," Red declared, reloading his weapon.
    "Sounds fantastic, but I have no interest in dying today! Maybe we should just give ourselves up," Green protested.
    "And get the electric chair? I'd rather be gunned down by the cops," said Red.
    "Agreed. Professionals have standards, and giving up isn't one," Black chimed in.
    "Alright, alright! We'll go out with a bang. That's how White and Yellow went, anyways," Green finally agreed.
    "Alright you apes, get your bags and start grabbing the loot. I'll hold the door until we're full," Red said, leveling his shotgun at the vault door.
    Black and Green started moving through the vast swathes of money, eyeballing what they should take. Black found the hundred-dollar bill section, and tore open one of the packages. Inside was a massive stack of hundred-dollar bills, but Black noticed something very wrong with them. It wasn't Benjamin Franklin's face that was plastered on the bill. It was a frail, old man. Black paused and looked closer. He swore it looked just like the security guard at the garage. Then the face moved. His heart froze. It turned and looked at Black, and started wheezing. It was the same wheeze that the guard had made, he realized to his horror.
    Black stumbled back from the package and onto the floor. The wheezing got louder and louder, and soon it was all around him. He scrambled away, dragging himself across the floor. He tried to get up and run, but only met the concrete wall behind him. At the same moment, Green tore open a package of one-dollar bills. Instead of the security guard's face, it was a plethora of average-looking people, and Green didn't recognize a single one of the faces. But then they moved too, and looked at Green. They started moaning and screaming, choking and coughing. It was the same cacophony of pain that he heard emanating from the crowd of people he gassed. Swearing, he backhanded the stack of money away from him. He noticed Black on the floor, swiping at the air. He ran over to help him up, but the sound followed him. He turned and walked backwards, trying to find where the sound was coming from. But it was everywhere around him. He tripped over the writhing body of Black, and collapsed onto the ground. He clutched his ears in a vain attempt to block out the horrific noise.
    The wheezing chimed in with the choking and got louder. Red turned and saw his two partners looking around, panicking. Then he heard the noise too, and started towards the other two. Black managed to pull himself off of the ground, but tripped and fell into another shelf of money, spilling more onto the floor. These faces he recognized too. Hostages they had executed months ago stared him directly in the eye and screamed. Green used a shelf for leverage and stood up. Drawing his weapon, he started shooting at the money. The bullets kicked up the money like a green cloud. The screams only amplified, and now Green was blinded by the swirling maelstrom of cash. He dropped to his hands and knees, onto a scattered pile of money. He saw a dozen police officer's faces, the same ones he had seen lying on the pavement, dead. They were covered in blood, and some even had bullet holes in their foreheads. The faces started screaming and moaning.
    Red grabbed a fistful of money, and looked at the faces on it. He saw the five workers that they had killed only an hour ago. They started screaming too. Red threw down the money and stumbled towards the locker full of gold. He didn't hear the pistol go off over the sound of the screams and moans, and he didn't see Black drop to the floor. He didn't see Green clawing at his ears, which had started bleeding. His mind was a daze. Sweat poured under his scarlet mask. Money flew around the room, like gravity had no effect on it. The voices flew in and out of his head, each one worse than the last. He threw open the locker and grabbed a bar of gold in each hand. He tried to find his reflection in the metal, but what he saw was far worse. In his left hand, Yellow stared at him. In his right, White looked back. They started speaking nonsense, but their voices became clearer. They started accusing Red of letting them die. They yelled and moaned their eternal pain. The voices started ringing and echoing in the chaos of painful cries. Red threw the gold bars across the room, and they hit the floor with a resounding clatter. He turned and looked at Green, just as he shoved the barrel of his rifle into his mouth and watched him pulled the trigger. The screams kept going and going, and the retribution and justice kept coming and coming.
    When the police opened the vault five minutes later they found three bodies, blood sprayed across the walls, money scattered around the room, and two gold bars on the other end of the room. Further analysis of security camera footage showed what could only be described as the heisters suddenly losing their minds as soon as the vault door closed. The footage showed the heisters stumbling around, throwing money, shooting, bleeding profusely, and eventually commiting suicide one at a time. No explanation was ever found for the manic display of violence. There were no anomalies or strange pieces of evidence on the tape. No one knew what really took place inside the vault. All that was known was that the reign of the Phoenix Crew was over. It would not rise again.