It was dark in the hallways of the high school. Only a few lights still remained on.
Nothing could be heard except the footsteps of three silhouettes, each wearing a trench coat, a white mask, and a big black hat to cover the top of their heads.
They each walked slowly yet casually to the science room as if it weren't unusual to just stop by at 2:00 in the morning.
Sitting at the science room was none other than Mr. Phillips and his terrified face.
As he stood up quickly out of habit one of the three said:
"Sit."
He did out of horror.
"Good boy," one of them smirked.
"Now," one continued on, locking the door as the other two paced around him, like sharks about to catch their prey, "lets have a chat shall we."
"Whatever you want. I don't have. I'm just a teacher I-"
"A teacher who makes drugs?!"
He looked down embarrassed.
"I don't have enough money to pay the rent so I-"
"Look we don't care," one said aggravated.
"We just want to make a deal with you."
"I don't make deals. I make drugs," he said suddenly gaining strength, "If you want to make a deal ask that random host on TV."
One suddenly pounced on him putting a butter knife to his neck, a blonde strand went loosely down her mask.
"LISTEN HERE AND LISTEN REAL GOOD. I DON'T HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR THIS. YOU EITHER GIVE US THE GUNS OR YOU GO TO JAIL. PICK. ONE."
The knife went deeper into his throat making Mr. Phillips sweat suddenly.
"I'll give you a card," he said defensively, "just give the card to the address on it to Juan and you'll get whatever you want. Trust me."
The blonde then turned their head close to Mr. Phillips' ear whispering, "if you mess this up for us, you're dead. Got it?"
He nodded quickly.
And soon it was dark once again.