Sam grinned at Zion as he slid gloves on, bouncing on his toes with excitement.
"Prepared to lose?" He taunted. She rolled her moss-colored eyes.
"In your dreams Braddock," she responded coolly.
Spike sat, observing them, finger poised over the start button on the timer.
"Ready?" He inquired.
"Yep."
Spike nodded, and slammed his finger down on the button.
Instantaneously, the pair began climbing. Grunting and swearing were the only sounds to be heard, as the two raced to the top.
She was ahead of him, only a few feet away from the top. In an effort to gain more distance hurriedly, Sam overextended his leg. A sharp pain shot through it, halting his progress momentarily.
Loudly, he cursed, before continuing up the wall, unwilling to allow Zion bragging rights.
In the end, she won, though Sam attempted to say he'd allowed her to win.
Minutes later, the familiar alarm sounded, echoing throughout the entire floor.
"Team One hot call! Two active shooters at Northwest Bank, located on Young Street," Winnie called out from behind her desk.
"Team One, gear up!" Ed commanded, exiting the briefing room.
Ten minutes later, three SUVs and a command truck were on the road, speeding towards the bank.
"What do we know about our subjects?" Greg inquired.
"We talked to some employees who escaped and they identified them as Marshall Jones and Trevor Givens. Both were tellers at the bank until last week, when they were let go under accusations of inappropriate conduct with customers and theft from the bank's vault," Spike spoke.
"Trevor has three kids, and Marshall's wife died last month. The insurance company still hasn't released the money from her life insurance policy, and Trevor Givens was forced to take out a second mortgage," Spike explained.
"So we have two subjects, both are highly emotional, and both are under great personal stress. Spike, does it say why the money hasn't been released yet?" Greg wanted to know.
Spike consulted the screen before shaking his head.
"No. It seems she died of a concussion. Marshall told the police she'd fallen and hit her head around noon. She went to sleep at eight and never woke up."
"Was he charged with anything?" Greg inquired.
Spike once again consulted his laptop before answering.
"Nope."
"Alright, I'm gonna attempt to make communication. Eddie, you got tactical?"
Ed nodded.
"Sam, you're gonna be Sierra One. The restaurant across the street has the best vantage point; go there. Jules, we need you in the truck. Zion you're gonna make entry with me," Ed laid out assignments. Each of the three nodded.
"Yes Sir," Sam and Zion responded in unison.
Ed observed Sam striding away, and noticed he had a bit of a limp. He considered this to be odd, and resolved to ask Zion if she knew anything about it.
Xxxxxx
Marshall Jones paced back and forth restlessly, gun swinging wildly.
The hostages all gazed at him fearfully, some with tear tracks on their pale faces.
"Look, just calm down," he instructed them. "The cops just gotta give us what we want and you'll be free to go."
Trevor stood near the front, foot tapping impatiently on the tiled floor.
Marshall reflected on the events that led him to his current predicament. Before, everything had been great. He'd had a good job, a beautiful wife, a nice home. In short, he'd had it all.
Then Andrea died, and he lost his job not a month later. The insurance company was dragging their feet when paying him the money from Andrea's policy, and he had no clue why. Life had become such a mess, and he was a desperate man.
Trevor had a different reason for doing this, and that was in the form of three squalling brats. Two daughters, named Evelyn and Judith, and a son, named Trevor Jr. They were sweet kids, but Marshall wasn't a huge fan of kids in general.
The room grew silent when the phone rang.
Xxxxx
Sam strode away hurriedly, towards the restaurant that Ed had mentioned. He limped slightly, due to the fact that his leg hurt like a son of a bitch. Secretly, he prayed the call would end quickly.
As silently as possible, which really wasn't all that silent, he jogged up the metal stairs. The thick boots he wore sounded against the metal, audibly announcing his steps to the world.
Using all his upper body strength, Sam pulled himself onto the roof once he reached the top of the stairs. His injured leg screamed at him for putting all his weight on it, but there wasn't another option. Once on the roof, his calf muscle spasmed, sending him tumbling to the ground.
"Shit!" He groaned, before shoving to his feet and jogging to the front of the rooftop, the side that looked into the bank.
"Sam, are you alright?" Ed inquired.
"Yeah, yeah. Just fine," Sam lied.
"Getting into position now," he reported, unpacking the rifle. In very little time, everything was set up. Sam knelt on the ground, and looked into the scope.
Xxxxxx
Zion furrowed her brow. Sam didn't sound alright. Normally he wasn't one to curse so violently, and he'd definitely been limping earlier. She sighed, and hoped he was as alright as he claimed.
Ed was procuring the bank blueprints from the city, leaving her to observe the filthy alley behind the bank. All sorts of trash littered it, everything from torn-up mattresses to outdated newspapers. At one end stood a man with brown hair, smoking a joint. A stiff breeze carried the scent down towards her, and she nearly choked on it.
Ed hustled towards her.
"Copy of the blueprints sent to your PDA," he explained. She nodded, and pulled out the device.
"Okay, there's an underground tunnel that leads us right into the bank. It was built as an alternate fire escape. The opening is right here," Ed pointed out, gesturing to a wide, covered hole in the dirty alley.
"Let's use it then," Zion said.
"Greg's told us to wait a few minutes, while he attempts negotiation," Ed explained.
"Sam, are you in position?" Zion spoke.
"Affirmative," Sam responded detachedly.
His military persona was out in full force, and she could feel herself reacting accordingly. Automatically, her spine straightened, and she linked her fingers behind her back. Her eyes began to roam their surroundings, searching for hostiles and insurgents.
Ed saw this, and wanted to groan. The team had worked so hard to get them to leave those military personas behind, for more than one reason.
One, both were more likely to hide injures, their only focus being on finishing the job successfully; as a consequence, their health suffered.
Second, Zion became hyper-alert, constantly searching for anything perceived as a threat, which made her jumpy.
Third, they both became detached, eyes hardened and faces blank. They wouldn't reveal their feelings, both only saying they were fine, no matter if it was true or not.
So yeah, to see them both slip back into that rigid, overtly-formal, military persona scared him a little bit.
Xxxx
Greg dialed the number of the bank and lifted the phone to his ear.
It rang a few times before someone picked up.
"Hello?" A deep, male voice answered.
"This is Sergeant Gregory Parker from the SRU. Whom am I speaking to?"
The man paused for a moment.
"You can call me Marty," the man responded.
"Alright Marty, well can you tell me how everyone's doing? Is anyone hurt?"
Marty seemed to consider this for a moment, before saying
"Everyone's fine. Can you please just go away?" He pleaded.
"Can't do that Marty. We're just trying to make sure that this gets resolved in a peaceful manner," Greg revealed.
"All we want is our jobs back. We don't wanna hurt anybody. The charges are completely bogus. We never stole, and we never harassed anyone either."
Greg sighed and nodded.
"Alright, we'll work on that but my bosses need a sign of good faith. How bout letting some of those hostages go?" Greg asked.
Marty contemplated this.
"We'll see," he muttered, and the line went dead.