It promised to be a cold night in the city of Boston, though for once, the frigid chill in the autumn air was the last thing of anyone's mind. People had been either nursing a growing knot of anxiety amongst themselves or itching with anticipation for the past week, and now that the day had come, the city was well and truly divided. Pious hands became steeples either between pews or in the safety of their own homes, while the blood thirsty sharpened blades and cleaned out rifle barrels. One hour to go.
For the MacManus brother's, top priority was not finding balaclavas or counting ammo, but rather putting Connor's plan B into action. After coming home from work to find a gang of anonymous men loitering along the street outside their apartment block, they'd been forced to head in the opposite direction, the time of day suddenly a heavy, ticking bomb on their minds.
"You're sure they'll let us in?"
"I'm sure."
"How fuckin' sure, Connor? We're cuttin' it real thin here-"
"Just shut it and hurry up"
Left and right, store shutters were being unravelled and civilians walked with their heads down, avoiding eye contact with one another but all with the same goal; to get home in one piece, despite what half of them were planning in precisely one hour.
"Let's just go back – we're runnin' outta time. If we go back now we can get our shit and figure somethin' else out"
"It's too late to go back, and besides, you saw who was waitin' for us. This is our best shot, alright?"
Clasping his brother's shoulder as they weaved their way between people, Connor gave him a look Murphy knew well. "Trust me."
He didn't say anything else after that, instead just kept pace with the other, eyes open to the preparations around them. Between buildings, guns and knives were being purchased with dirty money, children were practically being dragged between frantic parents as they hurried to the safety of their respective homes, despite this particular night putting everyone's survival down to a coin toss. Rounding a corner they knew well, a group of teenagers sat and stood, pacing the floor with music blaring from a boom box. Repetitive, electronic shit. Connor kept his eyes forward. Murphy didn't.
Some wore animal masks, modified with blood spatters and hollowed-out eyes for added effect, others had hoods drawn up over their heads, shielding their identity from view as they passed their weapons of choice from hand to hand. Only when one of them noticed they were being stared at did they do anything in return; a tall young man in a black mask pointed two fingers at the brother's like a gun, 'firing' two rounds at them as they passed by. Before Murphy could respond, Connor just tightened his grip on his arm, and pulled him along and out of sight.
Once the Cathedral loomed into view, until they reached the front doors, the boys felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
A sense that very quickly turned to dread once they'd tried opening the doors, and realized that either no one was home, or that the people inside had no intention of giving anyone else sanctuary.