Wednesday, 7:00 PM
Southside Metropolitan Area, Business and Commerce District
Parnell-Underwood Banking/Exchange Services Building
As the sun began its slow descent below the horizon, it looked as if it would be a regular evening in the city's most commercially successful hub.
The scene was pedestrian as the hour turned. A thin crowd made their way into and out of the bank's doors, business as usual. Nothing exceptionally atypical ever really happened at the bank to begin with, and considering the rather average population density of the city, it was never truly considered feasible for a large-scale incident to occur, barring catastrophe.
The place was pretty nice, too. A modern, yet equally professional feel, up-to-code technology and infrastructure, and a color scheme that was easy on the eyes. You could see your own face on the floor if you looked hard enough. The place even smelt like the epitome of cleanliness—a necessary point of emphasis after a rather concerning incident involving weeks-old ballpark hot dogs and a mega-horde of sewer rats a few years back. That was neither here nor there, however.
Documented infestations aside, the Parnell-Underwood Banking and Exchange Services building (known affectionately throughout the city as PUBES) was just what it advertised itself to be—an everyday building, for the everyday citizen (trademark pending). With nary a single failure in its irrelevant number of years of existence, the esteemed building had developed a strong support base from its consultants, financial backers, and everything else in between. Business was good when your demographic consisted entirely of hard-working, honest citizens.
Well, almost entirely.
Standing a ways from the entrance, an older man in a rather ominous and sizable trench coat looked around quietly, taking in the sights of the rather unspectacular lobby. The night was still young, but the barebones crowd already looked to be dying down slowly, leaving to return to their homes, families, pets, or whatever things people these days fawned over. The man scoffed in disgust. Such a meaningless, monotonous lifestyle was sickening.
Shaking his head, the man whipped out an aged flip-phone, quickly punched in a few numbers, and let the ring commence, before a voice picked up on the other end. "How's everything going so far?" The voice asked.
"Exactly as planned," The man replied softly, making an effort not to draw any attention upon himself. There wasn't any telling as to who could be listening to him, even now. "Had a bit of a close call at the entrance, but I managed to get through without any major issues. I'm in the lobby right now."
"Excellent," The voice drawled, apparently pleased. "What's the head count?"
Another quick glance across the room. "Just one receptionist, and a few civilians. I don't see any security. Gotta say, in hindsight, the decision to do this at night is looking pretty good right now."
"Of course," The gruff voice across the line said, an ounce of pride noticeable. "You and I both know how difficult it is normally to bypass PUBES' defensive countermeasures. Limiting the number of witnesses in the crossfire is paramount to our success."
Nodding, the man in the trench coat glanced at one of the many reception desks. "Has the payload arrived?"
"Our inside guy confirmed its arrival a little more than an hour ago. We don't know how much is in there, but judging by the size of the vault, it looks to be more than plenty. All that's left is for you to take it."
Another nod. Everything seemed to be sailing smoothly so far. The man's associates had accomplished what they needed to do—all that was left was for him to make good on his end.
Still, it was a little odd. Everything seemed to be going surprisingly well—almost too well. He wasn't very superstitious, but heists like these didn't go this well in simulations, much less the real deal. He'd take what he could get, obviously, but he knew that at some point, somewhere, this plan could very well turn south. Not that he wasn't prepared for such a scenario.
For now, though, he had a job to do, superstitions or not. He very well couldn't let this golden opportunity slip through his dastardly hands, now could he?
"Alright, I'm moving. Shouldn't take me more than ten to fifteen minutes."
"Very well. Your transport will be waiting for you at the rendezvous point, and we'll escort you back to the hideout from there. Anything else you feel needs reporting?"
Another shake of the head. "No. I'll get back to you later."
"Understood. Good luck, and happy hunting." The voice hung up, leaving the man to his own devices. Showtime.
Making himself as inconspicuous as he could manage, the man strolled to the one manned receptionist desk, keeping his eyes low. Secrecy and remaining calm were crucial in this operation, and even considering the risks this mission posed, the man was rather confident in his skills as an experienced small-time thief.
Yes, he was more than prepared. While not overly flashy, the man more often than not used that to his advantage. He prided himself on his ability to blend into the crowd seamlessly, in tandem with his knack for being able to hide in plain sight. This defining trait had earned him the nickname of "The Modern-Day Ninja" amongst his peers, a title that didn't come all that easily for most. Such was the level of his prowess and determination as a hardened, veteran small-time bank robber.
Not even something as above-average as PUBES would get in his way of success. He would make sure of that.
Nearing the desk, he gave the receptionist, a young man in his early-twenties, a cool look. "Hello there. I'd like to dispute a transa—"
Rather unceremoniously, the man tripped on one of his many overly long threads attached to his trench coat, falling flat on his face in front of the receptionist, who wore a bewildered look while trying (and nearly failing) not to laugh. Nearly the entire lobby had their eyes on him now for what felt like an eternity, before the man quickly picked himself back up, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened.
"... Welcome sir," The receptionist spoke slowly, making sure the snicker he was trying to hold back would actually stay back. "How can I help you this evening?" The man before him wore an expressionless face as he looked at him with empty eyes.
"... I'd like to dispute a transaction."
"Of course!" The receptionist replied, maybe a bit too cheerfully in an attempt to mask his pending laugh. "Let me go and get your transaction log, then we can get started." Just before he left, he leaned in close. "Hey man, don't worry about it. I once tripped and threw up on my date at prom a few years back. Chunks everywhere, shit all on her dress, absolutely vile. Happens to the best of us. The embarrassment leaves... eventually."
The man said nothing as the receptionist walked away. Basking in his own humility, he overheard some of the comments from the few bystanders in the lobby. "Mommy, that funny-looking man fell on the floor!"
"Honey, hush! It's rude to speak about people like that!"
The man almost lost it then and there, but he was thankfully able to maintain his trademark calmness. 'Deep breaths, big guy. In, out, repeat. You're a trained small-time thief! You're not gonna let some snot-nosed brat get you all riled up and potentially jeopardize the—'
"Mommy, why is that man wearing tentacles?"
"That's called a trench coat, dear. Those are just straps."
"No mommy, the funny man is wearing tentacles! He looks like one of those things I saw in those videos I saw big brother watching! The one with the naked little girls! Do you think he likes naked little girls?"
From inside the booth, he heard the receptionist try to contain a loud, spitting noise. "... Pfft!"
Okay, that was it. Whipping out his concealed pistol, the man shot a few loud rounds in the lobby, before taking aim inside the booth. "Money. All of it. In a bag. Now."
Seeing the man draw and fire his weapon, the remaining citizens, realizing the immediate danger they were in, fled from the scene as quickly as possible, with no shortage of screaming and crying. The man was tempted to send a few rounds at the kid for his comments, but figured he'd let him off this one time. He'd settle for psychologically scarring the runt.
"Dude, what the hell?" The receptionist fearfully proclaimed, hands now raised up in defense. "It wasn't funny! I wasn't laughing at you, I swear!"
"This isn't about that!" The man yelled angrily. "Give me that money in the vault now, or that'll be the last thing you laugh at ever."
"C'mon, man! I even told you about my prom story! I haven't told anyone outside of my parents that story! I thought we had a good thing going—"
A bullet whizzed by his face, paralyzing him in fear. The robber's face was stone cold with killing intent, and he glared right into the young receptionist.
"Money. Bag. Now."
That did the trick, as the poor man scrambled back into the vault area, and began shoveling stacks of cash into small, conveniently-placed plastic bags.
The man checked his wristwatch, seeing the time read only ten after. Though he'd never show it, he was pretty embarrassed that some random toddler had forced him to lose his cool like that. In his haste, someone had probably already called the cops, if they weren't already on their way. That probably gave him less than five minutes to make off with the cash and get to the rendezvous point in time—not as much time as he originally had planned for, but still enough. He'd have to be on his way back to the hideout by 7:25 at the latest. Time was of the essence.
Thankfully, the receptionist seemed fully compliant, and handed him more than a few plastic bags stuffed with currency. "T-This is everything we have! Please don't shoot me!"
The man took one of the bags, examining it closely. Ah, that was what he liked to see. A full bag of cash, filled to the brim, containing a healthy amount that would last. It warmed his frozen heart to see his treasure trove in his hands, nearly bursting with the abundant stacks of—wait.
Taking a second look, the man quickly opened the top of the bag, sifting through the numerous stacks inside, before doing the same to the next bag, and the one after that. His heart sank further as his suspicions were only confirmed to be true by his repeated searches. Slightly confused, the receptionist gave him an odd look, before the thief turned his gun on him again, eyes burning with rage. "What the hell is this?!"
"W-What is what?"
"This!" The man gestured to the bags. "It's nothing but fives and ones in here! Fuckin' chump change! Do you think I'm some kind of idiot?!"
"I told you man, that's all we have!" The young man pleaded.
"You're a well-established bank in the heart of a thriving economic region, and all you carry are fives and ones?!"
"Everyone makes the big transactions online these days!" The receptionist nearly cried, with the gun pointed at his forehead. "It's simpler, requires little effort, and there's no withdrawal fee! And if you're a PUBES Premium Rewards member, you can get rewards based on how much you deposit into our system! And if you're a PUBES Premium Plus Rewards member, you earn opportunities to raise your—"
"I don't give a rat's ass about PUBES benefits!" The armed assailant yelled frantically. He could practically feel the cop cars weaving through the streets. He'd have to end this quickly. "If you don't give me the most valuable thing this fucking place has right now, I'm blowing your god damn head off!"
"B-But we don't—"
"Five seconds, or there'll be a bullet where your eye used to be!"
"P-Please, you gotta understand—"
"Five!"
"H-Here!" Seeing there was no way out of this, the receptionist practically slammed the first thing that popped into mind into the robber's arms— a shiny silver necklace, with a platinum rose embedded within the lining. "T-This is my dad's pendant! It's the most valuable thing I own! Just take it and go, please!"
Debating whether or not to kill the man then and there for giving him something as ridiculous as a flimsy (and rather feminine looking) necklace, he ultimately decided to indeed take it and go. He could hear the sirens wailing from down the street. He'd already overstayed his welcome, and if he tried to force out more, the only thing he'd be leaving with would be a felony charge and life in prison. Sighing, he turned to leave.
"Thanks, kid," The man spoke, suddenly calm, gathering his loot and heading for the door. "You've been a big help. As a token of my appreciation..." The thief turned around, and popped a shot into the young man's shoulder, eliciting a yelp of intense pain from the receptionist as he writhed on the floor. It wouldn't be enough to kill him (probably), but it would be enough to keep him from blabbing to the police as soon as they arrived. Bypassing the security measures and ignoring the subsequent alarms, the man burst out into the open sidewalk and made off in the direction of the pickup location, with not a moment to spare.
It hadn't been the loot he was hoping for, and the commotion he made through the streets as he fled was more obvious than he'd have liked—he specifically remembered a run-in with some kid who looked to be wearing the exact same outfit as him—but it would do in the end, he supposed. The rest of his posse would understand, and afterwards, they'd see if the receptionist's pendant and promises of its "value" were true. If not, consequences would follow, most certainly. But that was much, much later.
For now, he was focused on one thing, and that was getting to the pickup. After that, he was home free. Nothing could possibly go wrong—for him, or anyone else involved in this grand scheme.
Right?
Wednesday, 7:00 PM
Somewhere in the City Slums
Bounty Inspection, Tagging, and Control Headquarters; Monitoring Room
As the day drew to a close, it looked as if there wouldn't be any major bounty sightings within the city confines.
In an excessively dark room, a group of four men, each with their own computers, were seated comfortably within their own work spaces, some less focused on their work than others. Two were focused semi-intently on their screens. One was playing a game of solitaire by himself. Another was figuring out the best way to stack a pencil, eraser, and half-eaten sandwich on top of each other. If not for what their job entailed, one would have assumed this was nothing but a poor gathering of NEETs in someone's old basement.
The screens themselves didn't look too eventful, either. Simple live video footage of various scenes from around town lit up each respective computer. Highways, parks, lavatories (exclusively male, of course—they weren't that depraved), and a few alleyways were displayed in multiple feeds on each monitor. Since it was getting later into the night, the separate feeds looked still and boring, discounting a few cameras located within the "adult" venues downtown.
Even considering the large amount of (mostly illegal) access to the city, there wasn't a lot to do, and boredom was beginning to infect all personnel within the room, if it hadn't already. One particular man, a tad chubby with an overgrown neckbeard, made it verbal. "... anything up with y'all?"
Three resounding denials were the responses he received. In all honesty, he knew what the answer would be. Trying to start any conversation, regardless of how bland, would be better than trying to guess which person would enter the local brothel next for the sixth-hundredth time.
"Dude... this is dry, even for a Wednesday," another man, much smaller in stature with a pronounced Hispanic accent, spoke up. "Like, seriously. No one is doing anything. It's ridiculous, man!"
"Stop your complaining," The oldest of the four piped up, not denying their statements but at least acting like they had a job to do. "You know what will happen if we miss a potential bounty."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," The short one replied, sighing. "I just wished something interesting would happen in this god forsaken city. Everything juicy is done underground these days! No one wants to cause a scene!"
As soon as he finished speaking, however, the fourth member of their ragtag bunch, a scrawny young kid with glasses, drew the group's attention. "Seems that you're in luck, then, because the cams in the business district just picked something up."
Immediately, the other three crowded the fourth's monitor, anxious to see what the commotion was, regardless of how small it might have been. They were just in time to see a man in an obnoxiously large trench coat start popping shots into the ceiling of the PUBES building.
The fat one pumped a fist. "A bank robbery? Hell yeah! It's been months since we've seen one of those!"
"Yes, and it seems as though he might just pull it off, too," The older one remarked, taking note of just how quickly the assistant at the desk was forking him over cash. Though, he was also keen to notice what exactly was being placed into the aforementioned sacs. "Though, judging by what he's putting in those bags..."
"What a dumbass!" The short one cackled, caught up in the hysteria and rush of spectating actual criminal activity for the first time in what felt like years. "How the hell do you not notice that? A kid could see through that junk!"
"If we're going purely by what's in the bags, I'm afraid this bounty won't draw that high of a reward..." The bespectacled observer calculated aloud, placing a hand upon his chin. "If it's just fives and ones... we're probably looking at less than 15k."
"It looks like we're leaning towards less than," The fat one continued. "Because he stopped."
Four pairs of eyes returned to the screen to see that, sure enough, the man was engaged in another heated conversation with the receptionist. It appeared that he had realized that he was being duped, and was demanding higher compensation. That gun the man was waving around carelessly was probably a great source of persuasion. Every sign shown so far indicated that things were about to get much, much uglier.
"How much are human lives worth again?" The overweight member asked as the robber's grip on the gun's trigger grew increasingly tighter.
"5k by themselves, then added together with whatever assets and wealth the victim may have possessed," The oldest one answered calmly.
"Anyone down to wager how much reception-boy is worth? I'm leaning towards 7k." Seeing that no one expressed interest in his game, the short one frowned. "Man, you guys suck."
"Hold on a minute," The scrawny one recaptured his company's attention. "He's giving him something... a pendant."
The older one motioned to his compatriots beside him. "Freeze that frame. One of you scan that pendant. See how much it's worth." Tearing his eyes away from the screen somewhat reluctantly, the short one made to comply, matching the image of the pendant with any similar models and scanning for a price. After a few successive clicks, the dark web had pulled up any and all information concerning the man's identity, as well as the pendant's information.
"Jericho Dominguez," He read off in a monotonous tone, scrolling down the man's profile. "Just turned 22 last month. Graduated from Central University with a bachelors in Economics. No significant other, parents live across the country, average credit score, you get the idea. Pretty standard shit."
"We don't care about the dude's life story," The fat one scoffed. "Check his pendant, dumbass."
"You better shut your smart ass up before I do it for you, you obese shit."
This was getting ridiculous. "His pendant's value, please," The bespectacled one interjected rather forcefully. At this rate, the thief would be gone before they could even tag a bounty on him.
"Alright, alright, fine!" Sparing his partner of any further insults, his attention returned to the screen before him. "Okay, let's see... no similar models like it, but there is an information page. 'The Vacuous Eye of The Queen's Thrall'... dumb name. Our lucky number is..."
His jaw nearly dislocated itself after dropping so suddenly. Unnerved that the most hyperactive member of their group had gone silent for more than five seconds, the rest of the group made to see just what he was gawking at.
"Twenty... t-twenty-five..."
"You're losing your shit over twenty-five? What is it, like twenty-five hundred? I mean, its respectable for a necklace, but I don't see why you're—"
"No, you dumbass!" The short one yelled, snapping himself out of his temporary stupor. "Twenty-five million! Million!"
The room froze over almost instantaneously. All four of the men stood in shock, before slowly shuffling over to see if their compatriot had read the number wrong. Perhaps he was looking at a different pendant. Added one, two, or six extra zeroes. But the number read clear as day—twenty-five million big ones made up that pendant.
It was plainly obvious what they were dealing with, now that the numbers had come to light. This wasn't just another bank robbery, as far as standard protocol went— this was well on the way to becoming the heist of the century. Not even the robber himself knew of the treasure he had just made off with. This had the potential to completely shatter the black market, and send the entirety of the criminal world into chaos.
And as of now, they were the only ones who knew about it.
"I've got... so many questions..." The fat one looked out of breath just by looking at the staggering number before him. "What in god's name is a kid straight out of college doing with that valuable of a jewel?"
"That doesn't matter!" The short one cried, thinking ahead. "Think about what the market's gonna do once they find out there's a twenty-five million dollar bounty on the loose! Every damn kingpin, political faction, and criminal is gonna be after that pendant!"
The skinny one rubbed his glasses feverishly. "How is something that average-looking worth so much... there has to be something we're not seeing here..."
"Enough," The oldest one called, bringing order back into the room. It was highly apparent that he had been the only one to maintain his composure. "The status of the pendant isn't what's important right now. It's clear that this has the makings of a high-potential bounty. Regardless, we have a job to do. It's up to us to ensure that this information is shared with the black market swiftly and accurately."
He turned back towards the monitor. The criminal had just managed to flee the scene, and was currently high-tailing it through the busy side streets along the business district. "If the world goes into chaos over this chase, so be it. However, that doesn't concern us. We are simply the ones tasked with tagging the bounty. As such, we must do our jobs to the best of our respective capabilities to see that someone actually receives this bounty."
Though overly grandiose in a way, the man's words seem to procure the desired effect, as his three other coworkers snapped out of their respective thoughts. He was right. If they didn't do their jobs, then this mammoth bounty would go to waste, and that would reflect poorly on them, not just individually, but as a whole. That simply wouldn't do.
Besides, what was the world without a little calamity every now and then? Certainly not an entertaining one, that was for certain.
"We still have eyes on him," Adjusting his glasses, the scrawny one returned his focus onto the monitor displaying the cameras hidden within the streets of the downtown area. "Looks like he's making a break for the outskirts."
"He's probably got a rendezvous with some other folks who were in on this little scheme..." The fat one thought aloud. "I'll be sure to track them once we spot them."
"Where is he now?" The older one asked, peering over the smaller members to get a better view.
"He just rounded a corner. He's near a fast-food joint at an intersection."
The shorter one then made to comment. "Can we get a read on his face? I wanna know who our lucky little contestant is."
A series of squints drew a similar conclusion. "He's moving too quickly for our cameras to get any good image. We'll just have to go by his clothes."
"Shouldn't be too hard. I mean, who the hell else would be wearing a trench coat that obnoxiously long?"
As soon as he finished talking, however, the screens went dark. The room was pitch black. Every feed had been cut off from them in an instant.
"What the hell happened?" The fat one yelled, getting worried. They were gonna lose the guy!
The group looked around the room, confused. The scrawny one felt around for the monitors. "All the wires look to be in check. We just ran maintenance on the computers yesterday, so I doubt it's an internal problem. That could only mean..."
A loud series of yelling came from the room next to them, followed by a poor attempt at singing. The scrawny one glowered in that direction. "The signal's being interfered with."
Immediately, the short one jumped to his feet and slammed the door to the room open, before angling his head and yelling down the hallway, "Marcos! Get your fat ass out here, now!"
Though it took a few extended seconds, a noise was heard from the other end of the hall. From where the other three stood from inside the room, they could only assume it was their neighbor Marcos coming to greet their companion.
A shouting match began as soon as the short member caught sight of his neighbor. The two alternated jabs in Spanish, though the short one would occasionally alternate tongues.
"Ay! What the hell is wrong with you, jackass?" An indiscernible shout followed from down the hall. "I don't give a shit if Súarez got a hat trick, keep it down before I make you keep it down!" It was a few more minutes until the next English phrase was spoken. "I don't care if it's only every four years! If you don't shut up, you won't be alive for the next four minutes!"
More yelling commenced. Were the situation not as dire as it was, the group might have gotten a kick out of the rather expressive argument. Unfortunately, time was of the essence. Their cameras could only track the thief for so long before he escaped the city limits, where they wouldn't be able to put any eyes on him or his convoy.
Then, as quickly as they left, the feeds returned. The short one uttered an exhausted "Gracias," before plopping himself back down in his chair. His fellow bounty trackers gave him an approving nod, before returning their attention back to the cameras.
"Anyone got eyes on him?" A prolonged silence followed, before the short one answered. "Got him. He's trying to blend in at the intersection."
The feeds proved accurate. Their suspect was currently walking calmly—an odd contrast to the frantically brisk pace he was walking with earlier—across the sidewalk flanking the intersection, looking to be without a care in the world. The group silently admired the man's ability to effortlessly weave into the mass of the crowd undetected. It seemed like they really were dealing with a high-level criminal.
"Look at 'im. Walking around without a care in the world, thinking he's gotten away," the short one snickered viciously. "Little does he know that we're about to ruin his sorry excuse of a life."
"Something doesn't feel right, though," the bespectacled one commented quietly. "Why would he not try to get farther away from the scene? We were offline for a good few minutes, surely he would have the awareness and capability to flee the scene as quickly as he could."
The fat one took a closer look at the monitor. "Did he have those extra bags with him when he left?" A few unknowing nods were all he received as an answer.
"Maybe his rendezvous bailed on him?" The short one suggested. "Doesn't really matter. We've got eyes on him, that's all that matters."
"Indeed it is," the old one commented, satisfied with their work. It'd taken awhile, and it certainly wasn't their smoothest operation, but it seemed as though they were going to be able to call this case a resounding success.
"I'd say that we're ready to submit this one," the fat one said with relief. "These big cases are fun, but damn are they exhausting. I need some sleep."
The bespectacled member glanced up at his older partner, readying a profile for their newest (and thus far biggest) catch. "Anything else you wanna put on file before we let this out to the underworld?"
"Not particularly. Just follow standard procedure. Keep track of his movements, where he resides, similar information. We'll let whoever claims him and the pendant first do the rest," the old one finally took a seat. "Good work, gentlemen."
As the small team congratulated themselves on a job well done, a new report was uploaded onto the dark web, privy for any and all criminals to see. This newest bounty, slated at over twenty-five million dollars, would set the criminal market ablaze for the coming months, forcing the underground into a frenzy the likes of which had not seen in a very long time.
And the four bounty taggers, more certain of themselves then they had ever been, knew that there wasn't anything that could possibly go wrong.