Disclaimer: I own nothing of the dc universe.
Michael hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight before him. The address Victor had given him led to an old, dilapidated warehouse, its bricks stained with years of grime and neglect. The windows, or what was left of them, were dark and shattered, giving the building an eerie, hollow look. A cold wind blew, making the loose shutters bang against the walls, adding to the ominous atmosphere.
He swallowed hard, feeling a knot of unease in his stomach. The place looked abandoned, the kind of place where bad things happened and were forgotten. But as much as every instinct screamed at him to turn around and leave, he knew he couldn't. His options were limited, and this, as grim as it seemed, might be his only shot at a better life.
Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the worn-out collar of his jacket and began to approach the warehouse. With each step, the weight of desperation grew heavier, reminding him of the lack of better options in his life. He hoped that whatever awaited him inside would be worth the dread he felt now.
As he neared the entrance, Michael noticed a small group of four people gathered by a side door. They looked as worn and weary as he felt, their clothes tattered, and faces etched with lines of hardship. They were talking in hushed tones, occasionally casting nervous glances at the door. Michael realized they were all homeless, just like him, likely drawn here by the same promises and desperation.
He approached cautiously, and as he did, the conversations ceased. All eyes turned to him, sizing him up. There was a shared understanding in those gazes, a mutual recognition of the struggles they had all faced on the streets.
Before Michael could introduce himself, the side door creaked open, revealing a tall, burly man holding a semi-automatic weapon. The sight of the gun made Michael's heart race, but the man's demeanor was calm, almost business-like.
"Inside. Now," the man ordered; his voice gruff.
The group, including Michael, shuffled in obediently. The interior of the warehouse was dimly lit, the air thick with tension. At the far end stood Victor, looking as polished and out of place as ever amidst the grim surroundings.
"Welcome," Victor began, his voice dripping with faux warmth. "I'm glad to see so many eager faces tonight. You're all here because, like me, you believe in seizing opportunities. Tonight, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain."
Michael felt a chill run down his spine. Victor's words, though meant to be reassuring, only heightened his unease. He glanced around, noting the same apprehension mirrored in the faces of the others. They were all trapped in this web of desperation, and Victor was the spider at its center.
Victor's gaze swept over the gathered group, pausing momentarily on Michael. "Tonight's job," he began, pausing for effect, "is to rob a Star Labs transport truck."
Michael's heart skipped a beat. Star Labs? If he remembered the comics right the name was synonymous with cutting-edge technology and research. They were the leading innovators in the city, if not the world. Rumors of their advancements were the stuff of legends, and the idea of robbing them seemed ludicrous. What could they possibly have that Victor wanted so badly?
"For your efforts," Victor continued, a sly smile playing on his lips, "each of you will be rewarded with ten thousand dollars."
The room was filled with audible gasps. Michael's mind raced. Ten thousand dollars was more money than he had seen in years. The thought of what he could do with that kind of money was overwhelming. He imagined himself savoring a hot, hearty meal, the kind he hadn't tasted in ages. He could rent a small apartment, maybe even buy some new clothes. For the first time in a long time, he could have a roof over his head and not worry about where his next meal would come from.
But the risks... Robbing Star Labs was no small feat. Their security was rumored to be top-notch, and the consequences of getting caught were dire. Yet, the lure of the reward was powerful, and Michael found himself torn between fear and the tantalizing promise of a better life.
Victor seemed to sense the group's internal struggle. "Think of it," he coaxed, "a single night's work, and you could change your life forever. No more cold nights on the streets, no more hunger, no more desperation."
Michael's resolve wavered. The image of a warm bed and a full stomach was hard to resist. He glanced around the room, seeing the same hope and desperation reflected in the eyes of the others.
Michael's thoughts swirled in a tempest of fear and hope. The weight of his current situation pressed down on him, reminding him of the gnawing hunger in his belly and the biting cold of the streets. The promise of ten thousand dollars was a beacon of light in the darkness of his life, but the risks associated with the job loomed large in his mind.
He glanced around the dimly lit warehouse, taking in the faces of the other homeless men. They all looked as desperate and worn down as he felt. The realization hit him hard: if he refused, would Victor simply let him walk away? The armed man at the entrance and the cold, calculating look in Victor's eyes suggested otherwise. Michael felt trapped, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
His mind raced, searching for an alternative, a way out. But every scenario he played out in his head ended with him back on the streets, cold, hungry, and vulnerable. The allure of the money, the promise of a better life, was a siren song he found hard to resist. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he might not have a choice at all.
Taking a deep breath, Michael squared his shoulders and met Victor's gaze. "I'll do it," he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil inside him. "I'll take the job."
Victor's smile widened, a predator satisfied with his catch. "Good choice," he purred, his eyes never leaving Michael's. "You won't regret it."
But as Michael looked around the room, at the faces of the other men who had made the same choice, he couldn't help but wonder if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
The atmosphere in the warehouse grew tense as the other homeless individuals, two men and a woman, exchanged glances. The woman, with a tattered scarf wrapped around her neck, looked at the ground for a moment before nodding. "I'm in," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
One of the men, older with a grizzled beard and a scar running down his cheek, grunted in agreement. "Got nothin' to lose," he muttered, his eyes darting around the room.
The last man, younger with a nervous twitch in his eye, hesitated for a moment longer. He looked at Michael, then at the others, and finally nodded. "Alright," he said, his voice shaky. "I'm in too."
Victor clapped his hands together in delight. "Excellent! Now, let me introduce you to the man who will be leading this operation." He gestured to a side entrance, and a tall, muscular black man stepped forward. His presence was commanding, and his eyes scanned the group with a mixture of scrutiny and disdain.
"This is Markus," Victor announced. "He's one of my best, and he'll be running point on this job."
Markus stepped forward, his gaze never wavering from the group. "Listen up," he began, his voice deep and authoritative. "I don't know any of you, and frankly, I don't trust any of you. But Victor believes this can work, so here we are."
He led the group to a side room, where a table was set up with several handguns neatly arranged. The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of what they were about to do settling in.
Markus picked up one of the guns, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down. "These are for you," he said, gesturing to the table. "But know this: I don't trust any of you enough to give you loaded weapons. Not yet. So, for now, these guns are empty. Mine will be the only one loaded tonight. Yours are for show. If things go according to plan, you won't need them anyway."
The group exchanged another round of uneasy glances. The reality of the situation was becoming clearer, and the gravity of their decision weighed heavily on each of them.
One by one, the individuals approached the table, each selecting a handgun. The weight of the cold metal in their hands was a stark reminder of the path they were about to tread. The woman, her fingers trembling slightly, picked up a gun and held it close to her body, as if trying to hide it from view. The older man with the scar gripped his weapon with a sense of familiarity, while the younger man hesitated for a moment before finally taking one, his face pale.
Michael's turn came, and he slowly reached out to pick up one of the handguns. The sensation was foreign; he had only held a gun twice in his life, and both times had been under vastly different circumstances. The weight of it felt awkward in his hand, and he couldn't shake off the unease that settled in his stomach. He remembered only two times he'd held a gun before, one which his mother wanted him to know the weight of a gun and the other where he had visited a gun show with her to know about guns. He wasn't sure if he was even holding it right.
As he held the gun, Michael's mind raced. He imagined a standoff with Star Labs' security, men and women trained to handle situations like this. They would undoubtedly be armed, and the thought of a confrontation sent shivers down his spine. He hoped against hope that no one would get hurt, but deep down, he knew the odds weren't in their favor.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. By agreeing to this job, he was crossing a line, stepping into the realm of criminality. The thought weighed on him, but as he looked around the dimly lit room at the faces of his fellow homeless companions, he realized that sometimes, circumstances forced one's hand. He couldn't afford the luxury of morality or the comfort of staying on the right side of the law. Not when the alternative was going back to the cold, unforgiving streets with an empty stomach and no hope for a better tomorrow.
With a newfound determination, Michael tightened his grip on the gun. He was in this now, for better or worse. After everyone had got a weapon, they turned their collective attention to Markus.
The room was thick with tension, the only sound being the soft hum of a ceiling fan overhead. Michael's grip on the gun tightened, his palms sweaty. He tried to focus on Markus, who now stood at the front of the room, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the wall behind him.
"All right, listen up," Markus began, his deep voice commanding attention. "This job ain't gonna be easy, but if we stick to the plan, we'll get through it."
Michael's heart raced as he listened, trying to absorb every detail. He glanced at the others, noting the same look of intense concentration on their faces.
"We're targeting a Star Labs transport truck," Markus continued. "It's scheduled to make a delivery tonight, and our intel says it'll be carrying something valuable. That's where the box comes in."
Michael's eyebrows furrowed. Star Labs was a name he recognized. They were one of the leading research facilities in the country, known for their cutting-edge technology and innovations. The idea of robbing them seemed insane, and he couldn't help but wonder what was so important about this box.
Markus pulled out a map, laying it flat on the table. "The truck will be taking this route," he said, tracing a line with his finger. "We'll intercept it here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "a secluded area with minimal traffic."
He looked up, locking eyes with each of them in turn. "Two of you will be responsible for stopping the truck. Use whatever means necessary, but don't harm the driver or the passenger. We don't need any unnecessary attention."
Michael swallowed hard, realizing he'd be one of the two assigned to that task.
"Once the truck is stopped," Markus continued, "the other two will approach the driver and the front passenger. Keep them distracted, keep them calm. I'll handle the back, retrieve the box."
Michael's mind raced, trying to picture the scene. He imagined the darkness, the sound of the truck's engine, the weight of the gun in his hand.
Markus's voice brought him back to the present. "Remember, our goal is the box. Nothing else matters. Get in, get the box, get out. If everything goes according to plan, no one gets hurt. Once we get what we need we meet back here at the place," pointing to another spot on the map.
Michael nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. He thought of the money, the promise of a better life, the chance to escape his current circumstances. But he also thought of the risks, the danger, the moral dilemma he was facing.
As Markus wrapped up the briefing, Michael took a deep breath, steeling himself for the night ahead. He knew there was no turning back now.
o-o-o-o-o
The warehouse's large metal door creaked open, revealing the dimming evening sky. Markus led the group outside, where a nondescript black van was parked. Its windows were tinted, and it looked like any other van one might see on the streets, but Michael suspected it had been modified for jobs like this.
"Get in," Markus ordered, opening the van's sliding door. The interior was plain, with a few benches bolted to the floor. Michael hesitated for a moment, then climbed in, followed by the others. The door slid shut behind them, plunging the interior into semi-darkness.
The engine roared to life, and the van began to move. The ride was bumpy, and the lack of windows made it impossible to tell where they were going. The atmosphere inside was thick with tension, each person lost in their thoughts.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman, with auburn hair tied back in a messy bun, broke the silence. "I'm Lisa Lasalle," she said, her voice shaky. "Once this is over, I'm renting a motel room. I can't remember the last time I had a warm shower. I miss the feeling of hot water on my skin."
The younger man, probably in his early twenties with a scruffy beard and a faded baseball cap, smiled weakly. "I'm Daniel West," he replied. "First thing I'm doing is heading to this all-you-can-eat place I used to go to as a kid. I dream about their fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I'm gonna eat until I can't move."
The two of them laughed softly, the sound echoing in the confined space. Michael turned to look at the older man sitting across from him. He was in his thirties, with deep lines etched into his face and a salt-and-pepper beard. Their eyes met, and without a word, they shared a moment of understanding. Both had seen and experienced more than their fair share of hardships, and while the younger ones dreamed of simple pleasures, they knew that sometimes survival was the only goal.
The van continued its journey, the hum of the engine and the occasional chatter filling the silence. As they neared their destination, Michael felt a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. The reality of what they were about to do was sinking in, and he hoped they would all make it out unscathed.
Daniel, his curiosity piqued, turned to the older man. "What about you, sir? What's your name, and what will you do with your share?"
The older man hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to share his story. "Name's Martin. Martin Holt," he finally said, his voice gravelly from years of smoking. "And as for the money... Well, first things first, I'd get myself cleaned up, have a proper meal, maybe even a steak. But after that..." He trailed off, looking out into the distance, lost in thought.
The van's interior grew silent, the weight of Martin's words hanging in the air. Lisa nudged him gently, "After that...?"
Martin took a deep breath, "After that, I'd head to Bludhaven. My boy, my son, he's there. Been living with his mother's sister since... since things went south for me. I want to get him back, give him a proper home. He deserves better than what he's got now."
Michael's eyes softened, his respect for Martin growing. To think of one's child in such dire circumstances was a testament to the man's character. "That's honorable, Martin," Michael said, his voice sincere. "Your son's lucky to have a father who thinks of him, even in the toughest times."
Lisa nodded in agreement, "It's a noble cause, Martin. I hope you get to see your son soon."
Daniel chimed in, "Yeah, man. That's real love right there. We're with you on this."
Martin smiled, a rare sight that transformed his weathered face. "Thank you," he whispered, clearly touched. "Means a lot."
Martin, sensing Michael's introspection, nudged him gently. "What about you, Michael? What will you do with your share?"
Michael looked up, his eyes distant. "I'd get a place of my own. Maybe an apartment somewhere quiet," he began, his voice trailing off as he pondered the vastness of the possibilities.
The others waited patiently, sensing there was more to his story. Michael's gaze turned inward, his thoughts racing. He knew he'd need to find a job, something that would pay the bills and not pry too much into his background. But beyond that? He'd need a new identity, a fresh start. The weight of his knowledge about the DC Universe pressed heavily on him. Initially, he had considered revealing everything to the heroes, warning them of the threats they'd face. But he quickly realized they'd face those threats regardless and come out victorious. They were the heroes, after all.
He wasn't special. He didn't have superpowers or a destiny to fulfill. In this vast universe, where realities shifted and heroes took center stage, he was just a background character. A mere mortal in a world of gods and monsters. The dangers of this universe were all too real, and he had seen enough to know that ordinary people often bore the brunt of these cosmic battles. Their lives were rewritten, discarded, or forgotten. Michael shuddered at the thought. In this ever-changing reality, he could be wiped out, and no one would bat an eye.
But as these thoughts swirled in his mind, a spark of determination ignited within him. He wouldn't be a mere pawn in this grand game. He would find a way to protect himself, to gain power, to ensure his survival.
Drawing a deep breath, Michael's voice grew firm. "I'll find a way to survive," he declared, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "And not just survive but thrive. Whatever it takes."
The others nodded, perfectly understanding his mindset.
The van's engine hummed to a stop, and the dim light from a nearby streetlamp filtered through the windows. Markus shifted the vehicle into park and turned to face the group. "We're here," he announced, his voice low and commanding.
The atmosphere inside the van grew tense as everyone prepared themselves mentally for the task ahead. The door slid open, and the cool night air rushed in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city. One by one, they stepped out onto the asphalt of a dimly lit parking lot.
Markus quickly took charge, pointing to Daniel and Lisa. "You two, your job is to stop the truck. Make sure it doesn't get past this point." He then turned his gaze to Martin and Michael. "You both handle the driver and the front passenger. Remember, we need them out of the picture, but no fatalities. We're here for the cargo, not to make headlines."
He paused, letting his words sink in, then added with a stern look, "If this job isn't completed, none of you get paid. And trust me, you don't want to find out what happens if you try to double-cross me."
The group exchanged glances, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. They took their positions, with Daniel and Lisa hiding behind a nearby dumpster, ready to spring into action. Martin and Michael positioned themselves on either side of the road, using the shadows to their advantage.
Markus took a moment to survey the scene, ensuring everyone was in place. He then retreated to a vantage point where he could oversee the operation. The minutes ticked by, each one stretching out as the group waited in anticipation. Their ears strained for the sound of the approaching truck, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Finally, Markus raised his hand, signaling that the truck was nearing. Everyone tensed, ready to spring into action on his command. The night was about to take a dramatic turn.
The rumble of the truck's engine grew louder, echoing through the empty streets and reverberating in Michael's chest. The headlights pierced the darkness, casting long shadows that danced and flickered on the road. Michael's heart raced, and his palms grew sweaty around the grip of the unloaded gun. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, the gravity of what they were about to do.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, a mantra from his childhood: "Panic is the enemy of rational thought." Over and over, he repeated the phrase to himself, trying to find solace in its wisdom. He had faced challenges before, moments of uncertainty and fear, but this was different. This was a deliberate step into the world of crime, a choice that could change the trajectory of his life forever.
As the truck neared, Daniel and Lisa sprang into action. They darted out from behind the dumpster, their movements swift and coordinated. Lisa waved her arms frantically, signaling for the truck to stop, while Danny positioned himself directly in its path, his unloaded gun raised threateningly.
Michael took a deep breath, pushing down the rising tide of panic. He reminded himself of the stakes, of the desperate need for money, and the promise of a better life. He couldn't afford to let fear take over now. With a determined look, he stepped out of the shadows, ready to play his part.
The truck screeched to a halt, the driver's eyes wide with surprise and fear. Michael approached the driver's side, trying to project an air of confidence, even as his mind raced. He knew he had to stay focused, to stay in control. Panic was the enemy, and he couldn't let it win.
The metallic thud of Michael's fist against the truck door echoed in the still night. The driver's eyes darted to the side mirror, meeting Michael's steely gaze. Michael, trying to muster every ounce of intimidation he could, pressed the barrel of the gun against the glass, right at the driver's eye level. The cold steel seemed to magnify the threat, making the driver's eyes widen in pure terror.
"Open the door," Michael growled, his voice low and threatening.
The driver hesitated, his hands trembling slightly. He glanced at his partner, then back at Michael, clearly torn. Michael's patience was wearing thin. "Is this job worth your life?" he snapped, his voice rising with every word. "Is whatever they're paying you worth dying for? We just want what's in the back. That's it."
The driver swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. But still, he didn't move.
Michael's heart raced, and he could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "OPEN THE DOOR!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings.
The driver flinched, finally reaching down and pulling the door handle. As the door swung open, the passenger, a burly man with a shaved head, shouted, "What the hell are you doing, man?!"
Before he could react further, the passenger door was yanked open, revealing Martin, his face set in a grim expression. The cold barrel of Martin's gun pressed against the passenger's temple, silencing any further protests.
"Stay quiet, and you'll walk away from this," Martin warned, his voice cold and unyielding. The passenger nodded, his anger replaced by fear, as the reality of the situation sunk in.
It was a few seconds before Michael saw Markus approach them from the corner of his eye.
The boss of the job, with a satisfied smirk, approached the scene, taking in the tableau before him. "Well done," he praised, nodding approvingly at Michael and Martin. Lisa and Daniel, having successfully stopped the truck, now joined Michael, their faces flushed with adrenaline.
"Daniel, Lisa, with me," Markus ordered, gesturing towards the back of the truck. The two nodded, following him without a word. As they disappeared around the corner, the hum of the truck's engine and the distant sounds of the city were the only noises that filled the tense silence.
Michael kept his gun trained on the driver, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The driver, a middle-aged man with graying hair, met Michael's gaze with a mix of fear and resignation. The silence between them was palpable, broken only by the muffled sounds of Markus and the others rummaging through the back of the truck.
Feeling the need to say something, anything, Michael finally broke the silence. "Look, I'm sorry about all this," he began, his voice shaky. "I didn't have a choice. Everyone's got to eat, right?"
The driver simply nodded, his eyes never leaving Michael's. "Okay," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
Michael shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the driver's gaze. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to explain himself, but the driver's simple response felt like a judgment. It was as if the man was silently questioning Michael's choices, his morality.
From the other side of the truck, a snort of derision broke the silence. The passenger, a younger man with blond hair and a chiseled jaw, rolled his eyes. "Spare us the sob story," he muttered under his breath.
Michael's frown deepened, but before he could respond, Martin interjected, his voice dripping with disdain. "Save your high-mindedness," he snapped at the passenger. "It's easy to sit on your high horse and judge when you've never been hungry, never been desperate."
The passenger's blue eyes flashed with anger, but he bit back any retort, choosing instead to remain silent. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed as if the situation might escalate. But then, the sounds from the back of the truck ceased, signaling that Markus and the others had found what they were looking for.
The three from the back approached Michael, the black cube in Markus' hand catching the dim light. It was unremarkable, just a simple, dark object. But to Michael, it represented a way out of his current situation, a means to an end. He tried to focus on that, pushing away the guilt and fear that threatened to overwhelm him.
Markus, ever the leader, took charge of the situation. "We're leaving," he declared, his voice cold and authoritative. He gestured for Martin to bring the younger guard over, and without a word, Martin complied. Lisa and Daniel, sensing that their part was done, headed towards the van, their steps quick and purposeful.
The two guards, now standing side by side, looked up at Markus with a mix of fear and defiance. Markus met their gaze, his eyes cold and calculating. "You did well today," he began, his voice dripping with condescension. "You were outmatched, and you knew it. You didn't try to play hero, and for that, I commend you."
The older guard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. Markus continued, "I understand that you'll be questioned. By your bosses, by the police. And I get it, the urge to tell the truth, to identify us. But let me ask you something." He paused, fixing the older guard with a piercing stare. "Do you have a family?"
The guard hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."
"Do you love them?" Markus pressed.
"With all my heart," the guard replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Markus smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Then think of them. Because if you identify us, and we'll know if you do, we might have to pay them a visit. And trust me, you won't like what happens next."
The threat hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. The older guard's face paled, his eyes widening in fear. "I never saw your faces," he stammered, his voice shaking.
The younger guard, his face ashen, simply nodded in agreement.
Michael watched the exchange, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He had known that this job would be dangerous, that there would be risks. But he hadn't expected this, the cold, calculated cruelty of Markus' threats. He felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had made the right choice in joining this operation. But there was no turning back now. All he could do was hope that the night would end without further incident.
Just as Markus was about to usher Michael back to the van, the distant hum of an engine grew louder. The dim glow of headlights pierced the darkness, casting a pale light on the street. A police car slowly rounded the corner, its presence immediately altering the atmosphere. The once tense but controlled situation now teetered on the edge of chaos.
Markus acted quickly, turning to michael "Hide yours now."
Michael lifted his shirt and stuffed his gun in his pants, the handle of the gun resting outside his pants.
Markus then turned to the guards. "Play along or your both dead men." He didn't wait for the guard's response before turning to the approaching police vehicle.
The atmosphere grew tense in an instant. The once quiet street was now filled with the sound of footsteps and the metallic click of safety catches being released. The bright beam of the police car's headlights illuminated the scene, casting long shadows on the pavement.
Markus, ever the picture of calm, didn't flinch. But Michael could see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes. The guards, already on edge from the earlier confrontation, looked like they were about to bolt.
Markus's eyes darted to the guards, his voice low and threatening. "Stay quiet and play along if you value your lives," he hissed. The guards, already shaken by the earlier threats, nodded almost imperceptibly, their faces pale.
The police car came to a halt, its headlights illuminating the scene. The engine idled for a moment before shutting off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Both doors opened almost simultaneously, and two officers stepped out. The first, a tall, well-built man with a stern expression, surveyed the scene with a keen eye. Beside him, a slightly shorter officer with a sharp jawline and a no-nonsense demeanor followed suit.
"Evening," the taller officer began, his voice authoritative. "Mind telling us what's going on here?"
Markus, ever the picture of calm, stepped forward, positioning himself between the officers and the guards. "These gentlemen," he gestured to the guards, "got a bit lost and pulled over to ask for directions. I was just helping out."
The second officer's gaze shifted to Michael, taking in his disheveled appearance. "And him?" he inquired, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
Markus chuckled lightly, "Oh, that's just Johnny, a friend of mine. Had a bit too much to drink tonight. I'm making sure he gets home without causing any trouble."
Michael, catching on to Markus's ruse, tried to sway slightly on his feet, doing his best to mimic a drunken demeanor. He mumbled something incoherent, hoping it would sell the act.
The taller officer raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced. "Seems like a strange place to stop and ask for directions," he remarked, his gaze lingering on the truck.
The younger guard, sensing the officer's suspicion, quickly chimed in, "We were making a late-night delivery and took a wrong turn. Got a bit turned around, is all."
The shorter officer's eyes narrowed, "Late-night delivery? For whom?"
The older guard hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Star Labs. We're transporting some equipment for them."
The taller officer's gaze shifted to the back of the truck, "Mind if we take a look?"
Markus stepped in, his voice smooth and persuasive, "Officers, these men have had a long night, and I'm sure they'd appreciate getting back on their way. There's no need to delay them further."
The shorter officer seemed about to protest, but the taller one placed a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to hold back. "Alright," he said, his tone still wary, "but I suggest you all clear out of here. This isn't the best neighborhood to be hanging around in, especially at this hour."
Markus nodded, "Of course, officer. We appreciate your understanding."
The two officers returned to their vehicle, casting one last suspicious glance at the group before driving off. The tension in the air was palpable, and it took a moment for everyone to process what had just happened.
Markus let out a sigh of relief, "That was close. Let's get out of here before our luck runs out."
Markus then turned to the guards, his voice firm but not overtly threatening. "You two can go on now. And remember what I said."
The guards nodded, their faces still pale, and quickly climbed into their truck. The engine roared to life, and they sped away, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the scene as possible.
Markus and Michael quickly made their way back to the van, eager to put distance between themselves and the scene. As they drove away, Michael couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and guilt.
The weight of the night's events pressed down on him, and he found himself questioning his choices. Had he made the right decision in joining this operation? Or had he just dug himself into a deeper hole?
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