Chapter 86: So Much for a Boring Monday (Patreon)

The front doors burst open under the force of a combat boot. Four men in black tactical gear and matching ski masks swept into the lobby with assault rifles raised.

“Everyone on the ground! Right fucking now!” The guy in the lead shouted in a menacing voice and started shooting at the ceiling.

Before the bank’s first guard could even clear his sidearm from its holster, the lead robber raised his rifle and put two controlled rounds straight into the center of the man's chest. The guard dropped hard, blood spreading fast across the white marble. The second guard was a fraction of a second slower reaching for his holster—a mistake that saved his life. Another robber closed the distance and slammed the butt of his rifle into the guard’s jaw, knocking him cold.

Screams tore through the lobby. Tellers dove under counters. Customers hit the floor. I hit the deck with the rest of the crowd, keeping my hands visible so no idiot got jumpy.

Great. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Old Man Kenji sends me on one quick errand, and somehow I get front-row tickets to a discount Heat remake. Unbelievable.

“Get on the fucking ground!” one robber screamed, shoving a man face-first into the tile.

“Down! Stay down!” another barked, forcing a crying woman flat with the barrel of his rifle.

They moved clean—corner sweeps, overlapping arcs, zero wasted motion. They weren’t amateurs.

The fourth robber climbed onto a counter and swept a predatory gaze across the lobby. “Listen carefully. Follow instructions, and everyone walks out alive.”

“Phones on the floor in front of you!” another robber ordered, sweeping his rifle methodically across the hostages. “Hands behind your heads!”

“Shut the fuck up!” a robber snapped at a woman crying in the corner, his voice cold and flat through the mask.

“Three minutes till the cops show!” one of the robbers acting as lookout shouted from the entrance.

The lead robber kicked open the low wooden swing gate behind the teller line, sending it crashing into the wall. “Manager! Out here! Now!”

A middle-aged man in a gray suit stepped from the back office, hands already up. The lead robber seized him by the collar, spun him around, and marched him toward the heavy steel vault door.

“Enter your code,” the robber demanded, pressing the rifle barrel against the manager’s temple.

The manager swallowed hard and shook his head. “I… I can’t. Dual-control protocol requires two authorized employees—”

The rifle butt smashed into his jaw with a sharp, wet crack. The manager sprawled sideways, blood and spit spattering the marble. He stayed down, breathing hard, eyes locked on the floor.

I watched the manager from where I lay among the hostages. Dude, it ain’t your money. Just give him the damned numbers.

The robber hauled the manager back to his feet and pressed the rifle to his forehead. “Open the vault, or I’ll kill you.”

The manager whimpered but forced out a defiant response. “No. I won’t.”

“Two minutes, thirty seconds!” the lookout yelled.

The lead robber glanced toward the entrance after hearing the warning, then turned back to the manager. “You think I’m kidding?” he growled.

He slammed the rifle butt across the manager’s face again, sending him crashing to the floor. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, dropped to one knee, and hammered the manager’s face with a series of heavy punches. The manager’s head snapped from side to side under the blows, his eyes rolling back as consciousness began to slip away. Seeing he wouldn't break, the robber stood up, unholstered his sidearm, and casually popped a bullet into the man's skull.

And now you’re dead for a corporate insurance policy and loyalty to executives who don't even know your name. Absolute genius.

“Assistant manager!” the lead robber barked, turning toward the employees huddled behind the counter. “Who’s the assistant manager?”

I studied the lead robber more carefully. Something about him felt familiar. His face was hidden, but his build and the way he carried himself felt familiar. I focused on him and opened his status panel. One glance at the name on his status panel turned my suspicion into certainty.

Well, well, well. A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth beneath my hood. Now isn't this interesting?

A pale guy in his early thirties raised a hand so fast he almost pulled a muscle. “Me! It’s me! Don’t shoot!”

The robber hauled him up by his tie and drove a heavy fist into his stomach. The man folded over, gasping for air. Before a second hit could even land, the guy spilled his guts. “Four-eight-two-nine-zero-six! That's the code! Take whatever you want! Just don’t kill me!”

Finally, someone in this building with a functioning survival instinct.

The vault door released with a deep mechanical thunk and a hiss of equalizing air. Cool, dry air spilled from the climate-controlled interior as the door swung open.

Two of the robbers entered the vault and began stuffing stacks of cash into black duffel bags with practiced speed. One remained by the entrance as a lookout, while the fourth kept his rifle trained on the hostages huddled on the floor.

Outside, the first distant sirens rose and fell, growing louder. Red-and-blue light began flickering across the frosted lower panels of the front windows.

“Cops are here early!” The robber at the entrance shouted.

“Go! Move it!” the lead robber ordered as he emerged from the vault.

“We need to move,” the lookout warned, scanning the street. “Grab a fucking hostage.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” another robber grunted. He seized a teller by the hair, hauled her upright, and dragged her in front of him as a human shield. She stumbled along with him, eyes wide with terror, too frightened to resist.

They pushed through the front entrance, keeping the woman positioned squarely in front of them. I stayed low, craning my neck just enough to watch through the clear strip beneath the frosted glass. Four patrol officers crouched behind their cruisers with their weapons drawn.

“Guns on the ground!” the lead robber demanded, pressing the muzzle of his rifle into the teller’s back.

“Okay, okay,” one of the officers said, raising a placating hand. “Take it easy.” He slowly crouched down and laid his gun on the pavement before standing back up with his hands raised. “Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

The other three officers followed suit, placing their service weapons on the ground to protect the hostage.

“Move,” the lead robber ordered, dragging the woman toward a waiting car.

The robbers behind him raised their automatic rifles and opened fire. The deafening roar of automatic fire ripped through the street. Three of the unarmed officers collapsed instantly under the hail of lead. The fourth took a round through the thigh but managed to drag himself behind the engine block of his cruiser.

The lead robber shoved the sobbing woman into the back seat beside one of the duffel bags, then climbed into the front passenger seat while another man took the wheel. The remaining two robbers threw their duffels into a second waiting car and piled in. Both engines roared, and the getaway vehicles tore down the street, tires screaming against the asphalt.

The second the cars vanished around the corner, a surge of adrenaline hit the crowd inside the lobby. Panic erupted as dozens of terrified customers scrambled for the exit, rushing across the blood-slick marble and around the dead guard. A few traumatized survivors remained frozen where they were, too shaken to move.

I merged with the fleeing civilians and slipped through the front doors unnoticed. I kept pace with the fleeing crowd for a block, then broke away into a narrow alley and disappeared into the shadows.

“Hey,” I said as soon as the call connected.

“Hey,” Isabella replied, sounding mildly surprised. “You don’t usually call during the weekdays.”

I chuckled and leaned back against the alley wall. “Yeah, well. I just stumbled across something interesting.”

“Oh? What is it?” Isabella’s curiosity was piqued.

“I just saw Malik Harris,” I said. “He and his crew hit a bank a few minutes ago.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone turning serious immediately.

“Not completely. He was wearing a ski mask, but his build and the way he moved looked familiar. I’m about ninety percent sure it was him,” I answered. Of course, I was actually 100% sure. His status had confirmed it. I just couldn’t exactly tell her that.

“Give me a few minutes,” Isabella said, hanging up.

I remained in the alley, leaning against the brick wall while I waited. A few minutes later, my phone rang.

“Remember those two MC operations we dismantled?” Isabella asked without preamble.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering how a bank heist tied back to the weed farm and counterfeiting facility. “Yeah, what about them?”

“It turns out the product we destroyed was supposed to be sold today,” Isabella explained, a hint of dark amusement in her voice.

“So they lost a mountain of cash,” I surmised. “Is that why they’re hitting banks? Are they really so broke after losing one shipment that they’re pulling heists on a Monday afternoon?”

“If it were just lost profit, they wouldn't risk something this loud,” Isabella countered.

I could sense the 'but' coming a mile away.

“But,” she continued, “the revenue from the current batches across all their operations was earmarked for Councilman Richard Hale’s mayoral campaign—as an 'anonymous' donation. The money was due before a major campaign filing deadline. If they fail to deliver now, Hale might cut them loose—or worse, decide they’re a liability”

I let out a laugh. “So they’re desperate to make up the difference before he cuts them loose.”

“Bingo,” Isabella chuckled.

“So, what’s the play?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Isabella snorted. “Hunt him down. You’ll get your usual bounty payout from the cartel, and you can keep whatever cash he pulled from the vault. Naturally, if you need that stolen money laundered, the cartel is happy to offer our premium rate as always.”

“Deal.” I grinned and ended the call.

Just as expected, a new mission popped up. I opened my map and spotted two clusters of red dots racing through the streets. They had to be inside the two getaway cars. I counted them. There were five red dots.

Wait a second! Five red dots?

I counted again, and there were still five. Given how frantically they were hauling ass to outrun the cops, there was almost no chance they stopped to pick up a passenger. However, they did have a fifth person—the bank teller.

Is she with them?

I shelved the question for later and pulled my black sedan from my inventory. As I pulled out of the alley, I switched the car’s disguise again. The bodywork shifted to red, and the license plate cycled to a new number.

They already had a decent head start. As I closed the distance, the two getaway cars split up and headed in opposite directions. I sighed at the increased work and randomly chose one of them.

I quickly caught up with the car. The driver soon realized that I was following them and accelerated. The robber in the passenger seat leaned out the window and opened fire with his assault rifle. The rounds bounced harmlessly off the armored bodywork and the bulletproof glass. When that failed, he shifted his aim toward the tires. Those rounds bounced off too.

The driver took a sharp turn into an alley. I followed him in. A delivery truck blocked most of the alley ahead. The getaway car cut right into another narrow alley. When I rounded the corner, I found their car stopped dead. A dumpster blocked the alley ahead.

Both robbers bailed out and immediately opened fire on my sedan. The dark-tinted glass kept them from seeing me inside. Still firing, they retreated through the open rear door of a nearby building.

I put on my featureless white mask and got out of the car. Gun in hand, I cautiously followed them inside. The building turned out to be a restaurant, and the rear entrance opened directly into the kitchen.

The instant I stepped inside, my Danger Sense flared. I threw myself behind a stainless-steel counter just as gunfire erupted. The two robbers started shooting. The kitchen staff screamed and fled through the dining room.

The instant their burst ended, I leaned out and put a round through one robber’s head. The second robber cursed and ducked behind another counter.

The maze of kitchen counters blocked my line of sight. However, I knew where he was. On the minimap, his red dot was slowly creeping toward me. I vaulted over the counter to my left and caught him crouch-walking through the next aisle, using the workstations as cover. Before he could aim at me, I shot him in the head.

I checked both bodies. There was nothing of value on them. Muttering a curse at the pair for wasting my time, I headed back outside. I tossed the duffel into my sedan and checked the map again. Three red dots were still moving.

The three red dots eventually stopped traveling together. A moment later, the three dots split apart and moved a short distance away from the car. After that, their movements became confined to a small area. That probably meant they had reached their safehouse and gone inside.

Glad that the annoying chase was finally over, I accelerated toward their presumed safehouse.

The GPS led me to an auto repair shop in the middle of an industrial district. I parked my sedan a block back and approached on foot. As I closed in on the structure, several new red dots flickered onto my minimap overlay. They were smaller than the three primary target markers, but the red color told me everything I needed to know—they were hostile.

I circled the building until I reached a rear alley, where a grimy second-story window caught my eye. I scaled a drainpipe, reached the sill, and tested the latch. It was unlocked. I slid the window open and dropped silently onto a mezzanine, slipping into the shadows as I scanned the floor below.

All three primary targets were gathered below. And, as expected, the teller was among them. I checked her status. Sherry Harris. It was the same surname as Malik. So they were almost certainly related.

Four more men stood in front of them. From the tension in their posture, it looked less like a friendly meeting and more like a transaction on the verge of becoming an argument. I crept closer until I could hear them clearly.

“Mr. Hale won’t be pleased if you delay these ‘donations’ any longer,” one of the men warned quietly. “You’re already a day late. I suggest you don't keep the councilman waiting.”

Malik’s jaw tightened. “As I told you, we had to split up because the cops were breathing down our necks. My crew will be here with the second half of the cash any minute now. So sit tight and wait.”

Another man scoffed. “You sure they didn’t just pocket the cash and run?”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Malik roared.

Malik lunged for the man’s collar, but Sherry and the surviving robber grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back. “Those are my men you’re talking about!”

“Cool it, Malik! Keep your head!” the surviving robber urged, digging in his heels as he held Malik back.

Malik let out a harsh snort and ripped his arms free from their grip. He glared at the man, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, but ultimately stopped himself from attacking.

I had heard enough. I pulled out my phone and sent Isabella a quick message about Hale’s enforcers collecting the stolen cash.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Kill them all. Make sure Hale can’t tie this back to the cartel.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and summoned two pistols from my inventory.

Bullet Time.

The world instantly ground to a crawl. had raised Bullet Time to Apprentice a few days earlier, and the difference was obvious. The slowdown was slightly stronger, I could maintain it a bit longer, and the strain on my body had also dropped somewhat.

I raised both pistols and put a round through Malik’s head and another through his surviving crewman’s. Hale’s four men reacted in agonizing slow motion, panic spreading across their faces as they tried to dive for cover. Before the first pair could even turn around, I shot both through the head. The last two barely made a step before my next shots dropped them.

Time snapped back to normal. Six bodies hit the concrete in rapid, wet thuds.

Sherry had already thrown herself behind cover by the time I killed the six, as she was closer to a pillar.

I dropped from the mezzanine and walked toward her, my footsteps echoing through the suddenly silent shop. My Danger Sense spiked. I tilted my head aside just as a bullet hissed past my ear and buried itself in the wall behind me.

Sherry stood ahead of me, gripping a pistol in shaking hands. Tears streamed down her face, dragging dark trails of mascara across her cheeks.

“Who… who are you?” she sobbed.

Is she stupid? I thought, staring at her impassively. Who asks the guy who just executed six people who he is instead of running away?

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!” she screamed, the muzzle shaking wildly in her hands.

I wasn't about to stand around waiting for her to find her nerve or land a lucky shot.

“No—”

The bullet entered cleanly through her forehead. She dropped without another sound.

I photographed Malik and Sherry’s bodies and sent the proof to Isabella.

I looted the bodies, grabbed the bag of cash, and left through the same window I had entered through.

My phone rang again as I reached the alley. I leaned against the wall and answered.

“Are you free?” Isabella asked.

I smiled. “Why? You want to invite me on a date?”

Isabella laughed. “Maybe another day. Right now, I’ve got another job for you—assuming you’re available.”

“And here I thought you were missing our night together.”

Isabella chuckled. “Keep dreaming, lover boy. There’s work to do.”

I sighed. “Fine. What do you need?”

“Good,” Isabella said. “Madrina figured that with Malik down, we might as well destroy his operation too.”

“Might as well finish the job.”

“I’ll send you the location of his cocaine lockup. The finished product has already been moved, but there should still be chemicals and other supplies for the next batch. Kill everyone inside, destroy the operation, and bring the building down. Take whatever you need from the armory.”

“Look forward to the fireworks.” I hung up.

I stopped by the armory for more explosives. I didn’t actually need any more. I had taken far too much C4 for the weed farm, only to discover that the mission markers let me demolish the place with four carefully placed charges. With the mission markers, I already had enough left to bring down the cocaine facility too. But I still took more. After all, what kind of gamer would I be if I didn’t hoard every free resource I could possibly need someday?

I made my way to the cocaine lockup. Inside, there were a few armed guards and over a dozen workers. I cleared the place quickly. Once the building was clear, I doused the packaged supplies, workstations, and electronics in gasoline. I planted the C4 charges at the locations marked by the System. I rigged the gasoline with a delayed igniter and left the building.

I got back into my sedan and drove to a nearby alley. I activated the disguise system again, cycling the plate to a new number and shifting the paint to white.

I circled back, parked at a safe distance, and pressed the detonator.