The Heist || 𝘩.𝘴.

『26』| 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴

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THE HEIST
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CHAPTER
TWENTY
SIX
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THE
LIGHTHOUSE
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[[ CLEMENTINE. ]]

I sat next to a man in his late fourties, greying hair slightly peaking from his roots at the top of his head.

"What's your name?" I asked to break the silence. He had been looking over at me occasionally in subtle curiosity, then would go by his knee bouncing, the pointed end of his shiny shoe echoing the marble floor.

"I just want to get the cash, and get the fuck out of here." He grumbled. "None of your business."

"Wow, long name. How'd they fit that on your driver's license?" I humored, snickering slightly.

He sighed, wiping the trace of dotted nervous sweat from his forehead. "It's George."

"Well, George. In about thirty minutes, we're going to be set free. You wanna know something else? I don't feel like the same person I had been coming in here at all, a ghost of her I might just have to say."

"I think we all feel the same after months without a single answer, don't you think? I... My daughter's somewhere at home with my wife, probably watching the news, scared to death, maybe even confused with no extent."

"The press are roaches that'll feed into information at any avail. You saw it on Fox too, didn't you? When those nameless masked fiends were raining down cash above Time's Square. Did you know what the news caster called them? Heroes. Vigilantes at that. That itself had changed the face of this society in every way, that this crime had been an act of generosity, ambiguous generosity. But it stood true, until a single body dropped. It's up to the people to decide if whatever they have going is truly just, or rotten due to the death of one. And I find that interesting, if a majority of people out there are on the same boat because these robbers are giving back to the community in a way that goes against every single norm within this economy, they are these vigilantes."

"Life ends everywhere at some point on the battlefield. I'm not saying I stand by these freaks, but... They seemed to have their best intentions with keeping every single hostage safe. They might've been ruthless closing in on us, but they needed us to comply. When someone turned away from doing so... I don't know. It seemed all too unplanned. I overheard some words, it was blurry, but... Someone said they didn't mean it. I didn't say anything. I could've tried to find a way out, and again, I couldn't even push myself to doing so because I know nothing about the doors, the locks, nothing. That would've been the stupidest thing yet if I had just flee'd. And that itself, had put the fear of God in me. It came down to the fact that, if I cared to ever see my seven year old daughter again, I had to have at least a little faith in these guys executing something dark. It felt that way, but a lot behind the curtains is never as it seems."

"So what, is it an image they're trying to protect? Is that why we've been kept in the dark for so long about what they're up to?"

"Maybe what we don't know, is what'll save us all."

That sent a chill down my spine, the hairs rising on every part of my arms. "There's no certainty in anything. For us, for them."