The Heist || 𝘩.𝘴.

『8』| 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙼 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂

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THE HEIST
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CHAPTER
EIGHT
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THE
RANSOM
IN HIS
HANDS
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[[ HARRY. ]]

We sat in the dimmed yet vast meeting room resided on the sixth floor, each member of the squad sitting in one of the fabric spinny chairs the room had to offer.

"So we've gone through with the daily tasks, had all the hostages fed the three meals, lined up for two rounds to the washroom, and switched hourly shifts on watch?" I asked all of them.

"Yeah, all wrapped up, actually." Vera affirmed, tucking a pink strand behind her ear.

"Brilliant. Any concerns?" I inquired.

"There's too many of them. Captives." Carmen muttered. "An estimate of about hundred, say. Twenty to fourty on all three floors."

"Agreed. There's got to be a way we could let some of them walk free." Ace nodded once. "Less of a responsibility on hostage watch to be bouncing between floors in this place."

"A solid twenty of them, prioritizing mothers and kids." Max followed.

"We're going to have to, exactly. We need sleep, mate. On the upside, we can let some mothers in the bank go free, some kids if they've got 'em here."

"Another perk to that would be quite the appeal we'd have with the public scrutiny." Vera complied.

"You think you can set me up on the voice morhpher, we're going to give our little detective friend a greeting." I had glimpsed at Max who shrugged.

"We can work something out. Brought it with me on the trip over in case we'd need it."

"Alright, settled." I said, indifferent yet critical to the sudden, low enthusiasm these four walls radiated.

"How is everyone? How are we doing, really? In all honesty." Ace asked, breaking the doldrums of silence. He picked at the chipped blue nail polish on his pinky, scraping a tad off before he glanced up looking at each and every one of us.

"Well, tired. Fucking tired." Vera exhaled.

"Yeah definitely. Not to mention your blood is on my faux fur, and I don't think anyone was ready for what just happened about twenty four hours ago." Carmen glimpsed at Ace who scrunched his nose.

"Oh don't worry about this, these stitches are a bit sore like a motherfucker but it'll eventually be a part of me, you know— the scars."

"What we can do now, is recognize the damage, rehash. Rewrite and bask in the bare minimum." I remarked, trudging as I glanced down at my chamois boots that brushed the white carpet. "You all deserve some time to rest, I believe the best we can do is release some civilians, and let the rest stay in the vaults while I set something straight."

"All of them? Or is Dixie yet again the protruding headache we'll all need to come across again and again. We slow down because of that girl, she stalls this heist every time." Carmen suspired.

"She could be useful, Carmen. You do know that, right?" Vera said.

"Debatable." She chuckled sarcastically.

"Enough." I narrowed my eyes at the curly headed girl who rolled her eyes. "Dixie is quite the mediator. In fact, slowing down might just be the precision of our next moves here."