God

“Dad?”

“Yes, my son?”

“Does... does God exist?”

“God exists, but not as we see it. God is not a man that has dominion over us all. God does not control the wind or the rain. God does not have his own doctrine he forces us to follow. God is not immortal, nor mortal.

Because that is not what God is. People spend their entire lives trying to find out if it is real, except the answer is right in front of us.

God is a word.

God causes us to try our best to be good. God causes wars, and creates peace. God is what makes the dying man calm in his last hours.

That is what God is. He has a great power, just different then what any of us have known before.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.”

The father smiled at his son, lifting him into bed and tucking him in. When the father was ready to turn off the light, he made a stop.

“Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight, dad.”

The door was now closed and the room dark, save for the ambient glow of a nightlight in the corner.

---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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Astuka Looks Back -- Guardians of Enthia (First Draft)

Honestly I'm not certain if I mentioned GoE in the previous post, but Guardians of Enthia (obviously shortened to GoE) was the first (and probably last) full length story I ever wrote. Taking multiple cues from Lord of the Rings, Dragon Age, and Warcraft, I somehow managed to write 45 pages of it and many more on the lore. 

Of course, that was the second draft.

The first you might as well say was a completely different story entirely. Being much more original (original in this case does not mean “good”) than the second, it was written by me in 4^th to 5^th grade and was based off a roleplay that happened in some web game (Roblox was the site, no idea which specific game in particular) that probably lasted about 4 hours and was between me (my username being yui810, which is what “Sir Yui” came from) and some guys named Zero and Warhawk (who was later changed to Warius for the sake of going along better with the story) and was completely written on paper. That is, of course, except for two chapters posted on TPNF.

Now I do have the original book, but instead of spending a hour copying a mediocre book into text, I'll just use the two that were posted (after all, this IS the TPNF section).

Chapter I

Yui looked around.He was amazed winter came so early since his training.Children were running around, throwing snowballs at each other and making snowmen.In Sumeria, a time like this is the moment of a lifetime. But Yui had more important job to do. Hazily, he checked the spots along the port.

What is with me and all these fucking cheesy beginings? Did I think this was interesting or entertaining? This is something out of a Disney movie, not an epic fantasy.

Seaman’s Port was made back when the first settlers from Eyrica came to Sumeria. John Smith, the original owner of the port,  owned several bars in both Eyrica and Kathara. The port was originally a hotel for sailors from southern port cities like Arai and Soera. John Smith was no stranger to the forgien language and sometimes even started conversations with them.

Well at least our narrator this time isn't some depressed ADHD kid but instead a tourism director.

First, Yui checked the old Smith Hotel. He saw the archers on their regular schedule defending the hotel. Soon Yui would command a defensive force at the hotel since a notorious king named Bajar will be staying there. Bajar owned most of the southern federations in the region.

Why the fuck is the king of the entire south staying at some shitty hotel? Do the northerners hate them THAT badly? Take in mind I do have a map of this world and “The south” is pretty much just this gigantic piece of land an ocean across from the common city-states.

He was said to be bountied in over 50 cities in the North, which included some of the finest assassins around. Before Yui was in the military, he was a alchemist. Before he was a alchemist, he followed in his fathers footsteps and became an assassin. He fought, and defeated, many great soliders in battle. Great names like Relico, Dejurn, and Hoteri he killed, which paved the road for him being such a successful solider.

Okay first of all if he's bountied in 50 cities in the North why the fuck is he there IN THE CAPITAL in the first place. Second of all, what the fuck is with Yui's job list? First he goes from killing literally the MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTER IN THE SERIES (Relico) (yes this is changed later) to saying “oh I guess i'll just try to make dirt into gold”. I mean it could be something badass like he was trying to hide from his past but I doubt that was what I was thinking back then.

Chapter 2

Zero checked the corners of the room. Never in his life had he been as frightened as he was now. He continued into the kings kitchen, thinking of a way to get out. It all started when he got a job from the town's reverend to borrow a amulet. It seemed easy, but what he didn't know was that the king was against the church.

Why would he not know that the king was against the church? Wouldn't the king be burning these fucking things left and right?

Right?

[TO BE CONTINUED]


---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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OEACOV

Part 1, Part 2

Short, Hat, and the Leader sat on a bench overlooking the bay. Autumn at this point had taken its full form and transformed the bay into a serene notion of both the warmth of summer and the cold of winter. Short ate out of a potato chip bag, while the rest calmly watched the tide of the bay rise and fall.

“So, who are we supposed to meet up with again?” Hat finally blurted out. As the question was naturally directed to the Leader, the Leader took a sigh before answering Hat's question.

“Some Russian guy. Blonde hair, sunglasses. He'll be wearing some stripped blue t-shirt.”

“We're in California, there's going to be a fuck-ton of people wearing stripped shirts.” Short muttered out between his chip munching.

“If that's true than answer me how we've been here for about two hours now, and STILL haven't seen anyone.” Hat naturally took the defensive on Short while the Leader drowned out the arguing of the two lackeys to focus on what he spied in the distance.

Down the hill from where they sat, right next to the bay, was a coffee shop, and that coffee shop had a very noticeable outdoor seating area. This seating area was mostly filled with kids who had just got out of college and were just now starting their life, and up until now the Leader only wished he was over there; with the combined scents of sea breeze and mocha filling his nostrils as the wind hit at his back. But while he focused on this pleasant wasted space he saw Waldo sticking his head out among the crowd.

Yes – a young blond man wearing a stripped blue t-shirt, casually sitting and drinking a coffee by the many who, at a distance, seemed just like him. From here it seemed impossible that the man was a trained killer, yet the Leader knew very well that looks are deceit and grinned to himself as his attention focused back to the two colleagues with him.

“Found him.”


---

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Del Rio, Episode 1

John Walters sat in a therapist chair overlooking the morning skyline of Del Rio. He sure as hell never thought he'd find himself here, yet here he was.

The events of the past few weeks had taken a toll on him, so his wife recommended he go to a therapist, though only for “a week or so”. He went, since it was likely not his decision for him to go to therapy anyway.

His psychiatrist was an older man who clearly tried to stay hip. He was in his forties, but had his hair waved back and a perfectly trimmed mustache. He had a silver vest on, and looked at John like he actually had some sort of concern for him.

“I just don't know, Doc,” John continued his rant, that the man in the main chair was likely listening to half-heartedly, “No matter what, it seems to all crumble down on me. All the bad luck in the fucking world is right in the palm of my hand.”

“John, how about we come back to the source of your problems. You said his name was... Daniel Schaeffer, correct?”

Walters hit the table next to him with such force that it swung the lamp on top of it so greatly it almost fell. He was clearly enraged.

“That asshole? Oh ho ho, I swear to fuck if I see that dickwad of an 'associate' again I'm going to forcefully take his head off and staple it to my resume!” John was in a flurry of fury, but tried his best to control his emotions noting his environment. Doc, however, seemed fine with it.

“Good, let out your anger. Letting it all out is the first step to finding yourself.”

“That company, that dream... that was my fucking dream! I had it!” The raging bull pushed over the table that he had hit previously, throwing the lamp at the window as it reverberated back and smashed into the ground, shedding glass everywhere, “I'll fucking kill the two-bit, smug ass son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill him!”

The raging bull turned itself into a tornado, which began destroying everything in sight. Once it had made it's way to Doc's beautiful imported potted plant, however, it was time to stop.

“Alright, John,” Doc told him, trying to get him out the door, “This concludes today's section. Come back next week.”

Once the Doc had finally kicked him out, John Walters found himself once again on the sun-soaked streets that were of the city of Del Rio, city of the kings. He got out a cigarette out of his suit pocket, lit it up, and smoked – making his way across the boardwalk to the next step in his life.


---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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The American Dream

Bellview street was a place where most dreams died. It was a place where the rich could ostracize the poor by living them in the ruined shacks and poorly constructed tenements. It was a ghetto, a place where the good died young and the evil died just as fast. It was a place with too much pride and not enough hope.

There were two groups that contested for Bellview – the Bulldogs and the Drifters. You were born into one of these groups, it was as simple as that. Either you were a Bulldog or a Drifter.

The Bulldogs had the end of the street – a cul-de-sac of ancient ruins, destroyed houses and crippled shacks. It was a rare event to see someone on the streets without a gun. It was needed – the Drifters came in and came out like that. One second you're checking your phone, or drinking some soda, and the next second your face is in the ground and your leaking red all over the concrete.

It was at this cul-de-sac a boy was born. No one knew his name. It didn't matter what his name was before though, because he was known around as Trenton.

The gang acted as birds teaching their children how to fly. You didn't go on the streets unless you knew how to use a gun, and complete the blood initiation. Then you were really in the gang.

Trenton had an older brother who committed to the initiation a long time ago. Everyone just called him Lamar, because that's who he was in the ghetto. Lamar originally tried to take Trenton away from the gang, teaching him what math and English he knew and playing what games they had. But, like all the others, the gang caught up to Trenton. That was what he wanted to be – a respected member of what he knew of society.

It was a stormy evening on Bellview. Lamar scrapped what money he had to get a chicken bucket, and the two sat eating until Trenton looked up at Lamar and began talking.

“Lamar, how do I become a real nigga?”

Lamar knew what he meant. Being a “real nigga” was the universal name for a real homie, a senior member of the Bulldogs like Lamar. He knew the day would come, he had prepared for it, but there was no turning him back from what Trenton wanted to be.

“Aw, shit. You are a real nigga, right?”

“No, no I ain't. They say I gotta learn to whack to become a nigga.”

Trenton was only eight. Ten was the average age of initiation, but eight was not unheard of. It was always considered that the sooner they were initiated, the better.

“So, is that it? You wanna become a real nigga?”

“Yeah, I wanna become a real nigga.”

“To be a real nigga, you gotta be a real nigga. You a real nigga, bro?”

The little boy got up on top of the table, and gave a superman pose, puffing out his chest. “I am a real nigga.”

“Can't here you, bro. You a real nigga?”

“I AM a real nigga!” Trenton yelled. Lamar laughed at the boys excitement.

“Alright, my nigga. Come on now, its time for bed.”

The next day Lamar brought Trenton to the gang house. There, Red, the leader of the initiation and the oldest member of the Bulldogs with a strong mohawk and an eyepatch inspected the boy. Trenton was intimidated by him and the thick smell of alcohol from the man's breath, but he didn't show it.

“Well, fuck. I gotta say Lamar, you train these homies damn well, man. Niggas gotta arm the size of Hulk, man!”

Red tickled the underside of Trenton's arm which caused him to laugh and fall on the ground. The old, hardened man didn't seem too threatening anymore.

Finally, the scarred man let the kid stand back up. “Aight son, before you whack, you gotta learn how to whack, you understand me homie?”

“Yeah, I gotya.”

The rest of that week Trenton trained with his pistol. Every member had a 9mm and an AK, but they only got the AK after they completed the initiation. And so the next and final step, of course, was the initiation.

It was a dark, rainy night. Trenton sat in the back of a pickup truck with his brother and two other members of the gang. Trenton was silent, holding the gun in his hand, sweating over its metal.

“So nigga,” one of the gang members said to the other unnamed gangster, “When the fuck we gonna find some fool to creep on?”

“Mothafucka, I already told you fool. We'll find'em soon.”

The crew waited for a few more minutes, when from around the corner a white couple came out around the corner. A tall, light-brown haired 20-something guy in a stripped polo and a straight-haired blonde of the same age. They were both laughing, having a good time.

“Damn, these niggas came at the wrong fuckin' time in the wrong mother fuckin' neighborhood.” Lamar noted.

Trenton opened the door to the vehicle, but the driver stopped him. “Yo my nigga, take some first.” In his hand he held what looked to Trenton as a few green stickers.

“Yo, fucka,” Lamar looked at the driver, concerned for Trenton, “you fuckin' serious bro?”

“Yeah man, I fuckin' serious. It makes it easier. Come on nigga, take a lick.”

Trenton took one and put on the tip of his tongue. At first he felt, dizzy and woozy, but his senses came back in a swirl of metaphorical fireworks and pink haze. Purple sky, orange grass.

He exited the vehicle as the couple made their way near the next street. He kept his gun close at his side, concealed – just as Red had taught him.

By the time the two made their way to the corner, Trenton caught up to them. He couldn't tell what was human or not. It didn't matter.

With a quick whip he took out the pistol and shouted, “Yo, fuckas!” The couple turned around and instantly paled. The boy ran down the street and the blonde followed – however she tripped on the pavement and her face met clear concrete.

The boy held the gun to her face. She turned to him with a look of despair, of fear, of sadness. Tears streamed down her face, yet she was as a deer in headlights. She knew her fate, she knew she made a mistake. But that didn't matter to the boy. The world collapsed and reconstructed and all he cared for was to hunt the deer.

He pulled.

The side of the girls scrapped off on dark asphalt. Gray turned red, as blood seeped through the cracks of the concrete. The side of her skull that blew off and her remaining skull was connected by a shriveled worm of pink organ. Her face stood frozen, but her eyes were pitch-white dead. The smooth yellow of her hair was soaked in the liquid that seeped out of her throughout. Before she died, she went into convulsion, slamming her feet into the sidewalk and grabbing for the boy, desperately trying to say words that translated only into spits of blood. It's not like what she would've said would've meant anything, anyway.

But Trenton didn't feel right. The vivid image wasn't what he imagined in his dream. It was more colorful, but not more clean. But that didn't matter.

Because now, he was a real nigga. 


---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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The Creation of Annoa

The Origin of the Universe

By Nethar Lothi, historian, philosopher, diplomat. 35^th year, Era of Peace

Every different culture from around the world tells their own variation of the creation of the Universe. The elves of Lothria believe that the earthen goddess Jotah created it by sacrificing herself and cutting off the different parts of her body to create the planets and stars. The orcs of the Shattered Isles told of the Iron Wolf and Fluid Rabbit, and how their endless conflict creates the balance of both peace and war. However the common elf and annoan tale is what most know, and it is the one that I will recite in detail.

At the beginning, all was dark. This darkness was the Void, and was both the mother and father of the gods Saeras and Entaros. With nothing but a clean slate, the two began experimenting with their powers, as Entaros created both Light and Darkness and Saeras created the elements: Water, Fire, Earth, and Wind. Entaros, dismayed by Saeras elements and the things he created with them, felt that what he was doing was too powerful. Saeras disagreed, saying that the bodies that could be made using the elements were great enough to create something else – life. Entaros, who at this point was angry with Saeras, fought with him. He using the powers of Darkness and Light, and Saeras using the powers of the elements. The battle lasted centuries, but eventually Saeras was tricked by his brother and trapped inside the world in which Saeras himself created – The Region of Spring, the first world. Entaros took all his powers besides fire, which he found too dangerous even for him, and cast him down in the pits of Nethariu. There Saeras burned, merging with his last power, and became the first of what is known as the Dark Lords.

As I said at the beginning, many different tales are told of the origins of the universe. Though the tale of Saeras and Entaros is the one most accepted, there is also the tale of Jotah, the one of which the Lothrian Elves in the north tell their own children.

Long ago, before the gods or the trees were conceived, there was Jotah. Jotah was a powerful titan, whose body and mind transcended to all planes of existence. It was the Black Ocean that was her original home, and there she stayed. One day, Jotah realized that she was alone in her own world – that nothing else existed but her. Saddened by this, she cut off her leg and morphed it into a ball. This created the first planet, full of godswood and lakes, rivers and valleys. It was a beautiful place, but ultimately still felt empty. She then decided to cut off her other leg, and make it into numerous smaller balls. This created the plants and the animals, that lived in the godswood. It was a living, breathing place that Jotah was proud of, but it still felt empty.

And so using her arms, she created the stars, which shined deeply in the night. Everything was almost done, as she was proud of what she accomplished. But there was one more thing she needed to create.

And so with her head she created the balance between good and evil, which lead to the world today.

The final main story of the creation of the universe, is that of the Orcs of the Shattered Isles. Once a long age ago, the Fluid Rabbit sat in the meadow, eating grass, when all of a sudden the Iron Wolf came.

“This is not your place, Rabbit,” the Iron Wolf warned, “Leave immediately.”

When the Fluid Rabbit refused, Iron Wolf growled and began chasing after the Rabbit. The two went around so fast that it created the world of Annoa, as well as the balanced within.

All of these stories contain their own creation stories, but with similar themes – such being of balance and good and evil. It is important to know these aspects are key when talking about the creation of Annoa.


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Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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The Johnny Rocket Show

When I was a young lad, one of the essential parts of my routine was watching the Sunday morning cartoons. For a period of around four hours, I remained glued to my TV. Nothing could stir me from my seat – there could've been a house fire and I wouldn't have even noticed.

One Sunday I sat on my couch as normal and flipped to the cartoon's channel. I had made it just in time for my favorite show, Skid Kid and Holly Dog. It was, uh, regional.

Anyway, as the incredible adventures of Skid Kid and the Holly Dog commenced, the TV began to break up. It was to my great displeasure, as the image began to glitch and the audio change from exponentially loud to deafly quiet. As I was prepared for my tantrum however, the freezing stopped – just in time for commercials.

Even though I was irritated, I continued watching, hoping desperately I got the chance to see how Skid Kid would defeat the likes of Lizard Louie. It was halfway through a vacuum commercial that the breakups began once again, only this time it turned to a different program entirely.

Sometimes the channel had 'mini-cartoons' during the break, so I assumed this was one of them. On my TV was a clay ball shaped as a moon. You could see a tiny puppet string holding it up – bad production value, I say – and the rest of the room was dark. It stayed like that for a good minute until it turned to the title screen.

On a metal sheet the words 'THE JOHNNY ROCKET SHOW' lay in red paint. The lack of sound turned into the distant murmur, but nothing else.

The screen changed again, this time showing another gray, clay figure of a boy. Well, at least I assumed that's what it was – it was about as well made as something I would make for art class, with very distinctive dots for a pair of eyes, a nose, and a smiley face. Suddenly, a black gloved hand picked up the figure and started moving it around, making very quiet noises. He sounded excited, but the lack of his voice plus the indiscriminate murmur made him very hard to here, so instead it sounded like a conglomerate of excited yet lackluster cheers with a few murmurs in between. This continued for a while longer, in which sometimes the screen would break up like before, but after awhile the camera moved up and showed something that made me hand on to my seat and sit as far back as possible.

The camera zoomed out, revealing the entirety of the man holding the clay toy. He was in a dark room, with his body covered in all black. At the top of his head lay a horse skull, straight out of a wild west movie. It covered his entire face.

This continued with his small excited voice and the playing of the figure that eventually I was so uneased I just left and didn't watch cartoons that day.

I never figured out what happened afterwards while I was a kid, however an article I had recently found lead me to believe that the network was hijacked for around 20 minutes and broadcasted from an unknown location in the state. Whoever did it has never been found, nor a proper explanation to the events placed. 

---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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Fu Chen and the Journey to Macau - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Days turned into weeks, and time drudged on as Fu Chen made his way down the river. It had seemed like an eternity since he had last meet the old man by the river, and yet he remembered it clearly.

He grasped the leather book in his hand, wondering what its words possessed. He hunted fish, picked berries, and slept, but more than anything he stared at the strange book.

One day he happened to doze off looking at the book. When he woke up, the sun hit his face with a strong, concentrated beam of light. He shielded his eyes, and got up on the raft. There was only one thing he had noticed the most – the natural tipping and turning of the raft had ceased.

The boat was stopped. 

Sunlight still blinding his vision, he stumbled out of the boat and upon land. Too tired to open his eyes, he motioned around towards his surroundings, feeling only sand and grass. Giving up, he motioned towards the end of his boat until something intercepted his path. Reaching around, he grasped it, felt it, and recognized it almost instantly as something he had not felt for a long time – cobblestone.

His eyes shot open.

Before him stood a crowd of temples and markets. People riding carts lead by horses, and armed guards with swords letting them pass through. It was a huge city filled with life. Chen had made it to Macau.

Noticing that his raft had hit the stone pier, he brought it back up to the small beach. He grabbed his supplies – some food and the book – and headed into the city.

Though the guards did not give him trouble, he was met at every corner with strange looks and stares. He had not showered, nor change his clothing since he had got on the boat, so he looked like any other street urchin. However, he had a job to do.

The book had no address, nor did he know the man's name. He continued looking for someone who could possibly look like the man, but his quest was in vain. He searched every alley, every public forum and every shop. There was no one who looked anything like the old man.

The stars were in the sky when he finally decided to give up. There was no sign of the brother, and everyone he asked seemed to know nothing about it. In shame, he made his way down to the port, where a wooden sign saying “MORTY'S BAR” lit up in front of him. With nothing better to do, he decided to go inside.

The bar seemed to be filled to the brim with pirates and hardened sailors that did nothing short of intimidate Chen. As he looked up to the bartender from the seat he had found at the front. The bartender simply grinned and walked away.

“Um, sir?”

The bartender turned around, looking directly at Fu Chen, “Last time I check'd, me didn't serve filthy boys. At least filthy boys without an adamant amount of coin.”

“I-I have fish...”

The bartender laughed, “Aye, and I gots a boat full of'em! Big deal, boy.”

Fu Chen lowered his head, defeated. Yet he still stayed there, silently waiting for the bartender to change his mind.

As time wore on, eventually a hooded man walked into the bar and sat besides Chen. He beckoned for the waiter to come towards him, and he did.

“Whaddya have, ser?”

“Two of the tall ones, my friend.”

The bartender had a jolly laugh, seeming to be much nicer to paying customers than the likes of 'filthy boys', “That's quite a lot for a man of your stature, my friend.”

“Only one of them's for me. The other one is for this boy here,” the hooded man pointed towards Chen.

The bartenders smile faded, but it was clear he couldn't decline his request as the hooded man already left the coins on the table.

Fu Chen was grateful for the man, and expressed his thanks, though the man gave no response. He drank the tall beverage, becoming slightly dizzy. At his level of thirst however, he continued to drink until he accidentally spilled some over the counter. The bartender gave him an angry glare. “I gotta clean 'at up, ya know!”

Chen grabbed his shirt, cleaning off the book laid in front of him hoping that it stay undamaged. What he found in place, however, was a pleasant surprise.

Slowly, words began to form at the bottom of the book where the beverage had spilled. It was an address.

“Sorry, I gotta go!” Fu Chen stood up from his seat excitedly and ran out of the bar. The bartender gave a simple sigh and began to clean off the counter with his rag.

Reading the book and following signs, he eventually found himself on the hill with a single, small house. He had somehow missed it before, but he was determined it was the right place. Walking up to it, he knocked.

No answer.

He waited awhile, before knocking again. After he still had no answer, the boy got irritated. He was attempted to leave the book there, until he heard a familiar voice.

“Trying to find me, are you?”

It was the voice of the man who Chen had found at the bar, and had given him the drink. It was the hooded man!

Chen spun around, and sure enough, he stood there with a smile on his face. “Please, come in,” He beckoned to Chen, and they both entered the house on the hill.

Inside, Chen and the man sat on a soft furnishing near a fireplace. Chen handed over the book to the old man, but not before asking his question.

“So you knew, didn't you? Why didn't you just say so at the bar!”

The hooded man, now unhooded to show a face very similar to the man Chen had met at the river, shrugged. “You were disappointed in yourself,” he began, getting out the key for the lock, “I wanted you to feel a bit better.”

The man opened the book with the key and began reading it. Before Fu Chen left, he decided to ask the man one last question.

“What's in the book, anyway?”

“It's the story of a young boy on a quest to find an old hooded man.”

Fu Chen froze in place on the couch, looking at the man. He simply closed the book in his hands, and handed it to Fu Chen.

Inside of it were all the details of the boy's trip since he had started his journey. His encounter with the old man, the countless days of him staring at the stars, and even the events of the bar.

Seeing Chen's confused expression, the man decided to explain the book for himself. “I am a seer – I find the greatest tales of the greatest legends, and bind a book to their soul. The book writes itself.”

Fu Chen, still confused, flipped to the back pages. “But half of these pages are still empty.”

“Because the story isn't over yet, of course.”

Fu Chen looked back at the man, and gave him the book. “I hope it makes a good story.”

The man nodded in agreement. Fu Chen left with his supplies, and a smile on his face.

And so ends the tale of Fu Chen and the Journey to Macau.

---

Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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The Job

The group stared at the map in front of them.

“So, we come in through the backdoors, right?” G asked. “Because that's smart, right?”

“No, it's stupid.” C berated at G before directing his finger towards the map of the jewelry store. “That's exactly what they expect. Our best bet is through the front.”

“So basically you're telling me we're just going to go ahead and bust down the doors of a fucking jewerly store? Great job, General George S fucking Patton. I couldn't have thought better myself.”

J, who sat himself calmly near the side of the room, raised his hand, yet didn't ask for permission to speak. “If we're going through the obvious way, we'll need some good gear in case things get messy. What did we get from the shipment?”

C turned toward J and smiled. “I was hoping someone would ask that.” He proceeded to turn towards the darker corner of the room, and procured a suitcase. He laid it on the table he was giving the lecture from, and opened it for all to see.

“AK-47SUs. Three of them, for each of you. Complete with suppressors and a nice, black paint job.”

G, J, and L (who spent most of his time doing god knows what in the back), got out from their seats to look at the guns. “Well, well, well-” G told under his breath, picking up one of the guns. It had a fine finish – smooth, yet solid grip. The iron sights were small, yet excellent. “-I might have to change my opinion about this after all.”

L, however, looked disappointed. “Please remind me, what's the take on this again?”

“One million.” C replied.

L changed his glance from the guns to C. “Are you telling me we bought SMGs for a god damn one mil take? Will we even make a fucking profit out of this?”

C sighed, disappointed in L's obvious lack of fate. “Well, the guns are around $250, plus another $80 for the suppressor. I bought an additional five magazines for you all to use, which adds up to around $1445-”

“Wait, how the fuck did you get them for that cheap?”

C shrugged his head, a smug smile placed back on his face. “This is America, land of the free and the home of the brave. There's always ways to get things at an affordable price.”

Once the three were associated with their guns, C went back to the drawing board to give them a quick summary of the job.

“Alright, when you go in, you want to start by waving your gun around. Get them scared. The guards probably won't give you too much of a problem, speaking that I doubt they'd defend anyone giving them shit wages. You will need one guy watching both the handler and the extra people, if there are any.”

“G, you're a smooth talker, how about you do it?” J butted in. G grinned and shrugged.

“I guess I am.”

“Alright, G,” C continued, “Make sure to keep your eyes on the handler. If they go for the alarm, kill them, no other choices. If their finger does get the silent alarm before your bullet goes into their brain, though, we'll have a 20 minute window until the cops arrive. The thing you'll really need to focus on though, is the people. If they call 911, I'll give it to you plain and simple – you're fucked.”

“So you're saying I should go around with a little baggy saying 'Oh, we'll need to borrow your phones for a second just put them in here'?”

“No, because it will take to long. If one gets it out, shoot either the phone or them. Your choice. Just remember to give them a warning first.”

L gave a slight chuckle at the comment. “Glad to see we still have some morals.”

11:20 AM. Monday.

The white van pulled up to the side of the street. As expected, the small corridor shopping plaza that fit Romanoff's Jewerly store was empty.

“Who the fuck names a store 'Romanoff's Jewerly'?” J gave a second to ask. No one bothered answering.

As the getaway driver pulled out, the tuxedo wearing, SMG carrying robbers by the codenames J, G, and L entered the premise. Before the outside guard noticed, L shot him in the head with a single bullet, then rushed towards him to make sure his fall was light. The sound out of the barrel came a subtle twig snap – no one noticed.

On the count of three, J and G busted down the doors of the store, waving their guns in the air. L brought in a sizable duffel bag, as he and J began smashing the glass and pouring jewerly in. As they had hoped, there was no alarm attached to any of the glass.

G watched the group of people huddled into a corner. Besides the handler, who held her hands behind her head, there was only three people in the entire store – a mother and her five year old daughter, and another man who seemed to take no relation to the other two.

“Listen,” G began, “If I see a single one of you fucking get out your phones, I'll make sure you don't need to call anyone for a very, very long time. You understand me?”

The mother began sniffling, and the man stood frozen, nodding. The employee held no response, and simply continued holding her hands above her head.

G pointed the gun at the handler's direction. “You, back away from the fucking alarm, now!”

At the opposite end of the room, J, still smashing glass, gave a short chuckle. “What did I tell ya? Smooth talker supreme.”

L continued to push the jewelry into the duffel bag, until something that was off, came to his attention.

“Wait, where the fuck are the other guards?”

G turned around towards him. “You're right. There's always more than one guard, city regulations.”

While G was still turned, the handler came closer, her hands still above her head. “Well, actually,” she began, “t-the guards are on a lunch break.”

G turned back towards her and the huddled group. “Lunch break? So you're telling me-”

“They're coming here,” J stopped breaking the glass to say. It would be obvious on the outside for the guards to tell there's been a robbery, and from there they would be able to get police backup. G looked out the window towards the exits of the plaza, looking for any sign of guards. While he did this, the auburn-haired employee swooped down into the alarm button.

Just as G had taken notice, he fired two shots that punctured the worker's chest, causing her limp body to knock back and shatter a glass case behind her. Panicking, G vaulted over the counter to find that the button underneath it was flashing red.

“Fuck! She pulled the alarm!” he shouted, running back to the entrance. The cries of the child echoed throughout the store, as J and L began to rush.

“Alright, we need to get out of here in ten minutes!” J yelled, as he smashed the remaining glass. After they finished, L got out the disposable cellphone he prepared for the heist, quickly dialing a number.

“Getaway, we need pickup. Okay. Alright, we'll be there,” He ended the call, then tore the phone in half and put it in the duffel bag. “Outside, near the boutique.”

“Is he fucking crazy? The boutique is on the main road!” J yelled, the child still crying.

“He says he'll be there before anyone else gets a chance to notice. Come on, we got a van to catch.”

As the three got outside, they left the cool fragrance of the jewery store into the dark, now raining plaza. They moved down the plaza, shielding the bag from the rain with their suits.

They nearing got to Burough avenue before a noise caught there attention.

“Shit, sirens!” G yelled out, recognizing the noise first. The team cut the corner, where they found the white van waiting for them. Before they were able to enter unnoticed, a blaring police car came from around the corner and stopped in it's tracks.

Before the officers were able to assess the situation, L fired a single bullet into the front window, hitting the driver and causing his nose to rip, spreading it in all directions. He fell on the wheel, causing the horn to go on.

While his partner was checking to see if his buddy was still alive, the group got in the van, L closing the doors behind them. As the driver stepped on the gas, the van escaped into the darkness of the city.

---

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