The police officers forcibly lowered their arms down, binding their wrists with handcuffs. They'd been cuffed many times before, but these seemed to cut deeper. They knew there was no escape, that they weren't prepared this time.
The obvious next step for the officers was to remove the mask. The zebra cowl that had kept them safe for much time was no longer. The officers removed it, revealing their identity. They did a quick database scan to match them up to online records.
His name was Kane Dalcone. He was 28. His listed career was a convenience store cashier. No criminal history. Clearly he was an experienced professional, thought the cops.
They moved him through the gallery, bringing him through the front door. Along the way, he spotted all the valuables he missed out on.
If only he'd been more careful.
One of the officers leaned into their walkie talkie, requesting forensics' presence on the scene. At the same time, they led the suspect through the front door of the gallery, where a cop car was parked on the street ahead.
They threw him in the back seat, slamming the door behind him. They closed the glass mediator between the front and back seats, hopped in the front, and drove off.
Kane sat shamefully in the backseat. Unusually, he was not angry at the police for catching him, but rather himself for letting him get caught. He still couldn't help wondering what went wrong.
He decided to retrace his steps.
Let's see - first, he suited up, gathering the required supplies to stealthily execute this heist. He made his entrance flawlessly, eliminating all the cameras. He made his way to the security room, using his silenced weapon once more to take out the guard on duty. Then he retrieved the key to hack into the systems from the guard's corpse. Next, he -
Wait a minute. The key. What had been next to it? There was the key, a granola bar, and -
Damn it. The walkie-talkie. It must've been connected to some sort of master network with an operator who noticed his lack of reply and sent in reinforcements. What a stupid fucking mistake. Kane would hit himself if it were not for the handcuffs that currently shackled his wrists.
The car made a right-hand turn, jolting everyone in it to that side of the car. This didn't alter Kane's cold expression, though, as he remained silently irate at his own failure. Soon enough, the police vehicle pulled into its darkened home - the underground garage of the nearest city police station.
As the engine sputtered to a halt, the two officers riding in the front of the vehicle exited through their respective sides, both walking back towards the back door of the car. The driver opened it, and the passenger began to escort Kane down the dimly lit hallways and staircases leading out of the garage and into the actual station.
They passed a few rooms, but the one in particular that stood out to Kane was a diamond-plated heavy cargo door labeled "VAULT - L9 CLEARANCE". He wondered why that would be in such a modest law enforcement outpost. At some point, the dank musk of the underground setting shifted into the pristine modernity of offices.
This beauty didn't last long, though, as the gray concrete returned to face him as they locked Kane in a solitary holding cell in a windowless corridor. He appeared to be the only stirring inmate. The rest were either sleeping or dead.
Probably sleeping, considering this was only a police station.
As they rattled the keys, sealing him in the cell, Kane just walked to the surprisingly clean yet cold concrete floor and sprawled himself out, stretching and yawning. He soon found himself drifting into the world of dreams.
After what felt like a much needed rest, when he finally awoke, Kane found himself in a blur of screeching obnoxious alarms, rotational red siren lights, and the unmistakable clatter of frantic guards. A new sound joined the mix. It was the keys rattling again. Only this time, it wasn't the guards.
Instead, a masked figure wielding an M16 struggled with the keys, trying desperately to unlock the cell and supposedly liberate Kane, who now rose to his feet. Finally, the figure gave up, instead shooting at the lock with the rifle, which Kane could now tell was silenced properly.
A true master of the craft, he thought. The figure quickly unlocked Kane's handcuffs, but not before he could squeeze in a question.
"Did you secure the package?" he said, looking intently and intimidatingly into the mask.
The figure nodded, finishing their current task. While the handcuffs clattered to the floor, the two criminals rushed out of the cell block, past what Kane now saw was a completely massacred building. Bloodied corpses littered the ground, while their wounding shots were made evident by the drying splatters on the walls. In the distance, Kane could hear sirens, likely from the nearest other police station.
But it didn't matter. On the street outside, an unmarked blue van awaited them. The figure opened the left back door, ushering Kane inside. After he jumped in, they followed, slamming their weapon on the metallic walls to indicate to the driver they were inside.
With a wail, the tires cracked to life, ripping down the city block as they made a beeline for the city limits. As the reinforcements arrived, they didn't look back at the mess they had caused. All that mattered now was escape and survival.