I was sitting on the concrete steps of one of the entrances to my apartment building, in the alley next to it with the morning sun rising, turning the concrete into a slow oven, but the shadow of the protruding fire escape kept it bearable for now.
A few minutes ago, I had snorted a couple of lines from one of the bags Bill had given me yesterday, right on the edge of my mattress inside the apartment. I used my thin glass pipe, a quick heat, the familiar chemical burn rushing through my nostrils and straight into my bloodstream. I needed energy for the day. That sharp, electric clarity that made the world feel less suffocating for a while.
Deep down I knew what I was doing. I could feel it every time my heart stuttered or the few times my hands shook when I was deep in repairing tech devices or handling cables from car engines in the garage. It was eating me slowly from the inside. But every time the thought grew strong enough to matter, the same old lie answered.
The addiction is bigger than you, Bob… It always has been.
I kept telling myself that one more hit wouldn't change the trajectory. The bitter, metallic aftertaste of meth still coated my tongue and the back of my throat, even though I had brushed my teeth twice and rinsed with the mouthwash I had.
I was wearing the same dirty jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. I was checking my phone, sliding my thumb across the screen. Using my mobile data. It was 8:43. Eight minutes left until my friend arrived.
I kept scrolling without thinking to keep the silence from pressing too hard. Ordinary news, traffic accidents, weather changes, politicians' speeches and wars between countries. Fortunately there was no news of alien attacks ravaging the earth or Luthor's cheap speeches. Everything was in supposed normality.
Out of nowhere, a video about the neighborhood popped up, I saw the date it was posted two days ago. It showed shaky footage of Black Lightning moving like a blue lightning bolt in the night, literal arcs of electricity between his fists. He was attacking two bearded guys who looked about thirty years old; they had cornered a dark-haired woman in a dead-end alley, with bad intentions toward her. The lightning dropped both of them in less than ten seconds; he knocked one out with a palm strike that lit up the guy's jacket like a short circuit and hit the other on his pants, making him instinctively drop to the ground. Both men were gasping on the floor, defeated but not dead. The woman was crying, thanking Black Lightning over and over while he simply nodded once and tried to comfort her from the scare. The images had been recorded by a security camera showing the original date.
I scrolled again. I saw a report from Gotham, images of the dark knight's city highlighting the Riddler, who was hanging upside down by a black rope, obviously Batman's doing; the rope was so long it had been tied from the rooftop of the building where the green-hatted criminal and his characteristic cane were, but they were absent in that scene. Gotham police were trying to get him down to arrest him and take him back to Arkham Asylum, the place for crazies like him. The city commissioner was present in the scene, giving orders and talking to his agents.
I switched to another video. I noticed this one was different, a live broadcast. It showed a local brown-haired reporter, wind whipping her hair. She was standing in a large field with trees decorating the place; below the video, the medium-sized letters on the screen in front of me said they were in Coast City. Then I saw something that caught my attention.
The Green Lantern statue of Coast City.
Made of greenish-gray stone material. It stood in the middle of the whole field or park, whatever it was. It looked the same size as the Superman statue in Centennial Park.
"Good morning everyone, this is Katherine Taylor reporting. Today marks one year since the death of Green Lantern, one of the founders of the League. We are covering from Coast City."
I heard the reporter's calm voice.
"We know he was a great hero for the city and for the world. People remember him for his heroic acts against various terrestrial and extraterrestrial attacks from space, up to the last one where he failed."
She continued.
"The survivors of the last catastrophic attack on the city that killed thousands here saw how he tried to fix the disaster with his valuable weapon but couldn't. No one in the city heard anything about him after that tragedy until the League reported that he died for the planet."
I kept listening, remembering watching on television with Bill while we were getting high in his humble home, the report at that time about the destruction of Coast City four years ago.
"The League preferred not to talk about his whereabouts during his time of absence, but there are rumors from unknown sources that the man had fought against them, the reason is unknown. Superman only said that he was a hero, that he gave his life for us and that he corrected all the mistakes of the past. That's all; Batman, Wonder Woman nor the other Green Lanterns preferred to speak more about it with the press."
What could be the reason, I asked myself.
"On the other hand, the League notified yesterday that the ceremony for the fallen hero with government support will begin at noon; several park workers are preparing the materials for the occasion while the city is still under reconstruction from the last…"
I decided to skip it. I didn't want to get distracted or obsess over the dead hero. My human side felt empathy for Green Lantern and for all the lives lost in the Coast City disaster. Better not watch any more news videos today.
Suddenly, a message notification arrived. I opened it. It was from Jen.
Jen:How did you wake up, Robby?
Me:Same as always, the meth boosted my energy for the day.
I replied.
Jen:Is that all, baby?
Me:I see you're in a good mood. And happy about last night, Jennifer.
Jen:How sweet you are!
Me:Oh! What are you doing now, sweetheart?
Jen: Still in bed, I'm feeling lazy. I need orange juice, now.
Me: Me too…
I was going to keep writing, but a shadow fell over me, blocking the sunlight. I looked up just as a hand landed in front of my face.
Bill.
Then I turned to my phone and quickly wrote to Jen.
Me: I'll talk to you later.
I turned off my phone, pretending everything was normal.
"Earth to Bob, is everything okay?"
I heard my old friend's voice, his face inches from mine with his characteristic smile, his hand giving me the sign of our greeting.
Then I stood up and shook his hand. Our handshake. Our usual greeting.
"Everything's fine." I said naturally, smiling.
I noticed he was wearing a green polo and dirty shorts, but something caught my attention: in both pockets of his shorts, it looked like he was carrying something big that couldn't fit in his clothes, I only saw aluminum.
"What are you carrying?" I asked.
He didn't say anything and just pulled out what he had in his pockets; I saw they were two soda cans.
He handed me one. I just took it. The aluminum sweating on the silver can in the heat.
"Thanks." I murmured and sat back down on the steps.
He just nodded and sat beside me. He opened his can and I did the same.
"To our friendship, cheers." Bill said.
"Cheers." I answered.
We clinked our cans and took a sip of the soda. The carbonation burned my throat, cutting the persistent meth taste for a second. Almost refreshing.
Bill leaned back on his elbows, looking me in the eyes.
"Are you sure you're okay, Bob? You looked anxious writing to someone when I approached you."
I shrugged, looking away and staring at the alley floor, cracked asphalt, cigarette butts, a crushed beer can someone had kicked into the corner.
"I was replying to Campbell, he's been bothering me with several messages in the early morning telling me not to forget to find something valuable from the dumpster for tomorrow, that man never sleeps and to top it off he won't let me sleep peacefully." I told him without a hint of doubt, but deep down I was lying; I wasn't ready to reveal that I had gotten together with Jen.
Bill nodded as if he understood while sipping his soda. He probably did, I thought.
"Man. I'm sorry… I didn't join you and Jen on the rooftop yesterday. I had…" He said, rubbing the back of his neck as if he really felt bad about it.
"Julia. No problem, bro. I get it." I cut him off before he could spin more. I looked him in the eyes with a mischievous air. It wasn't hard to guess. Bill had been orbiting her like a satellite since that night at Ace o' Clubs.
He nodded with that smile widening a little, and took another sip before clapping me on the shoulder with his hand. The kind of pat that said more than words ever could.
"So, how was your night with her, Robby?" He asked curiously.
I didn't look at him, my gaze fixed on my sneakers moving with tension and kicking a loose stone on one of the steps.
"Same as always. Smoking weed, talking shit about everyday stuff, and then our little hugs." My words came out casual, as if it were nothing, but my stomach twisted a little.
Last night had been more, much more, and the memory of Jen's lips, her hands and her confessions still lingered like smoke in my lungs.
"Nothing more, Bob?" He insisted, looking at me sideways. He didn't buy it for a second.
I nodded, taking another sip of my soda to buy time, the fizz bubbling up my nose. I shot him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed, trying to play like I had no idea what he was getting at.
He simply smiled wider, repeating with that teasing light.
"Nothing more, Robby? You're not lying to me, are you? Looking away doesn't help you."
I kept avoiding his gaze for several seconds.
"Bob, come back…" Bill was bothering me.
I stayed in my mental trance until.
"Go fuck yourself, William." I said with a small smile breaking my facade despite myself. I gave Bill the look that she and I had declared ourselves.
"So it's true." He laughed, then leaned in and grabbed me by the neck, pulling me into a hard squeeze, his long arm like a vice around my shoulders along with his long brown hair. I was used to it, I didn't complain, I didn't pull away. It was just Bill's affection, his rough affection that said "you're my family" without the sap.
"It was about time, man." He said, laughing. "I was anxious for you to finally open up to her. I hoped you two would get together and you did. You make a good couple."
"Why did you get the idea that she and I could be together?" I asked tilting my head, curious.
Bill released me a little but kept his arm casually wrapped over my shoulder.
"The occasional looks you exchanged with her while I was present, plus your affectionate scenes with her. I'm a drug addict, but not blind." He exclaimed.
He was referring to the tension, the stolen touches between her and me that we had all pretended not to notice.
"Finally your fight with her after your scene with Julia's friend at Ace o' Clubs. It's not that hard to figure out. And today, don't lie to me, you were chatting with her earlier, Bob. Like I told you, I have a good eye. Your Campbell excuse was very cheap." He continued.
I felt my face heat up a little, but I nodded, defeated.
"I'm sorry, William." I admitted in a low voice. "It's true, she is my girfriend now."
"No problem, Bob. But you better find another excuse if you're going to lie to me." He said, his tone genuine now, the teasing gone. "I'm happy for you and for her. You both deserve to be happy together even though we're disasters as people. She'll help you forget your past. Can I mention…?
"No!" I interrupted sharply, the word cutting like a knife.
Linda.
He was about to say her name, dragging that ghost back up. I could not handle it, not after this morning's nightmare.
Bill nodded, respecting the boundary, and pulled me into a tighter hug, a real one this time, arms wrapping around me in that solid, brotherly way. I let him, sinking into it for a second. It was our thing, this silent support in the middle of the chaos. I felt comfortable, safe in a way I rarely did, like for a moment the world was not trying to crush us. Then we pulled back, and both of us raised our sodas, taking sips to fill the silence.
"Are you and Julia official now?" I asked. My curiosity surfaced.
He nodded with a shy smile creeping across his face.
"Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to tell you and Jen after we steal more meth from the white whale's warehouse, or whatever we find there. In a celebration of our love achievements while enjoying our weed."
"I'm happy for you, bro. And for your blue-haired girl. Jen is already suspecting you two." I spoke with a smile on my lips. Julia's hair was dyed that electric blue, standing out like a beacon in our gray world.
We clinked our cans again, the metal echoing down the alley like a toast to any scrap of joy we could steal. The soda was warm now, but it did not matter.
"Speaking of Whale." I said, steering us back to business "what's the news on him now?"
Bill's expression turned grim, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.
"The rumors are true. I confirmed that Whale is coming back to the neighborhood in five days. I heard it from one of his guys while I was checking the warehouse where his workers were unloading all the merchandise. From a nearby rooftop, I've been spying on them in the early morning after hanging out with Julia."
"Idiot!" I said, looking at him with a warning and worried tone. "Next time, let me know. If you keep doing that alone, they'll catch you and…"
"They didn't and they won't, not even the two neighborhood heroes." He hit back, confident as always. "You forget we're careful. I hid the body of the one watching the rooftop in a dumpster, I stabbed him to death, he didn't hurt me, they won't find his corpse until someone passes by there and smells his remains in the next few days."
"Okay." I gave in, though worry gnawed at me. Bill was good, stealthy and strategic, but risks like that could end badly.
"Also…" He continued. "You should know the big fish is changing oceans."
"Why?" I asked.
"Gotham." He answered with complete sincerity. "He's moving to Gotham. According to his men's words, Whale got pissed off by the pressure from Intergang in the neighborhood and especially from Lightning."
"I guess Black Lightning traumatized him. I bet it's true if that's true." I smiled, mockingly.
"He has strong contacts in the bat city. It seems he's going there to make life impossible for the Penguin and Black Mask. It's not convenient for him to stay in the city where the strongest hero on the planet is and his archenemies are reducing him to a mere fish." Bill laughed.
"One more enemy for the dark knight and one less for Lightning." I nodded, processing it.
"We should take advantage of this and steal as much as possible from his drug shelves. I also heard he's moving within a month." Bill said, eyes lighting up with the shine of that plan. "We have to take advantage tonight. We can't do it the next three early mornings. Campbell will work the three of us to death."
"This early morning." I nodded. "I'll let Jen know."
"I'll pick you up at 3 after I go for her first. Same street, we'll wait for you."
Both of us tensed a little, the addictive mission hanging over us like a storm cloud, excitement mixed with that gut-twist of danger.
But before we could dive deeper, a crunch surprised us off guard. We leaned toward it, looking down the alley and saw: a thin cream-colored street cat rummaging through a trash can, looking for food, knocking over a crumpled empty can as if it had hit gold.
We exchanged glances and smiled, the tension breaking like a popped balloon.
"I'm hungry, bro." Bill said, standing up and stretching. "I haven't had breakfast."
"Same." I agreed, stretching my legs more.
"Let's go get some sandwiches from Wilson's."
I nodded and stood up. We both took our last sips from our cans, crushed them and tossed them toward the trash can at the end. The metal clanged loudly against the bin, scaring the cat: it disappeared around the corner in a blur of fur.
Then we headed off together, shoulders brushing as we walked. Wilson's was only a few blocks away, a greasy hole-in-the-wall with the best bacon-egg-cheese in the poor neighborhood, super cheap, if you ignored the occasional cockroach sighting.
The meth kept my appetite dull, but the ritual mattered more than the food. Just two friends, planning our next score, pretending for one morning that we had control over any of it. The day stretched ahead, full of promises and dangers, but for now, it was enough.
///
I opened my eyes, the transition from darkness to this new reality feeling abrupt, as if I had been thrown through a veil. My heart was already racing, a familiar unease settling in before I even took stock of where I was.
I was standing in the middle of a strange laboratory, the air thick with the sterile spike of chemicals and dust, like a place forgotten by time. I looked at myself: yellow polo tucked into jeans and white sneakers on my feet. Ordinary clothes, but none of this felt ordinary.
The laboratory stretched around me, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead, casting long shadows that danced across the walls like restless spirits.
The room was a relic, an old laboratory full of equipment that looked like it belonged in some mad scientist's lair. Rows of test tubes lining metal shelves, some filled with bubbling liquids in shades of green and blue, others empty and coated in grime. Beakers and flasks cluttered the workbenches, connected by tangled rubber tubes and Bunsen burners that hissed slightly, as if recently used.
I'm hot… too hot.
The glass-door cabinets revealed jars of powders and crystals, faded and peeling labels: sodium chloride, potassium nitrate, things I vaguely remembered from high school chemistry before dropping out. The floor was cracked in places and stained with what could have been spills from experiments gone wrong or something more sinister.
In one corner, a blackboard hung crookedly, scribbled with equations and diagrams that meant nothing to me: swirls of symbols, arrows pointing to molecular structures.
I analyzed everything, my breaths shallow.
What the hell is this place?
Another dream… but it feels different… at least it's not Linda's room…
I walked around the perimeter until my eyes landed on a solitary test tube on a central table that looked like a technological machine. The liquid inside glowed brightly golden, swirling lazily as if alive, casting a warm tone across the scarred wood.
Below, engraved on the stand in neat letters.
PROJECT SENTRY.
"Sentry." I murmured aloud, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
What the hell is Project Sentry?... It sounded very familiar… but… but I couldn't remember it… Why?
My head started to hurt a little from trying to decipher such a thing.
A government experiment? Some underground Intergang lab bullshit?
My mind raced, paranoia creeping in.
Why am I here?
I feel something pulling me to that golden liquid or experiment, as if I wanted to try it.
I feel my hand automatically grabbing it from that technological table.
What did I do?... Stop…
I couldn't control myself, what was happening to me. I tried to put it back in place, but my hand disobeyed me.
Then I looked at the tube more closely, fingers wrapping around the cold glass, the golden glow still drawing me in as if it were another kind of drug and I felt a great power inside, like several strong solar explosions that the mother star had. After several seconds I experienced several mother stars of the cosmos exploding inside the liquid, even though I wasn't in space. It felt like several suns exploding.
I leaned in, sniffed the liquid, a mistake. The smell hit like a punch: acrid, chemical, worse than the harshest marijuana burn or the synthetic sting of cocaine cut with God knows what. The heat of several suns.
How disgusting… what is this thing made of…
I have an upset stomach, I wanted to vomit. I feel nauseous. I wanted to throw it on the floor, but if it explodes I was going to die. Better not.
"Take it. Take it. Take it." Several unknown voices slid into my head, unknown, insistent and overlapping like a chorus of shadows.
I stepped back, I was going to put the golden container back in its place, but before I could do so, something cold and smooth wrapped around my arm, a black tentacle, twisting like living shadow, tying my hand with the golden test tube. Panic exploded in my chest as I whipped my head to the right.
Not again…
There it was: the black figure, almost human, standing next to me and its indistinct form, edges blurred in the dim light. Just an imposing and familiar silhouette to me with its massive mouth with fangs that gleamed like obsidian.
"I wouldn't do that, Robert." It said, expressing a guttural rasp that vibrated through my bones, the same torturer from my nightmares.
"You can't leave me alone!" I shouted as fear took hold, my arm frozen in its grip.
"I swore I was going to make your life impossible."
"Just get out of my dreams." I just watched the creature in horror.
"If you want me to leave you alone. Drink the entire vial." It ordered, the tentacle tightening, pulling the tube closer to my lips.
"No!" I screamed, struggling against it, but it was like fighting smoke, solid but intangible and unyielding.
"It's the only chance for you to be free." Its sinister voice hissed. "Take advantage. Drink it now."
"You're lying! You won't!" I screamed, the word tearing from my throat as I fought harder.
"You'll be rid of me if you do."
"Shut up!"
"Then I'll force you to do it, Bob." The creature roared, its mouth widening, fangs dripping with darkness.
"Let me go!" I shouted, the voices amplifying, pounding like hammers.
Out of nowhere my vision dissolved into darkness and after several seconds I opened my eyes again, gasping, lying in a horizontal position on my bed. Sweat soaked through my sheets, my heart hammering as if I had been in another real fight.
I was in my room again, the balcony door open to let in the night breeze, moonlight spilling across the floor in pale patches.
I checked my electronic clock on the nightstand: 1:30 AM, the red digits glowing.
Another nightmare… again… God.
I leaned forward a bit, putting my knees as a backrest for my head while hugging my own legs. I was piecing together everything that happened in my dream today. I had several doubts in my mind.
Project Sentry…. Why that golden liquid?... And most importantly… Why?... That black thing wanted me to drink it.
I didn't know what it meant, I didn't want to. I didn't trust the nightmare, I no longer wanted that thing messing with me. It felt more and more real, too invasive, as if it were planting seeds in my mind. I lifted my face a little over my knees. I rubbed my face, trying to shake it off.
"Stop thinking about it," I murmured to myself, lying down again, forcing my eyes closed. I hoped that black thing wouldn't crawl back into my dreams.
///
I woke up again, my body heavy from the fragmented sleep, lying on my side with the sheets tangled under my legs. The insistent beeping of the alarm clock cut through my stillness, yanking me fully into consciousness. I reached out blindly, slapping the nightstand until my fingers found the off button. Blinking against the darkness, I rolled onto my back and checked the time: 2:40 AM, the red digits glowing like accusing eyes. Thankfully, that black thing had not appeared in my new stretch of rest. At last, for a moment I had been able to rest properly, but I was still sleepy. Leaving my previous nightmare in that laboratory in the background.
Moonlight still filtered through the glass balcony door, turning my messy floor into a landscape of shadows. It was time. The heist. Whale's warehouse. My pulse quickened, a mix of yesterday's meth residue and the raw anticipation of the score.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the air hitting my skin as I stood, shaking off the daze. No time to waste. I walked to my closet, the door opening on rusty hinges, and rummaged through the hangers until I found it: the black stealth suit, sleek and tactical, like something ripped from SWAT surplus. Illegally acquired by Bill, God knows where. I didn't even dare ask; I knew he got angry if I questioned the origin of this protection. But it wasn't important. Bill had his enemies and I had mine, and I still had them.
Each of us had one: Jen, him, and me. Black pants with reinforced knees for climbing, a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged like a second skin, padded for silence and reinforced against small-caliber bullets. I slipped into it quickly, the fabric cool and snug against my body. Black boots with grippy soles for stepping on any enemy knocked to the ground. The balaclava-style helmet I kept in my blue backpack to put on during the heist; no need to look like a full thief until we were in the shadows.
My phone buzzed on the bed. I checked it and saw the message from my friend.
Bill: We're waiting for you on Five St.
Me: On my way.
I saw it was 2:53, put my phone in my pocket, grabbed my blue backpack with the helmet inside, and slung it on my back. Ready, I moved to my glass door, opened it and closed it, then jumped from my balcony to the fire escape. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of distant rain and the grit of the city. I kept descending the stairs, the alley below empty, only scattered trash and the distant wail of a siren. I grabbed the metal railing, swung my legs, and dropped to the ground in a simple fall because my boots absorbed the impact. I landed silently, scanning the shadows. Clear.
I moved fast through the alley, my boots brushing the pavement. I changed route to get there quicker. I jumped a couple of wire beams in my path, using my skills, without breaking stride. The dumpsters next, I jumped one, dodged another, my body remembering the rhythms of parkour from years of evading cops and rivals. I turned a corner into another narrow passage, the walls closing in with graffiti tags and the faint stench of urine. No one around, no lights here, only the moon watching through the overhead wires.
Finally I emerged onto the avenue, wide and deserted at this hour. A car passed, headlights cutting the darkness, tires humming on the asphalt. On the other side, homeless people huddled around an improvised fire in a barrel, flames crackling while they slept or stared into the glow. I ignored them, turning left onto Five St., the sidewalk cracked under my feet.
I arrived, looked around until a horn sounded twice, short and low, a signal. There it was: Bill's dark blue car, parked on the curb under a flickering streetlight, engine off. Jen in the passenger seat, her wavy blonde hair catching the light; Bill behind the wheel. They saw me and just signaled for me to get in. I approached the rear door, behind Jen's door. No one nearby.
She leaned back to open the rear door from inside. The interior light came on briefly, revealing my friends in matching black suits, masks not yet on, just like me. Disposable cups in their hands, a half-full bottle of cheap whiskey wedged between the seats. The inside air smelled of liquor and faint cigarette smoke as I slid in, the backpack dropping beside me.
I noticed their backpacks on the car floor. I saw something glinting in the dim light beside the backpacks: three matte black revolvers, laid out like tools of the trade. I always hated using blades or firearms, but they were my only resources for survival and especially for feeding my addiction that whispered louder. Uncontrollable. One wrong move, but we needed them.
Then I got in and settled in the back, closing the door and leaving my backpack to the side. I looked at my friends in front of me and checked the car's digital clock: 3:10. I was late again. I always arrive late when we want to steal Whale's merchandise.
"Sorry for being late." I said with total sincerity.
"Same as always." Jen twisted in her seat with her characteristic annoyed tone.
"No problem." Bill added, looking at me in the rearview mirror before starting the car. The car pulled away smoothly, moderate speed, nothing to draw attention at this hour.
"Bill, you shouldn't drive if you've been drinking. We don't want a repeat of last time." I told him.
I remembered the last time we were going to rob the fat guy's warehouse near the West River bay. The three of us were in the car. Bill had overdone it with several glasses of whiskey while driving. He almost crashed us into a pole. Fortunately I was in the passenger seat and took control of the wheel while he was still drunk. I avoided a tragedy for us; we wouldn't have come out well or we would have died on the spot. Thanks to me, the three of us were alive, but in the end we didn't get more drugs. Bill knows he shouldn't drink too much when driving.
"We only drank a little, last time I overdid it, friend. But it won't happen again." He admitted, preferring to avoid that early morning. His gaze stayed forward.
"I've been watching him, Bob." Jen turned toward me, her brown eyes locking onto mine. Calming my worry.
"Okay." I said.
"Did you forget something, Robby?" She asked, looking at me deeply.
"Nothing. I have my helmet inside my backpack." I said, shaking my head.
"Bob." Bill spoke without looking at me while he kept driving. "You forgot to greet your girl."
Oh… no…. why am I so careless…
"Sorry, Jen." I said, leaning forward, gently cupping her face and kissing her on the lips, soft at first, then lingering, the taste of whiskey on her.
We both ended our kiss.
"You're forgiven." She spoke with her serious voice, but with that underground current of warmth, leaning forward.
I nodded, then reached out to touch Bill's shoulder in greeting. He just nodded, eyes on the road, streetlights crossing the windshield.
I leaned back in the seat again. I saw my girl pouring a glass of whiskey. She passed it to me, half full of amber liquid. "Here, Bob."
"Thanks, Jennifer." I said, taking it in one hand while using the other to caress her wavy hair, fingers running through the strands. She let me, tilting her head slightly into the touch before turning forward again.
"You're welcome, sweetheart." She murmured.
I drank it slowly, small sips. I didn't want to go overboard, not get drunk today and ruin our robbery.
"We're almost there." Bill interrupted, clearing his throat slightly, the car humming through the empty streets.
"I just hope Lightning or Steel don't show up." I murmured. It was my ritual on any heist we did. It was for our luck.
///
We were crouched on the rooftop, the sandy surface digging into my knees through our black suits, our breaths steady but mixed with that electric buzz from the whiskey and anticipation. Jen was to my left, her wavy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her body tensed like a coiled spring; Bill to my right, broad shoulders hunched with his long brown hair pulled back by the wind, while he peered over the edge. Our helmets, the balaclavas really, lay on the rooftop behind us, faces exposed to the night air for now. No point masking up until we were down there; the shadows here were our best cover.
The moon hung high, casting a pale wash over the jagged skyline of Suicide Slum, turning the buildings into massive silhouettes. The wind still whispered through the alley below, carrying the faint stench of garbage and distant exhaust, but up here it was almost peaceful, if you ignored the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
We stayed leaned forward in unison, elbows on the low parapet, eyes fixed on the scene below on the street. The rooftop we were on was the tallest of seven stories, the others around it a little shorter than where we stood.
Below us were two African-American guards. They had the same rough look as Jeff but wore luxury clothes, dress suits with flashy shirts and ties bought by rich people. We knew those suits were armor for protection and they carried basic pistols on their belts. Both guards were watching the entrance of the supposed warehouse that was actually an old five-story building right in front of us. Beneath it was the real prize. The basement was the true jackpot, a refuge for any drug addict like us: boxes of meth, coke, pills, injectables and every poison that fed the streets. The whale's underground empire, hidden behind fake walls and trapdoors. Inside, more of his men lurked, muscle to protect the stash, armed to the teeth. We knew from Bill's reconnaissance: at least four to ten men inside the building with rotating shifts. It was dangerous for anyone without experience in this kind of heist.
Like I said, this wasn't our first robbery. We had hit the other three of Whale's warehouses in the neighborhood over the last few months: quick in and out, grabbing what we could before the rest of Whale's men ramped up.
We had parked Bill's car a few blocks back, hidden in a side street, and walked the rest on foot, our equipped backpacks ready. We climbed the buildings with our parkour skills, jumping and using our black grappling ropes. Similar to what Batman does, but cheaper.
Now I was scanning the nearby rooftops, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, no movement, no silhouettes against the sky. Empty, all of them except one. On the rooftop to our left, a lifeless body lay face down near the edge. The guy's dark suit was spread out like wings with a dark pool of blood coming from his neck. Jen had taken care of him minutes ago, silent as a ghost, circling while Bill and I got into position. She had slit his throat without a word, from behind, fast, clean and quiet. One less to worry about on our mission. It was brutal, but necessary. In this game, hesitation gets you killed.
We looked down in more detail, searching for signs of any new security cameras. We had spotted a couple recently installed on the second-floor facade of the building, lenses gleaming under the streetlights, but our angle was blind to them. Bill had mapped it during his solo reconnaissance last night.
"It's time, guys." Bill whispered, his voice low and firm, breaking the silence like a flare signal.
Jen and I nodded in sync, without hesitation.