"Ayo," Zheanni pointed an acrylic nailed finger to the long line of people, "Peep this. I think that's the bank hall."
Conor, her twenty-year-old brother, was born of a different mother. They looked related, but he resembled his mother more, tall and dark-skinned, while she resembled their father, Paul. As he casually scanned the surrounding area, responded, "Looks like it." His diamond teeth sparkled as he grinned, stepping through a crowd of people, dismissively shoving through.
"So we go on around the back, and-"
"Nah," Conor stopped her. "We goin' through the front right here."
"Bruh," Zheanni sighed contemptibly, "We literally just got here- hol' up," she looked to her right. Kholwa, a girl a few years younger and a head shorter, walked beside her. "What're you feelin'?"
"It doesn't really matter," she blew a strand of long, straight brown hair from in front of her face.
"She gets it," Conor chuckled. "Dad said I outrank you. Sorry," he gave Zheanni a sad, mocking look, holding up his right palm, revealing eight symbols tattooed across it.
"Bull-fuckin'-shit," Zheanni muttered under her breath. "Still not the highest rank."
"Higher than you. I'm the highest in the room," he said in a sing-song voice. "That's all that matters!"
The three pushed through the long line of the crowd. The people were silenced upon seeing the tall, inked, and bejeweled man; heavy gold and diamond chains hung off his neck, the pendants lightly clattering with every step. Behind him, the girl with black hair with red streaks, heavily tatted, thin but toned, long acrylic multi-colored nails that had gems glued to them. Both had 'KTA' indelibly drawn onto their faces; Zheanni's below her right eye, and Conor's was above his left eyebrow; over his right was 'XXX'. Kholwa followed close behind. The front of her hair was flat and straight, her bangs ending millimeters above her eyes; the back had long curls, almost like drills; unlike the others, her skin was spotless and pure. She wore no jewelry and no designer clothing, only a black and grey hanbok—a short silk jacket paired with a long dress. The embroidered designs of dragons raced along its long collar.
"All I'm saying is: Don't be hatin' 'cause I'm winning," Conor finished, swinging open the glass doors of the building and stepping through onto the carpet.
It was a tall, boring marble building. Its name, 'Bank,' was on the outside above the entrance in bold black letters jutting from the tan stone. Below that, twelve pillars stood tall at its front, each a different shade of marble—cracked and stained.
A guard wearing a camo ballistics vest and a black ski mask stepped toward him, a rifle slung across his chest. The man started yelling, still in a language none of them understood.
"Winning? Okay."
Zheanni smiled, "Kholwa, as the saying goes: God made man, but the Glock made everyone equal."
The guard's brain oozed from the empty socket where his eye was just moments before.
Zheanni then pointed her pistol at the black security camera overhead, destroying it with one shot, all before the guard had time to hit the ground. 'Shoulda shot that first.'
"Damn!" Conor yelled, pulling out a machine pistol and aiming it at the guards on the floor above. "What'chu do that for?" He screamed over the ensuing gunfire.
Several of the guards began to run, retreating deeper into the bank.
"Huh?" Zheanni asked slyly, "This was your idea."
Conor sucked his teeth, "Why you always gotta play games, bruh? You always petty as hell for no reason!"
Kholwa's hair bounced as she sprinted up the stairs on the side of the room, removing a bright pink Uzi and a long engraved dagger hidden in her baggy sleeves.
"Look at the tattoos!" One of the guards said to another while running.
"No doubt at all," another said. "A branch of the Silvios."
"We gotta get BeZo for this."
Deep inside the bank, a tall older man wearing a blue tuxedo with an emblem on his lapel, sat in an office, peering at an open folder in his hands; his glasses halfway down the bridge of his nose. An orange and white kitten slept peacefully at his feet.
Even as the alarms blared outside the room, he was oblivious, staring blankly ahead.
The door of the office was kicked open, and several of them came in yelling about intruders. "BeZo, what do you want us to do?"
BeZo rose to his feet, a commanding presence, as he raised his hand. A meticulously inked ritualistic pattern adorned his right hand, cloaked entirely in black. A hush fell over everyone, and as he lowered his arm, silence lingered in the air.
"Do we know who they are?" He looked at the large TV screen hanging over his desk; several of the security feeds were totally black.
"The Silvios, I think," Another offered.
"Okay," He monotoned, walking to the door. "Tell everyone to stand by."
"What's the story of this place?" Kohlwa asked, looking high, her eyes going from the paintings on the sleek marble walls to the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling and then to the skylight.
"I dunno," Conor said.
"It's owned by some new small-time mafia or cartel group," Zheanni said. "Our dad said to get some shit from the vault. All I know is 'dat they're into some weird shit. Blood sacrifice type shit."
"Aren't you as well?" Kholwa had a puzzled look on her face.
Zheanni paused, then smirked. "That's different."
"How?"
BeZo sunk his teeth into his thumb—deep enough to draw blood. Bringing his thumb to his forehead, he drew a line from the top to the middle of his eyes. He looked down at the ancient golden book on the table before him, parroting the prayers that lay bare. The more he spoke, the larger the blood-red aura grew. He removed his suit jacket and shirt, letting the blood from a recent animal sacrifice drip down onto his abs.
"Shits clear," Conor said, looking around the lobby, stepping over the body of a guard, and peering over the teller's counter. "Hm?" He heard a shuffling above, at least one hundred footsteps on the floor above them.
"Yo, shits 'boutta be wild," Zheanni whistled, watching the crowd of guards lined up on the top floor overlooking the bank's lobby.
Kholwa took a deep breath, her wide eyes running over each bank member, her fists tightening around her dagger and gun.
The crowd began to murmur and part. With every step BeZo took, a small stream of blood fell off him, leaving a long trail of blood as he walked down the right lobby stairs.
"Heh," Conor smirked, looking the man up and down as he walked toward them. "Ayo, Z, don't we know this guy from somewhere?"
Zheanni studied the man before finally saying, "Maybe you do."
"Yeah, I got it," he pointed at BeZo, "You've gotta bit of a bounty on you," he grinned, showing off his diamond teeth. "Around a couple mil."
BeZo stopped several yards away from them, "If you stay, I will kill you."
Zheanni scoffed, "Yeah?" she cackled. "I know you ain't talkin' to us."
"Dude thinks he's so tough," Conor rolled his eyes.
Kholwa's face scrunched with confusion, "After all this, you're warning us still?"
BeZo looked to her with a blank and almost spacey expression, "He asks for consent."
"What?"
He held his hands out to the side and started a low chant. The crowd behind him began doing the same.
"Bruh, this shit's so extra. Let's just kill him," Zheanni said, golden energy radiating around her.
"Okay," Kholwa's bright pink energy swayed back and forth like a candle flame.
Conor's aura was swirling and dark. Like a purple storm cloud curling slowly around him— a dark and brooding presence that seemed to echo the hues of a stormy purple sky. The ethereal currents coiled with an ominous grace, each tendril of energy undulating in a mesmerizing dance around him.
Without another word, they all sprinted toward BeZo.
Kholwa's eyes widened, seeing a glowing ritual dagger appear out of nowhere, flying toward her. Zheanni stepped in front of her, effortlessly slapping the blade away, continuing their run.
'What is that?' All three thought, watching as a massive throne shimmered into existence behind BeZo. The back was tall enough to be on par with the second-floor balcony lobby.
He cocked his head and grinned, "He's talking to me through the Ley line below this bank," blood leaked from between his teeth. "Looks like He is on his way," he looked up at the empty throne. He ducked Conor's fist and elbowed his ribs, then kicked away Kholwa with ease. He looked up in time to block Zheanni's dropkick. Grabbing her by the leg, he swung her as hard as he could; her head slammed against the corner of the throne.
"Sheesh," Conor stretched. 'Bro's fast.' He looked to Zheanni, who hadn't moved since her head collided with the chair. "Damn, Z, you out?" She didn't respond. He towered over her, "This is why Dad chose me." He flung himself forward, planting his foot on BeZo's chest, sending him flying into the bank teller's table. BeZo's back twisted at an unnatural angle over the furniture, a gasp escaping his purple lips.
As BeZo attempted to push himself to his feet, he felt a cold steel blade push slowly into his stomach.
Kholwa jumped back in surprise as BeZo got to his feet, her dagger still inside him. He ripped it from his stomach in one swift movement, creating an arc of blood in the air that rained down over everyone.
There was a look of absolute horror on Kholwa's face. She put her hands in front of her face and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block the incoming flurry of strikes.
She opened her eyes after feeling something whiz by her head. She turned, seeing BeZo flying past her, evading another swing from Conor, and thrusted Kholwa's dagger toward Zheanni, who was standing and looking pissed off.
With all his might, BeZo slammed the blade into her chest as hard as he could. Aiming for her heart.