𝘒𝘊𝘕 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘬, 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 21st, 1980

The setting was as flawless as could be for a professional like Victor Calloway.

Nightfall—the flurry of snow blanketing the world outside—and the mostly empty building stood by its lonesome on the fringes of the city, each window darkening one by one as the twilight afternoon faded into evening.

He watched with patience from a distance until the proper time came to be—and then, he and his team jumped to action.

"Game on."

He stormed the building with a rifle held high, mask covering his face and hair. His friend, Ty, had just powered off the building before the rest thundered in—and now, Victor led two others into the spacious darkened lobby, all of them masked and armed, the remaining two employees on the premises jolting up from behind their counters in alarm.

"You know where to go and you know what to do—𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳," Victor snarled in a deep, raspy growl, jutting his gun at the nearest employee just as the man began to lower his hand. "Now listen, and pay 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 close attention—because I don't wanna get held up here any more than 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘦. You understand me?"

The man nodded shakily, and Victor took a brisk step forward—sharp and penetrating eyes of blue glaring into the man from behind the mask.

"Safe," Victor said in a much softer tone, still with a rasp. "Now."

The man managed another nod before quickly shuffling off, leading Victor into the back.

As the two ventured off—Victor's two companions, Leo and Manny, remained in the lobby, keeping the other late employee held still at gunpoint.

"Watch 'im," Manny growled, smacking Leo once on the arm before breaking into a stride. "I'm gonna help him fill up the bags."

"Okay, man," Leo mumbled in response, his voice easeful and somewhat calm, the least grating of the three. "Just hurry up."

Manny took the empty duffle bag off of Leo's shoulder and headed off with it, following in his boss's footsteps. He joined Victor many turns and hallways away from the lobby—and they arrived in a massive metal room filled with cash and other valuables, which Victor and Manny hurriedly began shoveling into their bags at once.

"Hey—whoa whoa—𝘩𝘦𝘺!" Victor whipped around and fired off a shot—the deafening bang making Manny jump. "Where d'you think you're going, friend?!"

He'd let off a shot toward the door—where their hostage employee had just tried to flee.

The employee suddenly froze, his face draining of color as his mouth drifted agape, and he slowly held up his hands in surrender.

"Nooo… we're not done here, buddy," Victor sneered, sauntering toward the man and tightly draping an arm around him, giving him a forceful shake. "And you're gonna stay right here with us until we are. Hopefully you won't have to be a meat shield, but hey—you keep making us take longer, and that scenario's getting more and more likely by the second. I recommend you just chill and wait for it to pass. Or you can die. Your choice."

He planted a foot into the man's back, practically launching him deeper into the safe room.

Just when Victor moved to resume his looting—the earpiece inside his mask sparked to life, and Ty began speaking into his ear.

"Ahh—Vic—we got a problem," Ty told him. "Cops are swarming in."

Victor skidded to an abrupt stop, clasping his earpiece. "What?"

"Cops," Ty repeated urgently. "I don't know how they got here so fast—but I'm 'round back already. Just come on!"

"Son of a bitch—you're gonna end up running us off the road again if we end up in another damn chase," Victor snarled, whirling around to Manny. "Hey—pick it up! Cops!"

Manny instantly seemed to kick into high gear; he filled his and Leo's bags before topping off Victor's own, and then, the two of them rushed out of the room at once, sprinting into the hallway.

Manny headed toward the back—and Victor rushed toward the opposite direction.

"What—Vic!" Manny skidded to a stop and whipped around. "Where're you going?!"

"Getting Leo!" Victor hollered back without stopping.

"But we don't have time—!"

"Just go!"

Victor vanished around the corner down the hall.

Manny swore under his breath, then resumed his pace toward the back exit.

Primed with adrenaline—Victor rounded all the turns and sped down all the halls before emerging in the front lobby again, his heart instantly plummeting into his stomach.

The echo of sirens was audible on the night air outside.

Victor grabbed Leo and escorted him toward the hall, shoving him onward and ordering him to run—just when gunfire exploded from behind.

Cops breached the building; muzzle flashes illuminated the scene as Victor staggered at the edge of the hallway, Leo racing down the hall and halting on a dime when he realized his boss was no longer following him.

"Go!" Victor ordered, not knowing why—but he swatted at Leo and motioned for him to run. "𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰!"

His side throbbed terribly—where a bullet had struck him, and he stood hunched against the wall of the hallway—though adrenaline kept him upright, and the cops were beginning to flood into the building somewhere behind him.

Leo gave him a conflicted look before running down the hall and disappearing from view.

Many things ambushed him at once; Victor felt no desire to stay behind, to fight and hold off the opposition or to die here on the floor of a bank, and everything inside him screamed for him to run away as well—to survive and get away with all their gained goods just as they'd all done many times before, all under the guise of his fantastic instincts and leadership.

But—it was different this time, and the fruits of his skills and the luck of his endeavors had all finally seemed to run out.

It all came to him at once, the finality of their last score and the solidity of what came next—because Victor clenched his teeth, took in a bracing breath, and gave himself a powerful nod before spinning on his heel at once—and he unleashed fire on them all.

It rattled his skull, bombarded his eardrums, shook his body and his very thoughts as the gun kicked and convulsed with each shot—but he sprayed the room, glass shattering and metal sparking as many policemen fell to the ground or dove behind cover in a panic.

He knew—with every long second to pass and every adrenalized blur of action whizzing by—this was it.

He stood on the very edge of the end, the final moment of his life—and he would certainly fall any moment now.

But—as the magazine emptied, and as the room fell deathly silent, he slowly lowered his rifle, and the shot to end his life never came to be.

The room was still; cops lay up and down the tiled floor, many of them having retreated back outside, and nobody stood to oppose him now.

Victor let out a faint, astonished breath, feeling luckier than he ever had before.

Then—he spun around and ran down the hall, grasping his burning side as he hurried away from the lobby at once.

Perhaps he still had a chance—if Ty and the others hadn't left yet, if the van was still out back—he could make it—if his luck could just hold out—!

Victor exploded out the back double-doors—stumbling to a stop and glancing up and down the darkened alleyway, his rapid breaths escaping him in visible clouds of exhalation on the freezing winter air.

He peeled off his mask, slinging out his sleek black hairs, them combed them to the side and glimpsed up and down the back alleyway again—still seeing no getaway van in sight.

"Well… fuck 𝘮𝘦 for doing the right thing," Victor groaned, wincing as his side gave another surge of pain.

"I was wondering… how I would have this conversation with your little friends nearby," a new, mysterious voice spoke from the darkness. "But… how convenient for me that this worked out the way it did."

Victor turned and whipped out his handgun, aiming at the source of the voice.

From the shadows deeper in the alley, a man stepped forward—a man of average height and build, wearing a simple black suit and a pair of glasses, his dark, graying hairs combed neatly and his slightly aged face harboring a strangely calm smile.

"I had a feeling… that with as many places as you've hit successfully lately, they'd actually be prepared for you this time," the man told him ominously, taking another step closer, not seeming to mind that he stood at gunpoint. "And… I planned to offer you a better getaway than you had."

"Oh. That's nice," Victor chided, glimpsing around anxiously and waiting for more cops to appear. "Real fucking charitable of you—but who the fuck are you?"

"Harold Manson. And… it's a pleasure to meet a legend of your profession, Mr. Calloway," the man named Harold introduced. "Though I suspect we only have a small window of time to chat… so I'll make it fast. I'd like to offer you a perfect getaway from here… and, in exchange, you take on a job for me."

Victor glared at him for a second, then huffed out a sigh. "Yeah, fine, okay—what? Hit another bank? Treasury? What?"

"Nooo… nothing like that," Harold replied, his eerie smile seeming to grow. "You're a legend in your field because you manage people so well. That's what I need you to do. With those close to you, you use loyalty… and with strangers, you use fear. But, either way… you always make them all fall in line. And that's what I need from you. The ability to make someone fall perfectly in line. Simple as that."

Victor stared at him incredulously, feeling totally bewildered.

He couldn't comprehend why anyone would wait for such an urgent moment to ask this favor—or why they'd seek out someone like Victor Calloway for a job that sounded like babysitting—but, as time was an issue and as the sirens grew louder from a distance, he decided he'd simply ask all the questions later on.

"Fine—whatever—fine," Victor quickly agreed, lowering his gun. "Let's go! I hear 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 for fuck's sake!"

"Oh… that's not the cops, Mr. Calloway."

Harold grinned knowingly, upturning his head and gazing into the sky just when the whipping sounds of propellers grew deafening—and when a helicopter suddenly appeared from beyond the bank's rooftop.

"That's just your ride home."

Victor gaped at him, glancing between him and the helicopter in baffled awe.

Then, Harold collected a small radio from his side, as it was sparking with a static noise.

"Ready to collect?" a voice asked from the radio.

"Yes. Only one," Harold replied, holding the device to his face. "The others have gone. It's just us two."

"Roger that."

Harold stuffed the radio away—and then, a rope ladder unraveled from up high, flipping out and extending down the entire back of the bank building. It hung from the helicopter, swinging to and fro just between Harold and Victor.

Harold smirked, waving at the ladder and politely gesturing for him to climb aboard.

Victor hesitated, still ogling the man as if he'd never seen anything quite like him before. "How much money do you 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦?"

Harold let out a breathless little laugh. "I confess… I do go a bit above and beyond the local police station."

Victor gave him a final once-over before grabbing onto the ladder.

He hooked his feet onto it and climbed up, his hands going numb in the blistering winter air, and he felt the weight of Harold tug on the ladder from down below moments after.

And as he ascended, and as he gained a fantastic view of the buildings all around—and the flashing red and blue afar—he felt as if he was dreaming, as if everything in his life had suddenly hit a drastic peak he'd never come back from.

He couldn't have known just how correct he was.