We drove over a bump, the old Toyota van made no effort in absorbing the shock, might be due to how vintage it was. The van engine jerked every time it changed gear, almost causing me to fall each time. This time, the driver took no consideration in slowing down before climbing over another bump, I flew off my seat, almost ramming my face on the floor. A hard grip held me from behind. No.4 seemed to have high quality grade augmented arm to have such quick reaction speed.

    “Thanks.” I said with a virtually distorted voice. He nodded, not uttering a word.

    “So,” No.5 said, clearing his throat. “Anyone know where this bloody bank is?”

There was no response, wouldn’t blame the crew though, considering what’s buried in everyone’s chest no one seemed to be in a talky mood. 

“Well, screw me sideways.” No.5 grumbled. “I've got it too y’know.”

Still, everyone ignored. It's surprising how he talks without giving as much as shit to what’s going on, considering the fact that we all had bomb implants for lungs. We were all going to rob the most secured bank in Synth city and we didn’t even know which one, yet. Everyone was mentally prepping themselves. Don Montero was fortunate enough to have forcefully assembled these merry men of miscreants and punks to do his dirty work for him. We all had one entanglement or the other with Don Montero. And its because of these ‘entanglements’, we were forced into a gig like this. No one in his right mind would ever want to give it a go, robbing a bank in Synth city, that is. Synth city is known to be this perfect utopia were the fat and wealthy smug fucks get to relax without any worries of being robbed or attacked. It was considered the safest city in the whole of the south east sector. There haven't been any form of public crime for the past 5-7 years. The only time I’ve witnessed or saw a crime occur was in 2089, 7 years ago. I can’t really consider it's as much of a crime, y'know, considering how stupid it was. 

T'was just some random guy who thought of a genius plan of robbing a server farm, a weird choice, I know. The poor guy didn’t have enough to build a Jack box, probably thought he could get parts from one of the server’s CPU’s, unknown to the bloke, the frames had 2k volts running on the outside frames. Unlike other cities at the south east side, Synth city has a way with updating its security protocols. So, ever since then, there has been tight security all over every street. If you so much as dress out of place or even cough in a wrong way, you get filled with hot sizzling lead. It will, be quite puzzling why anyone would want to live here. Well, it’s simple actually. Wherever there were big pockets, big cash can’t be far off. 

Synth city is a sort of paradise for HI-jackers like myself. In Synth city, information is quicker to get as long as you had the money for it. It was the daily hustle to reap as much money as you can. And when I say money, I meant either Dules or data. Data in synth city can be quite expensive, in its own way, functions like a form of currency. You’d be surprised on how much length people would go to cover their secrets. Bank transactions, embezzlements, trafficking, drug purchases, you name them. All these and more are sensitive data corporate big-shots would kill to keep secret. But then, with a little mixture of blackmail and a bit of passive threats, you could well out a mother lode.  So, you simply black mail, cash out, and dash out.

Sounds like a plan, right? Well, not really, might sound easy, but it's nowhere close. See, depending on who or what you’re trying to hack, risks also tend to follow. You’d have to be extremely careful on who you’re dealing with. If its just a random guy who’s having an affair outside his marriage, then it’s a soft go. But if it was a multi billionaire corporation, then that's a red zone. Red zones usually mean ‘keep the fuck off or else’. Unless you’re a rotten head Hi-jacker, like myself, who would do anything risky just for the joy of it, it's advisable to go for the lesser fries. I mean, it’s how I got myself into this shitty situation in the first place.

 I checked my Wrist-whiz if there was any form of connection, still nothing. Signal jammer must still be running; wish I had my Meep box here. It’s almost the same thing as a Jack box, only smaller; I could hack an entire network with that little devil. Well, it doesn’t matter now. Whatever we were going to retrieve from that bank would need more than a Meep box to crack it. 

“Hey, fatty.” No.5 spoke again, this time I could tell that he was wearing a sort of stupid smile under his dark hazmat visor with his serial number glowing on it. “You don’t look so good.”

We didn’t use our names throughout the entire thing. Hell, we didn’t even know what each other looked like. An effort to conceal our identities.

“Why don’t I come shut you up once and for all, huh?” No.7 replied aggressively, trying to restrain what he had in his guts.

“Whoa, calm down, mate.” No.5 said mockingly, his Scottish accent stronger than ever. “Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side now, would I?”

No.7 said nothing but grip his sit tighter with every jerk the car made. Could only mean that he had motion sickness and was trying as much as he could not to spill his guts. 

“Perhaps,” No.5 said leaning towards No.7. “You might soon need a barf bag, won't you.? And while you’re at it, you could have that McDonalds extra-large burger you’ve always wanted.”

“Shut up.” No.7 said, still constraining himself.

“C’mon, it’s gonna be my treat.”

“Shut the fuck up!” No.7 yelled. 

There was a repeated loud banging from the front of the van, the place went silent.

“What the hell is going on back there?” No.1, from the shot gun seat yelled.

No one answered. He opened a little peephole, large enough to fit a fist in. He peered through, his visor boldly showing scanning his number, as if looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“Quit the horse shit and get ready,” No.1 added. “We’re 2 minutes to drop point. Pull your shit together.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    My Wrist-whiz chimed, a green holographic triangle hovering above it. It seemed like the network jammer had been deactivated, partially though. I immediately opened my GPS locator, trying to find any approaching bank ahead of us. I swallowed hard. A large lump stuck in my throat, my heart skipping a beat as I saw the name of the bank hovering above. It was one of Synth city's most secured deposit bank, HY-MAX.

    As funny as the name sounded, not every Hi-jacker had ever thought of breaking in, everything was tight, both physically and digitally; it was highly secured for a reason. Most top guns in both politics and private or illicit businesses owned HY-MAX accounts. Sometimes, even jackers too would once in a while own one. 

    All HY-MAX security interfaces were known to be complex in all angles. They were in association with the multinational security company named CLAW, and having branches spread all over the globe. They were globally recognized as being the most private and well encrypted banking system, thus giving an advantage for illegal transactions. Hell, I could bet both nuts that Don Montero had an account too.

    No.4, seating next to me, saw what I was staring at; he seemed to be unmoved. The others didn’t pay any attention. They were busy concealing all the gears and ceramic weapons to avoid any possible form of detection. I, on the other hand, did not have much to prepare for, all I had with me was my jack box.

    The van dragged severally before finally halting right beside the bank. This branch wasn’t as flashy as I thought it would be on the outside. It just seemed a bit too average for a top tier bank. We all tapped on the hidden panels located at each side of our hazmat hood. There was a brief facial scan followed by a graphical glitch. Faces appeared on each of our visors; they were a bit distorted, only if you looked close enough. But I was impressed none the less, the visors were quite advanced. 

The entire crew stepped out of the van and headed straight towards the entrance. There were two security personnel on duty. They were the biggest of all humanoid androids I’ve ever seen. Eight feet tall bullet proof S.C 200s, armed with armor piercing rounds. I've never seen one in action and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to see that now. They were the kind of thing you'd see on tv and not hope of seeing any in real life. They were fully automated robots infused with complex security AI, programed with the singular duty of protecting, and killing. Having an S.C 200 meant high chances of being shot for making even the slightest mistake. One among the pair gestured us to halt, stopping the entire crew as we were about to enter. No.1 stepped in to explain things.

"The manager called us in, said there were issues with the plumbing?"

"Please show us your I.D or any form of clearance." the robot responded politely.

"I don’t think that would be necessary." No.1 replied with a slight grin. "The manager was the one that ordered for our services, you could ask him yourself."

"I’m sorry sir, it's against organizational policy. No appointment clearance, no entry." the robot replied gesturing that we leave the premises. The entire gang turned cold, we were nervous, not wanting to go away, but not also willing to get in a pointless dog fight with fully equipped cyber automatons. We all hurriedly stood out of the way, fortunately, I anticipated something like this could happen, now this is where I come in. No.1 approached me with a goober and slotted it into my Wrist-whiz. The safety mode virus was immediately lifted, granting me full and complete access to all hack tools. I was previously looking for a way around the virus, could mean good money If I figured out a way to replicate the computer bug. Don Montero pays good money for all his back-door software, it just turned out that’s how I got caught. Don Montero, you see, is the very king of Synth city, he controlled all of organized crime starting from drugs all the way to body trafficking. The man owned an unlimited amount of information, dark shady secrets anyone would kill to get. And that’s how I got caught. I came across a random leak of data containing information about a highly secured bank account. Now, my dumb ass should have been able to tell that it was a fucking honey pot, trying to lure me in, but then before I knew it, I got tracked down. Normally, you could make attempts to run when you got discovered, but it also turns out that Mr. Montero happened to have one of his lackeys hanging around. It only took mere minutes before they were able to catch me; the man was that well connected. Don Montero was going to skin me alive. But, in his words, said he was in a 'good mood' that day, so he was willing to let me go, but on condition though. If I did a job for him, he was gonna let me go. I immediately accepted, my dumb ass thinking of ditching him as soon as he'd let me go. Turns out the guy had plans for insurance. And yeah, you've guessed it right. The moron planted a fucking bomb in my chest, and with my luck, it turns out that I wasn’t the only one who had recently stepped on Montero's fat ass. 

Yeah, starting from No.2 all the way to No.10, we all were potential suicide bombers. My Wrist-whiz chimed as I operated as quickly as I could. The entire crew were on edge, some paced about keeping an eye on the two large humanoid robots, giving us nervous stares. 

"Please, exit the bank premises," both S.C 200s approached slowly, their guns making a revving sound, warming up.  "You have 30 seconds to leave, or else we'll be forced to use extreme measures."

"C'mon man, hurry the fuck up." No.7 said nervously bouncing at a spot, probably about to shit himself.

" Hold on," I said operating as fast as I could. The tension was thick enough to be scissored. I didn't have to see through everyone's masks to see the sweat all over their foreheads; God knows I was drenched, not from rain though. "Almost done."