I was frozen in place, trying to piece everything together.

Quincy sat with his knees against the floor, scowling at Lane. I could tell from his eyes he would take a shot the moment he had one, but we were unarmed. Our guns and bags sat in the middle of the room behind Lane's improvised stage. He twirled around gleefully as he screamed for us to pick.

"Tick, Tock. I really thought we were on the same page here. I don't like waiting!" Lane announced, stomping his feet. Not unlike a child throwing a tantrum.

Lauren's face said everything about how she read the situation. She stared at Lane's feet as he playfully moved around the room, carefully avoiding the chunks of marble surrounding him. Her shoulders were tensed before a sigh and release.

Acceptance.

She turned her head toward me, and with pain in her eyes, she smiled.

I looked over at Allen. He had his head lowered, and his eyes averted my gaze. He must have gotten caught right after the charge detonated.

The dim lighting made it harder for me to check my surroundings. As I carefully looked around the room, I noticed that most of the bank's employees fled. Probably as soon as Lane had given them the opportunity.

For the most part, the room that comprised the lobby was empty. A large penthouse suite with little furnishings. Towards the back were two large rooms on the far northeast corner of the large open suite.

As for what was there, there was no vault, no comically large hurdles of green to feast our eyes on, just a few long tables and some large servers that took up much of the space in the back. That's all they needed, all it took.

Money was no longer physical in any sense. It was all digital, information, code.

It was all stored into tiny little markings that rested carefully on the inside of our wrists. Tattoos made with conductive ink. It worked the same way we used bar codes, but more like having a wallet attached to our skin.

"I don't understand what's so difficult about making a decision! It doesn't have to be so dour. Come on! Here, look, I'll show you!" Lane yelled as he pulled out his pistol and used it to slowly lift Allen's head. Resting the barrel on the center of Allen's forehead.

I quickly counted the guards in the room, looking for an opening. There were three men assigned to the bank who were still in the room, standing behind us. With him, Lane brought three men of his own. Which puzzled me as I recalled Quincy's first observation of us being followed.

A bike and a van.

It didn't make sense to me why one of Lane's men would ride a bike if there was space in the van.

"I made it clear what would happen if you didn't choose. So who goes first!?" Lane yelled, quickly pulling the gun from Allen's head and aiming it at Quincy.

I looked back at the pile made out of our weapons and bags. We still had a chance, even if it wasn't with our guns.

They weren't our only weapons.

'Don't bring a knife to a gunfight,' they used to say. It was an old adage used to convey the importance of being adequately equipped to deal with a situation. There is, however, a glaring absence of understanding when it comes to the actual validity of that statement.

Anyone who understands how to properly use a knife will tell you. There's a specific range in which someone with a gun matched up against someone with a knife will almost always lose. The skill lies in closing the gap.

"Are you ready to die for nothing!?" Lane shouted as he pressed the barrel up against the space between Quincy's eyes. Quincy looked past the barrel and stared Lane in the eyes as he got ready to move the gun. Lane turned his head as he swung his arm over to Lauren. His eyes watched me with a certain calm intensity, hoping for a reaction.

I took one more look around the room and in the midst of some of the anger and shame that I could feel from those I knew most. I felt a sense of defeat. The unmistakable pressure of the waves crashed up against us, drowning us with the mouthfuls we swallowed, trying to breathe. It beat us left and right, and with our lighthouse gone, we had a choice.

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We could waste what little time we had trying to weigh our chances against the roaring sea.

While the current washed us away.

Or we could swim.

Lane pulled back, walking back and around the pile of bags and weapons in the center of the small circle we made. In my peripheral, I could see Quincy reaching for the knife he hid under his pants in a sheath wrapped around his ankle.

That was our cue.

We moved in unison, like a rehearsed dance, a collection of moments following the rhythm of our steady heartbeats. It was art, the way we decorated the floor with red splatter.

Quincy swung his arm around with precision and hit the guard behind him. The blade sunk into the guard's ankle right above his heel. In one swift movement, he stabbed and ripped it out, cutting the tendon in his foot. Dropping him to the floor. With perfect timing, Quincy forced the blade through the guard's temple once he landed.

At the same time, Allen pulled his blade out from his side. In one motion, he leaned over to the guard adjacent to him, stabbing him in between his legs. The guard lowered himself in reaction to the first hit, giving Allen the perfect opportunity to stick the blade into the side of his neck. Once Allen pulled the knife out, he created a small fountain of red plasma that squirted out slowly onto the floor.

I positioned my right leg so that I could propel my body up and forward, launching myself toward Lane as I unsheathed the blade from my back.

All I had to do was close the distance.

I could see the panic in Lane's expression. He froze. His man beside him lifted his gun, preparing to shoot me. Before he could pull the trigger, I heard a loud pop. A small hole formed in the center of his forehead, releasing the pulpy red liquid from within. His body dropped as I noticed the blonde head of hair swaying toward Lane's position. I jerked from the gunshot, giving Lane enough time to lift his gun and shoot. I felt the bullet fly past my neck. It missed.

"I warned you, Marcus! I warned you! You can't say I didn't tell you this would happen!" Lane shouted as he thrust his elbow back, hitting the woman in the face. She dropped her head, and with her hands covering her face, I could see the bloodstream between her fingers. Lane wrapped his arm around her neck with his right arm, pulling her head up and pressing the barrel against her head.

It was Kelly.

Her face was a little bloodied from the blow. She squirmed, trying to get free until Lane pressed the gun harder against her head. She had given up. Her eyes looked down.

She couldn't even look at me.

If the Island of Manhattan were a living organism, with the buildings and sidewalks paved and built on top of it. Then Central Park would be its heart.

But it wasn't a park anymore.

It's grass long and unattended to. The trees that sprawled out over the park's several miles made it hard to see the open fields that sit somewhere in the center.

It was a forest.

A dying forest. In the years since the suicides began, the spring and winter seasons have gradually gotten shorter. Spanning weeks, then days, until there wasn't any spring or winter. At all. Most days just felt like summer.

The lack of rain dried out the trees and the grass that comprised the forest. The trees decayed and rotted away what was left of the heart of our city.

For a moment, I forgot that the flurry of white that fell over us wasn't snow. The wind blew up against our sides in waves. The gentle piling of pale flakes across the many surfaces around us created a deception, a beautiful lie. But in a moment of weakness, I needed proof, extending my hand out to catch a flake. I stared at it for a minute and tried to discern the difference. I rubbed it against the inside of my index with my thumb, hoping to find water, but instead created a smudge.

The gentle sobs were the only things to save us from the damning silence. The young woman knelt and spread out over our makeshift casket. She fought the urge to let go and hold on to the only person who gave her a foundation.

Her name was Holly.

In a favorable light, you could still see that smiling little girl. The one in the photograph that Lauren was always pulling out.

I tried to save them both.

"An eye for an eye, ey Marcus!?"

I heard the yelling that followed the gunshot and turned around. Lauren was laid out on the floor, holding the gunshot wound on her neck. Allen dropped to the floor. He took his shirt off to wrap her neck and tightened it to try and stop the bleeding. Quincy stood above them, holding the last guard captive. His arm wrapped around the guard's neck with his other hand placed on the side of the man's head. Quincy looked me in the eyes as he squeezed and turned his arms and hands with both speed and force, letting the corpse drop at his feet.

"She's bleeding out! We need to get her out of here!" Allen yelled as he held Lauren's head. Lauren could barely keep her eyes open. She neglected to yell and focused on staying awake.

"Marcus!" Quincy yelled. "Wake the fuck up, we need to go!"

I looked back, and Lane was gone. He slipped away during the chaos.

"Get her out of here. I have to go after Lane. I'll meet you back home," I said as I ran toward the staircase.

I saw them in the distance, shuffling forward as fast as they could. They ran into the forest and right up to the tree line. Around Lane's left shoulder was a bag. He pulled out a bottle of rum. The kind Quincy liked to stow away on runs. Lane poured it out in a line as best he could, running from one tree to the next. He dropped the empty bottle with Kelly still in his grasp. He waved his gun down, motioning for his man to shoot the trail of alcohol. Out from the distance, I could see the fire that started, and by the time I had reached the entrance to the park, I couldn't see past the rising flames.

The fire spread across every tree that surrounded it. The wind carried the flurry of ash that came from the spreading wildfire, and in the midst of it all, I could hear someone yelling.

"Come find me, Marcus. I know you will!"