Through stone carved halls and in between deserted offices the Bandit maneuvers with memorized accuracy. A lawless soul tossing aside tables and overturning cabinets of stacked paper records, her path of destruction layers together in the utter annihilation of an operation’s administrative nerve center.
Cracked open, the final door to the vault room was delicately removed from its hinges. The thick plastic shape left standing against the frame, a masterful and careful application of force in the removal of the mechanism comparatively childish to the final obstacle.
A spartan room coated in rich tiled granite. Plain white lighting provided by tubal bulbs hung from the roof above, the dominating force within the setting a gigantic vault door at the center of the far wall.
Issac’s thin, lanky form is shed against the polished, reflective steel of the monster; the ten foot tall circular mechanism dwarfing the human being in form and function. Levers and combination locks intermix with unknown keyholes, a trillion possibilities arriving in statistical analysis. Humankind dwarfed by its own creation, an overwhelming monster crafted by master locksmiths in distant cities.
Betrayed by one, Issac turns as the familiar presence is noticed behind him.
“Welcome to the BEAST.” The man jokes as he hears his Gang Leader’s footsteps. “Smith & Kart CX-Custom; twelve different interlocking mechanisms keeping two tons of arcanum-alloy steel in place. And not to mention a foot of reinforced copper-lined concrete surrounding this thing.”
“Not a problem right?” The Bandit Leader asks rhetorically. “Mr. Kart?”
“You really need to say that every time?” Issac tears open his backpack at his feet, worn carbon-fiber producing terrifying mechanisms of a lost world. Drill bits, saws, and arcane plasma cutters spread across the flooring with gentle care, items of human creation long lost to time itself. “Like every monster, there is always a weakness. But this time it's all part of the family business, so I’ve got a bit of an idea where to start.”
The young woman scoffs at the arrogance, the locksmith continuing to speak as he preps a drill from his toolset. A new bit attached, the sharp thing catching the lighting streaming down from thin bulbs above. “CX-Customs go for at least a hundred thousand for the base models, kinda wondering why they’d rig this place out of all of ‘em here in March.”
“The Church’s gotta keep their money somewhere.” The Leader chuckles beneath her bandana.
“Wow, so not only are we crooks we’re actual heretics. I love it.” From a longcoat’s many pockets an ancient scanner is produced; the handgun-like shape aimed directly at the vault door. An inquisition executed with the pull of a trigger, the internals of the monstrous form displayed in a three-dimensional holographic projection at the foot of the locksmith. Complex internals detected, stopped cold by a layer of arcane alloy within. “Well good to know that the Church of the Savior is at least somewhat competent in their choice of banks. Though, that competency is really stretching it now that we’re on the case.”
“How long will it take?”
“We planned for two hours right?” Issac reminds. “And I think with this thing it might take that long. Though, if we wanted we could probably get the combination from the manager and cut our time by half. Then I’d only need to get through the hard bolts rather than the actual combo-code locks.”
“No.” The Leader sternly orders. “Take your time on this thing, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Plus, I’m certain destri himself is gonna break this for ya.”
“Suit yourself Boss. But the only thing getting through this door is either the GOD GUN or a bit of ingenuity. Thankfully for us though, I’ve got that down to a…”
“Maddie!” The voice from far down the hall calls out, the young woman recognizing her own name as well as the owner of the request.
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“What’s up Adami?!” She yells back.
Adami coughs slightly as she peeks out the front windows, catching a glimpse of the white-black vehicle pulling to the front of the bank. “Coppers are here!”
“Wow… that was QUICK.” Issac rolls his eyes as he turns back to the vault. “Have fun.”
“Oh I will~” The young woman leaps up, a jog turning into a full run as she sprints across well polished tile flooring.
Pulling the multi-barreled rotary machine gun from its holster she gives a small, loving spin of the five barrels. A clockwork mechanism clattering in usage, the huddled pile of hostages watch with wide eyes as she slides her way to the sealed off front entrance to the building. A locking mechanism shut by a bent spring of steel, the method crude yet efficient for a minimal blockage of entry.
“One car.” Adami turns as her leader arrives. “Two coppers.”
“Just as planned.” Maddie nods as she heaves the unwieldy weapon up to a firing position.
Almost a hundred concrete stairs lead up to the huge marble facade, March Central Bank built upon a natural pedestal of carved rock from the mountainside of March’s foundation. Pillars of hand cut stone reach up to a religious symbol of the five pointed sigil, the form towering over the pair of Police Officers as they slowly ascend the steps.
Gray uniforms catching the light from five suns above, the thin fabric based body armor woven into shirts and relatively weak revolvers on their hips mostly a deterrent alongside the protection of the law itself.
Corrupt souls of justice drafted from the lowest strata of the holy city.
“False alarm?” The female Police Officer bets as she cracks her neck, the first dozen steps already testing the limitations of human endurance.
“The teller probably accidentally hit the button, just like last month.” The male partner stakes as he catches his breath. “Bet dinner?”
“Nice try.” The partner chuckles dismissively. “Almost.”
“One day.” The reply comes with hesitation, turning back towards the great city; towards the massive mile tall leyline tower at the center of it all. “Thank the Five we’re not dealing with that thing at the Governor’s place though. Much rather be here.”
“I’d rather be there than here honestly. This’ll waste my entire afternoon on some gods forsaken report.”
“Our afternoon.” The partner specifies.
“Oh give it up.”
A short windup before utter anarchy, the five barrels of the rotary machine gun spinning in anticipation as the Bandit aims directly above the approaching officers.
The words are spoken quietly by the wielder, anticipation as eyes widen. “This’ll get their attention.”
A trigger depressed, divine mechanisms activating by command of its wielder. A well of infinity brought forth into the world, the first among trillions of small caliber bullets loaded into the rotating chamber with vicious intent.
They all hear it from across the city; from the souls of humanity to sleeping beasts beneath the mountains at their feet.
The scream of a dying god tears through the afternoon sky of the City of March, a universe bent towards a singular artifact in the creation of unfettered chaos.
A rate of fire that gnaws at reality itself, bullets ripping past the forms of the pair of Officers as the lugged weapon within the Bandit’s hands screams a wall of rounds from a divine magazine.
Tracers catch the sight of watching gods, the small-caliber projectiles ricocheting off far walls of brick and stairs of concrete in puffs of dust and sand.
Maddie keeps the trigger depressed for a full twelve seconds, the infinite supply of bullets used to its full potential as tens of thousands of caseless rounds are sent loose into a dying world.
The pair of Police Officers tumble down the steps in full retreat, one of them faceplanting themselves on the base of the stairs next to the patrol car as he reaches towards the radio system within the cabin.
“GODS ABOVE.” The partner draws her handgun from her waist, firing off three unaimed shots towards the source of utter anarchy.
A voice barely heard as the ear shattering screech of fire falters, the radio broadcast made to all in raw panic. “Code six-five, shots fired in March Central Bank!!! Repeat, code six-five on March Central Bank!!!”
The fired handgun rounds crack overhead, embedding themselves into concrete as the pair of gang members duck behind the walls. Peeking out from the now shattered frosted window as the lull in conflict comes, distant eyes meet.
“Never gets old.” Adami chuckles.
“Tell me about it.” Maddie replies with mild amusement as she raises her voice. “WE GOT HOSTAGES IN HERE SO DON’T TRY ANYTHING!!!”
Officers slither behind thin cover as they catch unstable breaths, gray uniforms hidden behind their white-black patrol car. Backup on approach, a conflict beyond the scope of two souls.