"I'm really sorry, Mr. Davis. Unless you call the number we gave you, there's really nothing we can do about your card. We just don't have the capacity to print cards here in the bank…"
Nancy Fallen, only fifteen minutes into her eight hour shift, sat sheltered behind two pictures on her desk: one, a young, blonde girl in a dance uniform, the other a handsome man with dark, moony eyes and salt streaked hair. As she stared at the latter, she fiddled idly with the metal band on her finger.
"I don't understand…" The exasperating man before her whined, his lips curling into a convincingly toddler-like pout, even as he popped another one of her 'complementary' butterscotch candies into his mouth, "It's a bank card. How can the bank not have them?"
"This bank branch doesn't have the machines… Only corporate does, and even if we did, as I explained already, you have to report your card missing before you can be issued another."
"Pal… You really don't listen, do you?"
Looking up, Nancy smiled wearily at the stranger's interjection.
"The lady clearly explained things to you. Some of us have real business to attend to… So why don't you pick up your phone, like she said, and call corporate, so we can move this line along. Yeah?"
Blotchy red pooled into the cheeks of the man seated before her, like massive freckles, and he turned to address the man behind him. His mouth, however, snapped shut and swiftly, he rose from the seat, nearly skittering past the man and the long line stretched behind him.
Looking up, Nancy opened her mouth to thank the man and found herself staring down the barrel of a handgun.
"Sorry about this, sweetheart. Truly. You seem like a lovely lady…" With his free hand, he turned the first photo frame, smiling as though he were sitting across from her at Starbucks, sharing lattes and scones, "And a mother, too? Well, goodness. This should be quite easy for you, then. I need you to open the vault downstairs for my friends and me, then… and here's the easy bit, I need you to walk away. If you can manage that, well… you get to live. And so does everyone else in the charming little bank."
Fixing her with a cool stare, he leveled the gun, "Do we have a deal?"
Meeting his gaze, Nancy shifted, gingerly, "You don't have to hurt anyone…" She whispered, her fingertip glancing over the small silver button on the side of the desk. Breath held, she pressed it down.
"Oh, Nancy. My dear. I was
really hoping you wouldn't do that."
With a clicking of his tongue, the gunman fired.
***
Valentina rolled from the blankets with a sudden start, the buzzing of her phone a blaring claxxon, frightening away the ghost of dreams like the trumpet horns of Gideon's troops. Silently, she cursed whatever monster had set her alarm for such a God forsaken hour, before remembering she was the perpetrator. Juniper was a painfully early riser, and somewhere in the near-drunken haze of too little sleep and far too many essay questions, Val had found herself agreeing to run with Juniper in prep for a marathon later that month.
With a groan, she canceled the alarm and let her feet hit the floor with a disgruntled stomp. One of these days she'd learn to say no to someone…
Dragging her fingers through a wild jungle of tangled brown curls, she racked her brain for an excuse not to go, but could only draw up flashes of Junipers's heart-gutting pout and with a sigh, forced herself to her feet, instead. What was a six mile run between friends?
Thanking God she'd decided to sleep in her jogging pants and tank, she slid into sneakers and raked a toothbrush around her mouth, then sourced out a fresh mug for coffee. Somewhere between putting the k-cup into the Keurig and sugar into the mug, her phone began to chirp.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm almost ready…" She answered, fully anticipating Juniper's child-like gleeful reminder. Instead, her father's voice filled the line, dire and stoic as the man himself.
"Good, though I expect we're working on two different wavelengths. Get your gear… There's been an incident at Hanover Bank on Walnut Street. We've been asked to see what we can do to de-escalate the situation. I'll send the details to the jeep. Bay six. You'll meet your team in the lobby. I expect I don't need to remind you this is your opportunity to prove you can lead, Valentina. Make me proud."
The line clicked off and Valentina swore softly, abandoning the mug and making instead for the small jewelry box on her nightstand. With a click of the lock, she pushed it open and slid back the divider, locating the pair of pearl earrings within. Slipping an earring into each ear, she stepped back, breath held.
The lights shimmered briefly, a flickering, supernatural shift she'd yet to grow accustomed to. The warmth came next, from head to heel, as her form took on a swift, strange nuance. A charcoal-grey jumpsuit took the place of her sweats and tank top, riddled here and there with straps and patches of leather or canvas with a certain militaristic flair. Boots replaced her sneakers, and gloves ran the half length of her fingers, cut off at the tips. Braced across the bridge of her nose, a leather mask covered the top half of her face, a hood pulled over her hair. Beneath her bed, she produced a locked metal case, and inside, a curved bow and quiver filled with arrows with varying feathered ends.
Fully outfitted, she slipped out of the apartment and crossed the hall to the elevators. With a press of a center button between the two arrows, the doors slid open and Val stepped inside.
"
Welcome to GFI Transport Hub. Please state your designation and destination." The tinny voice filled the metal box, as the doors slid shut.
"Fortress. Ground floor."
The elevator gave a lurch and began its downward climb. Color and light whizzed past, as the many floors of the apartment complex disappeared beyond her vision, the lift eventually coming to a stop. The doors opened and Val stepped out into the dome shaped lobby of Guardian Force Initiative's hidden headquarters, turning to wait for the rest of her team.
Sobriety sucked ass when his job required action at a moment's notice. Darren DeLuca sat out on the balcony of his shared apartment, leg bouncing as he sucked through his third cigarette. GFI was unpredictable and he risked losing his bed if he fucked up. The little baggie in his front jacket pocket was begging for him to unwind. After all, it'd been days since his last call to action.
