Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Sovereignty (part 4)

But first, a brief recap of what's happened so far: Peter and Blaine get caught up in a super-powered bar fight; they escape with some ingenuity; Peter goes to work at the bank; the bank is in the middle of getting robbed by a figure in a black coat and demon-like mask. And that's it (I know, I thought I would be further in than that by now, too)


I looked down at the dozen or so people lying on the ground. They were lying flat on their stomachs, some with their hands behind their heads, some with their arms spread wide. All of their expressions, though, said they were all as high as kites. Smiles, all of them, some goofy, some almost laughing. One man actually looked like he just came in his pants.I looked at the robber and the demon mask glared back at me. A psychic, I thought, and a pretty good one by holding that many people at once. Either C, maybe even a B-class if it wasn't the full extent of the abilities.

If the person was a psychic, then I was fucked. Not only had I been pressing the alarm button, but I'd been thinking about it this whole time. Hell, I was still thinking about it right now. Stop thinking about it. I looked back to the demon mask, unable to see any facial expression underneath it. From the foot-tapping though, I could see impatience.

I opened the cash drawer and started emptying out the bills. Maybe it wasn't psychic, or at least not the mind-reading type. The police might still have a chance to get here before he realizes that I already pressed the alarm. Slowly, I placed each bundle of bills into the duffel bag, making sure to separate them by denomination and sometimes even the color of the band wrapping them together. Maybe The League would send someone as well. This was a bank after all. I watched the robber's coat drag across the linoleum floor as he paced the room. None of the people had moved since they fell to the floor. Neither had the two guards at the door. My co-worker was still packing money into her bag, eyes focused solely on the bag in front of her. All I needed to do was stall until everyone showed up. I smiled, briefly, as the plan was fool-proof.

"Hey, what are you smiling about?" the voice was all bass this time and I dropped the duffel onto the floor, spilling the cash. Quickly, I dropped under the counter to pick it all up while my mind let out a string of profanities against my betraying face.

"Uh," I stuttered, "nothing." I grabbed another handful of bills and put them in the bag. I bit my lower lip and a bead of sweat made its way down from my temple to my cheek. My eyes went quickly to the alarm, still pressed under the counter, to the demonic mask towering over my crouched self. His eyes did the same.

"You pressed it! You fucking pressed it!" He (I think by this point it was a safe bet to guess that the robber was male), stumbled back several paces. I managed to make eye contact with my co-worker. She dropped her bag on the table and shook her head as she backed away to the wall. Her hair fell over her face, but I could still hear the sobs as she crouched to the floor.

There was a loud bang as the man in the green and red mask slammed his hands against the table. "Did I say to stop filling the bags!" After filling my bag without anymore delays, I started over to my co-worker to finish her bag. Then the sirens came.

I froze. That's the only way I could describe it. I just froze. There was nothing else. I didn't twitch. I didn't breath. It was the moment when all your faults just come crashing down. I panicked and triggered the alarm. I tipped him off about the alarm. I thought I could stall, that the cops out there could help us in here when I really had no idea what this guy was capable of. I could have just done as he asked and he would have been out of here without anything more happening. All these people in the bank. My co-worker crying against the wall. The two guards in need of serious medical attention. They weren't going to be hostages anymore; they were about to become victims, casualties.

There was the sound of a megaphone being turned on that brought me back to reality. I exhaled, tasting stale air as it emptied my lungs. A faint buzzing sound appeared, droning louder and louder until it dulled out even the amplified voice of the megaphone. Everything else, everyone of my other senses dulled as well. My vision started to blur, first starting around the edges and moving in until my eyesight felt like it had plummeted by a hundred points.

And yet none of it mattered. All that mattered was him. He was the only thing that mattered, the man in the black coat and mask. Yes, I was certain he was a man now. His presence dominated all of my senses. There was nothing else. I was vaguely away of the smile spreading across my face as I moved around the counter, through the lobby, and out the door. The sun was shinning right into my face, but with my blurred vision, it didn't matter. Through the glare, I noticed the flashing blue and red lights and the crowd of people, blurred together into a single mass with a yellow line through the center of it.

He was still in the lobby, grabbing the two duffel bags. They were heavier than he thought they would be and he smiled briefly. Still he hadn't expected the robbery to take so long that the cops would get here. The arctic air conditioning in the lobby kept him from sweating, especially in the black coat. He knew he needed a show of force to keep the police and eventually the Supers away until he escaped. He made his way outside. Even with all of my senses dulled, I still knew that he was just three feet behind me. Or, more precisely, twenty-seven degrees behind me and to my right at a distance of forty inches.

He spoke and it came through clear. "I am taking this money. I will be leaving out the back. No one follows or I kill all the hostages. That's twenty lives versus my one. Back off. Now." It sounded calm, his voice, but I could feel it tremble. He didn't come here to kill anyone. It wasn't in him to do it. I was in tune with him now. It was one of the side effects of his ability after all. Invading his victims minds to the point that all they knew was him, and wanting to please him. Invading so thoroughly that a back-door opens up and the victim is able to feel everything about him as well. The last time I felt this way I woke up in my underwear doing a handstand on the fourth floor balcony of my dorm during finals week. Yes, this was Blaine's ability. And this person was Blaine.

He gestured with his hand and my smile grew wider. It was an order. No, a request. Kings don't command after all, they merely ask and their subjects are pleased to obey. I knew it was Blaine, that all I needed to do was fight it, but I couldn't. My body went partially limp - my chin dropped to my chest, my arms hung by my side, my knees bent. I swayed a bit as I lifted my face to the audience. "This is your only warning," Blaine said as he turned his back and returned into the bank. The door closed just as my right hand snatched my left wrist cobra-quick and yanked the shoulder out of its socket.



Pretty decent for having no editing besides spell check and giving it a once over as I typed it all out. As bad as I am at plotting, its not completely stream of consciousness since I don't write exclusively on the computer and I do try to plot a little on paper before writing scenes. Honestly, I spend enough time during the day staring at a computer screen to do the same thing when I get home. And I would write in and fill-up all those extra notebooks I've got lying around, but right now I prefer using all the scratch paper I've been taking from work (don't worry, they're all blank cover sheets and fax transmission reports, nothing with any client data on it). If any of my co-workers are reading this though, its not like you were going to use it. Besides, how else would that box under my desk get emptied from time to time. I'll try to keep going with this story but I think I'm only one or two more posts from knowing what the hell is going on and them I'm really gonna really have to start making stuff up as I go (which, according to my last English professor, I am not as good as I think I am at it).