kindaemissary
black water lillies
p r i c e • l e s s
ˈprīsləs/ adjective.
so precious that its value cannot be determined.
LadyLoathsome
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- Thread starter kindaemissary
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p r i c e • l e s s
ˈprīsləs/ adjective.
so precious that its value cannot be determined.
LadyLoathsome
kindaemissary
black water lillies
Alexander Terri was jammin'.
It was 9 o'clock on a Thursday night in New York City. The lights were bright, and the traffic was abundant. The driver side windows was partially down, and "California Dreamin'" by the Mamas and the Papas was pumping out of the car's radio. NYC was no California dream, but the city spoke words to him that other places couldn't.
"Do we have to listen to 80s music?"
Turning down the music, Alex glared at his partner. They were both suited up - full uniform, badges, guns - and got stuck with the night shift. Alex's partner, a middle-aged gentleman who went by his last name, Parker, was eating a burger in the seat next to him. They had stopped for dinner about half an hour ago, and Alex ate his rather fast. He didn't like to keep the food in his hand for long when he was driving. (He was a cop, after all.)
"60s," Alex corrected, and fiddled with the settings on the radio. "This was before chicks started burning their bras."
"Fuckin' feminists."
Alex didn't comment.
They had been driving around for a few hours then. Nothing but a few mere traffic violations, and there was a domestic abuse call that came in but another unit got there first. It was a slow night to say in the least, and while Alex liked that it meant the city was safe, it also meant that he had another five long hours ahead of him.
"10-31 C at MOMA, nearby unit check in." The radio peeped up for the first time in over an hour, and Alex's hand moved so quickly towards the scanner he was afraid he would hit it.
"Unit 9214 - two blocks away. Heading in now."
Parker grumbled under his breath, and Alex flashed on the lights. He wasn't going to chance 1) catching a criminal and 2) doing something better with his life than sitting in a cramped car with Dalton Parker, bitch extraordinaire.
Alex got promoted a couple weeks to emergency dispatch from the lowly lives of traffic, and he couldn't be happier. He didn't think that traffic cops were bad or weren't worth the badge, but he hated sitting alongside the interstates leading into the city trying to ticket someone going 7 miles over the speed limit. If it were a car zooming 100 in a 65, then hell, he'd be all on that, but most of these violations were people getting caught right when the speed limit changed or trying to get around a semi. Those type of "criminals" weren't worth his time.
He didn't want to be a police officer for all the glitz and glam and glory. There wasn't anything in it for him other than trying to do something good for people. The call for the Museum of Modern Art was good for him, because he'd protect precious artwork from bulgarly (if everything worked out), and in doing so he'd be creating a new experience for those that came to the museum in the future. The painting that had almost been stolen, Alex thought to himself. It had a nice ring to it.
They pulled up to the building with four or five other squad cars. Two were from their precinct. All the sirens were off - protocol - and the officers came out of their cars armed. Alex held his Glock 9 in his hand, safety off and cocked and loaded.
"The building is surrounded," an older man said into a megaphone. "Exit the building and there will be no hassle."
It was 9 o'clock on a Thursday night in New York City. The lights were bright, and the traffic was abundant. The driver side windows was partially down, and "California Dreamin'" by the Mamas and the Papas was pumping out of the car's radio. NYC was no California dream, but the city spoke words to him that other places couldn't.
"Do we have to listen to 80s music?"
Turning down the music, Alex glared at his partner. They were both suited up - full uniform, badges, guns - and got stuck with the night shift. Alex's partner, a middle-aged gentleman who went by his last name, Parker, was eating a burger in the seat next to him. They had stopped for dinner about half an hour ago, and Alex ate his rather fast. He didn't like to keep the food in his hand for long when he was driving. (He was a cop, after all.)
"60s," Alex corrected, and fiddled with the settings on the radio. "This was before chicks started burning their bras."
"Fuckin' feminists."
Alex didn't comment.
They had been driving around for a few hours then. Nothing but a few mere traffic violations, and there was a domestic abuse call that came in but another unit got there first. It was a slow night to say in the least, and while Alex liked that it meant the city was safe, it also meant that he had another five long hours ahead of him.
"10-31 C at MOMA, nearby unit check in." The radio peeped up for the first time in over an hour, and Alex's hand moved so quickly towards the scanner he was afraid he would hit it.
"Unit 9214 - two blocks away. Heading in now."
Parker grumbled under his breath, and Alex flashed on the lights. He wasn't going to chance 1) catching a criminal and 2) doing something better with his life than sitting in a cramped car with Dalton Parker, bitch extraordinaire.
Alex got promoted a couple weeks to emergency dispatch from the lowly lives of traffic, and he couldn't be happier. He didn't think that traffic cops were bad or weren't worth the badge, but he hated sitting alongside the interstates leading into the city trying to ticket someone going 7 miles over the speed limit. If it were a car zooming 100 in a 65, then hell, he'd be all on that, but most of these violations were people getting caught right when the speed limit changed or trying to get around a semi. Those type of "criminals" weren't worth his time.
He didn't want to be a police officer for all the glitz and glam and glory. There wasn't anything in it for him other than trying to do something good for people. The call for the Museum of Modern Art was good for him, because he'd protect precious artwork from bulgarly (if everything worked out), and in doing so he'd be creating a new experience for those that came to the museum in the future. The painting that had almost been stolen, Alex thought to himself. It had a nice ring to it.
They pulled up to the building with four or five other squad cars. Two were from their precinct. All the sirens were off - protocol - and the officers came out of their cars armed. Alex held his Glock 9 in his hand, safety off and cocked and loaded.
"The building is surrounded," an older man said into a megaphone. "Exit the building and there will be no hassle."
LadyLoathsome
(insert clever title here)
Alicia Vincenta was annoyed.
Not because of the fact that she and her group were currently surrounded in the MOMA, no, that she could handle. She was angry that she had to even be there in the first place. The client, an underground art elitist that took full advantage of her reputation, had been out of contact for the last few hours. His last instructions of 'pick up whatever you can' had been less than helpful, resulting in the current set-back.
Even her best infitration planner could only give them the building layout, the usual stolen police radio, and bulletproof vests. "Just go for the small things. Worst case scenario you get arrested and we get you out." He had reasoned. Unfortunately for the police, she was not in a jail mood.
"Micah, secure the bags. Everyone else, pull out your semis and get ready for a shootout. I'll be a decoy, take a quick hostage, and we'll be back to base by morning." Her orders were firm and left no room for objection. They knew better than to argue with the boss of the most dangerous group in the city.
Corona, they called themselves. Well known both underground and above. Nothing was unattainable for them at the right price. Dancing around the law became their specialty. Members arrested rarely remained in custody long. As a result, most didn't bother to conceal identity. Alicia, however, did not share that same carelessness. Her cover as a free lance travel agent provided her with both strong connections and a believable alibi. When on jobs like tonight, she wore a full face mask.
She adjusted the mask on her face and stepped out of the doors casually with her hands up. "Hello, good ladies and gentlemen of the law. I'm assuming you aren't here to appreciate the art. The thing is, I have a few demands if you want to arrest me and my friends today."
Her voice held no trace of fear. Thanks to the radio, she knew the numbers and positions of the officers and placed getaway vans accordingly. That, and the Smith and Wesson sigma strapped to her thigh underneath the loose designer dress she wore. After this mess, she thought, I'm going to take a long vacation.
Not because of the fact that she and her group were currently surrounded in the MOMA, no, that she could handle. She was angry that she had to even be there in the first place. The client, an underground art elitist that took full advantage of her reputation, had been out of contact for the last few hours. His last instructions of 'pick up whatever you can' had been less than helpful, resulting in the current set-back.
Even her best infitration planner could only give them the building layout, the usual stolen police radio, and bulletproof vests. "Just go for the small things. Worst case scenario you get arrested and we get you out." He had reasoned. Unfortunately for the police, she was not in a jail mood.
"Micah, secure the bags. Everyone else, pull out your semis and get ready for a shootout. I'll be a decoy, take a quick hostage, and we'll be back to base by morning." Her orders were firm and left no room for objection. They knew better than to argue with the boss of the most dangerous group in the city.
Corona, they called themselves. Well known both underground and above. Nothing was unattainable for them at the right price. Dancing around the law became their specialty. Members arrested rarely remained in custody long. As a result, most didn't bother to conceal identity. Alicia, however, did not share that same carelessness. Her cover as a free lance travel agent provided her with both strong connections and a believable alibi. When on jobs like tonight, she wore a full face mask.
She adjusted the mask on her face and stepped out of the doors casually with her hands up. "Hello, good ladies and gentlemen of the law. I'm assuming you aren't here to appreciate the art. The thing is, I have a few demands if you want to arrest me and my friends today."
Her voice held no trace of fear. Thanks to the radio, she knew the numbers and positions of the officers and placed getaway vans accordingly. That, and the Smith and Wesson sigma strapped to her thigh underneath the loose designer dress she wore. After this mess, she thought, I'm going to take a long vacation.
kindaemissary
black water lillies
A couple of the officers let out a chuckle at the request. Demands? When they were out the door and in arm's length of the force before them? The group was either ballsy or didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Alex hadn't dealt with a heist that seemed this large before. The bulgary calls that he radioed in for were mostly residential or took place in some rundown gas station on a darker side of town. It wasn't everyday that one of the largest, most affluent museums was facing a robbery (nevertheless facing that same robbery right in front of his eyes). He hadn't dealt with real crime for long. It had been only two weeks since he left traffic for something bigger, better, and now he was drowning in what seemed like the big cases. With numerous patrol cars surrounding the building, a couple of forensic detectives hanging out behind the barrier, this was probably the biggest job that Alex had so far.
Attempting to steal from the Museum of Modern Art, though? Alex didn't know if the criminals were insane or just stupid. The moment that they entered the building, alarms had sounded and alerted the nearby precincts. Alex's boss, Chief Linden, had been at the front of the building for at least 20 minutes simply watching - waiting.
Parker snorted, and Alex looked over. His partner wasn't the kindest man in the room, but he wasn't all bad. Aside from his obvious distaste for women, Parker was known for cooking up a good bowl of chili on those cold winter nights where no one had the chance to leave the station. He had been married before, too, and had three kids, but that obviously didn't deter his abhorrence for women. It probably just increaed it.
"These children think they're going to get away with it?" he laughed, and Alex couldn't help but agree. How were what looked like a group of almost 20 escape the guns in front of them? Cops weren't hesitant to shoot these days. People died all the time from accidents - not putting up their hands up quick enough, a cop misreading a phone as a gun, approaching police officers when under arrest. Alex knew that it wasn't a fair system most of the time, but this time the group before them was just acting stupid.
"We won't be taking demands," the chief spoke into the megaphone. "The building is surrounded, and we will not hesitate to shoot. Leave the building with your hands above your heads."
Alex wasn't quick to jump to conclusions. He wasn't an impulsive guy. It was hard for someone confronting violence and crime to not, from time to time, get a little trigger happy. He switched his gun to his other hand. Anxiety had gripped his dominant hand with twitches, and he didn't want to accidentally fire the gun. He shook out his left hand, now empty from gun, and cracked his knuckles before taking his gun back.
The entire situation was making him nervous, especially when it took longer for the masked person to answer. He didn't want it to end in a shoot out, but he'd do what the job required.
Alex hadn't dealt with a heist that seemed this large before. The bulgary calls that he radioed in for were mostly residential or took place in some rundown gas station on a darker side of town. It wasn't everyday that one of the largest, most affluent museums was facing a robbery (nevertheless facing that same robbery right in front of his eyes). He hadn't dealt with real crime for long. It had been only two weeks since he left traffic for something bigger, better, and now he was drowning in what seemed like the big cases. With numerous patrol cars surrounding the building, a couple of forensic detectives hanging out behind the barrier, this was probably the biggest job that Alex had so far.
Attempting to steal from the Museum of Modern Art, though? Alex didn't know if the criminals were insane or just stupid. The moment that they entered the building, alarms had sounded and alerted the nearby precincts. Alex's boss, Chief Linden, had been at the front of the building for at least 20 minutes simply watching - waiting.
Parker snorted, and Alex looked over. His partner wasn't the kindest man in the room, but he wasn't all bad. Aside from his obvious distaste for women, Parker was known for cooking up a good bowl of chili on those cold winter nights where no one had the chance to leave the station. He had been married before, too, and had three kids, but that obviously didn't deter his abhorrence for women. It probably just increaed it.
"These children think they're going to get away with it?" he laughed, and Alex couldn't help but agree. How were what looked like a group of almost 20 escape the guns in front of them? Cops weren't hesitant to shoot these days. People died all the time from accidents - not putting up their hands up quick enough, a cop misreading a phone as a gun, approaching police officers when under arrest. Alex knew that it wasn't a fair system most of the time, but this time the group before them was just acting stupid.
"We won't be taking demands," the chief spoke into the megaphone. "The building is surrounded, and we will not hesitate to shoot. Leave the building with your hands above your heads."
Alex wasn't quick to jump to conclusions. He wasn't an impulsive guy. It was hard for someone confronting violence and crime to not, from time to time, get a little trigger happy. He switched his gun to his other hand. Anxiety had gripped his dominant hand with twitches, and he didn't want to accidentally fire the gun. He shook out his left hand, now empty from gun, and cracked his knuckles before taking his gun back.
The entire situation was making him nervous, especially when it took longer for the masked person to answer. He didn't want it to end in a shoot out, but he'd do what the job required.
LadyLoathsome
(insert clever title here)
The request for demands seemed ridiculous, of course, but it provided just the right amount of diversion. While the officers laughed and jeered, her group positioned themselves at the exits and aimed for the vulnerable spots in the formation - a person with their sheild to high, a slight gap between people, and the tires of the cars. Despite their smaller number, the semis would make her group feel almost triple the size.
It was almost laughable that they thought Alicia had come unprepared to a place like the MOMA. The getaway would be challenging, and she was well prepared to lose a person or two, but not impossible. "What a shame, Linden. Seeing as this is our first encounter I was going to go easy. It's time for us to take our leave." She said, sounding almost disappointed. As soon as the word 'leave' left her mouth, all hell broke loose.
Shots began to fire around the back and sides of the building, waiting until she moved out of the way to start in the front as well. Her group came out slowly but steadily, using art pieces as sheilds. It wouldn't be a complete counter towards the trigger fingers of the police, of course, something that made her despise them even more. No, it would be just enough to make some of the officers realize that shooting up thousands of dollars in art trying to arrest a group they wouldn't catch would cause all kinds of consequences afterwards.
Corona was not crazy. Well practiced and confident? Yes. But not crazy. This was far from the group's or even her first job, just one of the few where tripping alarms was inevitable. They did their best work in the underground, afterall. Alicia charges the formation diagonally, breaking through with two hits to the side she would no doubt feel better and a graze on her arm. It slowed her, as it would any normal human, but did not prevent her from pulling her sigma and shooting at the outer officers.
She spotted Parker and the van pulling up behind him and took a chance. It was clear on his face that he wouldn't take her seriously, both as a criminal and as a young woman. That would make things easier. There was no time to reload, so three of her five bullets went at his legs, one at his shooting arm, and the last one at Alex's shooting arm. The van doors slid open and two men stepped out to open fire.
She ran to the van and slid into the back, the men following shortly after her. "Get us home. Group A take detour 126 and Group B take detour 47 upon exit. If you can't break through the formation in the next couple of hours, surrender. We'll get you." The van sped off, taking bullet a spray of bullets in the process. The next time I come out I'm taking that man hostage. She thought, closing her eyes in exhaustion.
It was almost laughable that they thought Alicia had come unprepared to a place like the MOMA. The getaway would be challenging, and she was well prepared to lose a person or two, but not impossible. "What a shame, Linden. Seeing as this is our first encounter I was going to go easy. It's time for us to take our leave." She said, sounding almost disappointed. As soon as the word 'leave' left her mouth, all hell broke loose.
Shots began to fire around the back and sides of the building, waiting until she moved out of the way to start in the front as well. Her group came out slowly but steadily, using art pieces as sheilds. It wouldn't be a complete counter towards the trigger fingers of the police, of course, something that made her despise them even more. No, it would be just enough to make some of the officers realize that shooting up thousands of dollars in art trying to arrest a group they wouldn't catch would cause all kinds of consequences afterwards.
Corona was not crazy. Well practiced and confident? Yes. But not crazy. This was far from the group's or even her first job, just one of the few where tripping alarms was inevitable. They did their best work in the underground, afterall. Alicia charges the formation diagonally, breaking through with two hits to the side she would no doubt feel better and a graze on her arm. It slowed her, as it would any normal human, but did not prevent her from pulling her sigma and shooting at the outer officers.
She spotted Parker and the van pulling up behind him and took a chance. It was clear on his face that he wouldn't take her seriously, both as a criminal and as a young woman. That would make things easier. There was no time to reload, so three of her five bullets went at his legs, one at his shooting arm, and the last one at Alex's shooting arm. The van doors slid open and two men stepped out to open fire.
She ran to the van and slid into the back, the men following shortly after her. "Get us home. Group A take detour 126 and Group B take detour 47 upon exit. If you can't break through the formation in the next couple of hours, surrender. We'll get you." The van sped off, taking bullet a spray of bullets in the process. The next time I come out I'm taking that man hostage. She thought, closing her eyes in exhaustion.
