Zhelir stood on the street, across from one of the biggest banks in the Sanc Kingdom. A light sweat coated his body as he gazed at the building. It was time to enter "combat mode," he liked to euphamise it as. When he had to do something that was absolutely wrong, but necesary, he would simply ignore his conscience, ignore every moral he'd ever been taught.
And so, with one final, deep breath, he tossed his cigarette into the dirt and sprinted towards the building. He hoped to God no one would pay much attention to the massive weapon stored on his left hip, so large it looked like he was carrying a miniature shotgun in his belt.
He plowed through the door and tore the weapon from its makeshift holster at his waist, not ready to select any precise target.
"Everybody hit the dirt!" He roared, his eyes swinging wildly across the room. From the littleb it he could gather, there were four guards in the room. Two hit the ground, and two were in the process of drawing the sidearms. With blurr of silver, he had drawn the massive S&W Model 500 from his belt and aimed it at the nearest guard.
With a blast like a cannon, the weapon kicked back and the guard flew clean off his feet, blood spurting from a gaping hole in his chest. Zhelir instinctively leapt behind a stone collumn to his right, and just in time, as two shots dug into the marble, not far from where he had been standing. He crouched down and balled up the muscles in his legs, preparing to leap out back the way he had came.
Exerting all the strength he possed in his legs against the ground, he flew out from behind the pillar and let fly two shots. ne burried itself in the guard's stomach, and the other dug into the marble counter a few inches to the guard's left.
Zhelir rolled to his feet and looked wildly to the other two guards. Both had sensibly remained on the ground, their weapons tossed a few feet before their faces. The robber sprinted forward to the counter and pointed the massive barrel at the nearest receptionist's face, a rather young looking male.
"One and a half million credits, to my account." He growled, and rattled off his account number. He knew he'd have to work fast once he left; his account would be frozen within a few hours of this happening. And, to ensure it wasn't any less than that, he added, "If I don't have that money when I need it, I will hunt down and kill you and every one of your co-workers."
The man's face paled, but he did what he was told. Within a matter of seconds, he had verified that his account had an additional million and a half credits, and was barelling out the front door. He could hear sirens in the distance, which was no suprise. As loud as his weapon was, people outdoors were sure to have heard it. He slipped the weapon behind his back and hailed a cab that was coming near.
Zhelir had the door open and was halfway in when the driver realised what resided behind his customer's back. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, but too late. Zhelir had already made it far enough into the cab to star. He pressed the barrel of the weapon to the glass between him and the driver and growled, "You take me where I want, or I guarantee you, at least one of the bullets in this gun will make it through the glass."
The cabbie seemed to understand well enough, and did indeed take him to where he requested. "You tell anyone where you took me, you're as dead as the cops I killed a few minutes ago. If you don't believe me, head on back and walk inside."
He knew his luck would run out. There was no way this would all hold together, that no one would blab what they had seen or heard, but he couldn't worry about that right now. All he had to do was get inside that old hanger and get what he needed. And so, less than a minute after he had sprung from the cab, he burst through the doors of the hanger, belonging to the same man he had made a call to a few days ago, about getting ahold of a Mobile Suit. Breathless and shaking, Zhelir saw a short little man come striding out of an office in the far right corner. Zhelir had never learned his name, only his address and phone number. He simply called him whatever fit the context.
"You have it ready?" He asked, his breath short and shaking.
"Yeah." The man replied, looking the taller of the two up and down. "You didn't exactly aquire this money legally, did you?"
Zhelir shook his head and replied, "You don't want me to answer that; when the police question you, they might just want to take it back, if you knew it was stolen money."
The man grinned but said nothing else in response. He meandered into his office and Zhelir followed. A few wordless minutes passed as he transfered 2.5 million credits from Zhelir's account to his own.
"All done. She's waiting for you on the launch pad. I presume you wanna geto ut of here as quick as you can?"
"Yeah," Zhelir responded, finally holstering his weapon. After the old man gave him the security code, the now-fugitive sprinted towards the end of the long, dark building, before he finally squeezed through a narrow opening in a massive set of sliding doors, and reached the launch pad before him. His breath, what little he had remaining, left his body at the sight of the suit before him. Massive, read, and covered in small, circular discs. Its crash shield was already mounted in its left hand, and it seemed all set to launch. So, with a grin, Zhelir ambled into the cockpit, aided by a lift chord, and entered the security code.
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