Prompt! What about a thief being caught mid heist?
The sound of the mission impossible music suddenly blaring through the room:
a) startled the absolute crap out of them
b) did nothing to mask the sound of a dozen guns suddenly being pointed at them from every direction.
The thief froze, hovering spread-eagled in the air just above the diamond case, watching the flicker of red-sniper dots dancing over their body in the reflection of the glass.
Their mind immediately began to race through their options. The music continued to play, excruciatingly to the very end of the track. No good options came to mind. So much as twitching felt like an invitation to be shot.
"Jolly good show! Bravo." The sound of clapping filled the new silence. The posh voice came from behind them. "Well. Awkward, getting caught, I suppose. But you can't really be blamed for that, can you?"
More of the guards edged closer in their circle of imminent death, faceless in armored masks. Not museum staff. Even the most high security museum staff didn't look like that.
The thief said nothing. Their heart pounded.
A man, beaming, rounded the diamond case to stop in front of them.
"Hi," he waved. "So nice to finally meet you. I'm sure you've guessed by now that this was a cunning trap!"
The thief said nothing. Their jaw clenched.
The man chuckled and snapped his fingers. The spotlights for the diamond case flicked on, pointing unerringly at the thief. Behind their mask, the thief's eyes flinched shut against the glaring brightness.
Someone immediately took the opportunity to step forward and yanked the mask off their face.
"Do you know who I am?" the man asked. "Obviously everyone here already knows all about you, so it seems only fair to even the playing field. Gosh, you're prettier in person beneath that mask, aren't you?" He reached out and, despite the wires and the guns and the whole dangling from the ceiling situation, the thief recoiled.
The man's grin widened, jackal-like, as if that was the exact reaction he was hoping for. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small recorder, and hit a button.
The thief's voice played back perfectly. Their stomach lurched.
Not police. Definitely not police, or museum staff. The thief wished, suddenly, for Interpol. The detective they'd been avoiding for years. The detective wouldn't have done this.
"Oh," the man said. "That's going to make a wonderful little detail for your exhibition piece. Thank you. Don't touch me! So ironic. So relevant! You wouldn't believe the amount the industry pays because tourists can't keep their hands off the art. It's just disrespectful, you know?"
He turned to his many guards, switching languages to rattle off a myriad quick-fire instructions. Some left. Too many guards stayed.
"Anyway," the man said. "Where were we? Ah! Introductions." He held out a hand again, to shake. "I'm the curator. You're the magpie. Gosh this really is just splendid! Just look at you. Gorgeous. Wow. I'm such a fan. Guilty pleasure, I know. I shouldn't encourage you." He widened his eyes like they were in on some joke together. Buddies. "But the work you did with the Girl in Red triptych? Flawless. You're really very good."
The thief blinked. They considered taking the hand, yanking, quickly dropping to the ground and using the man as body armour. It would have been more effective if the guns were only pointing from one direction. In the end, they held still, and continued to say nothing. They focused on controlling their breathing. They tried to think of something beyond the numbing, bewildered panic.
"No?" the man pouted. "Ah well. Time for us to get to know each other still, I guess."
The man patted their cheek, in lieu of a handshake. The thief flinched.
"Exhibition piece?" they ventured, finally, warily, dropping their voice lower than normal. As if their identify wasn't already screwed.
"Mm." The man gave an excited nod and gestured through the air as if laying out the scene. "You. The eternal diamond. Forever. An exclusive show, of course. I wouldn't show you off to just anybody. Just opens you up to thieves, doesn't it? You know what I'm talking about."
"You have to take me to prison. Turn me over to the authorities."
"I love that you think that," the man said. "So cute. God, I should have recorded that too. It's fine. I have time to get some more stuff about you to go on the displays. Anyway."
The guards returned, from wherever they'd left, and someone fired at the thief's equipment.
They fell as the cord snapped, breath knocked out of them as they hit the diamond case hard. Both them, and the jewel, went tumbling. The man stopped the diamond rolling with his foot.
The thief scrambled up in a heartbeat, not pausing before they slammed their elbow into the nearest guards, exits and entrances blueprinted on their skull.
"Shoot them," the curator said, almost lazily. "I don't want them damaging themselves."
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