LEAVE âRED STRING OF FATEâ IN MY ASKBOX Iâll generate a number from 1-77 (YES SEVENTY SEVEN OPTIONS!) to see what is in our museâs destinies then Iâll write some drabble based on the number generated.
49: Our muses are destined to be partners in crime, running from the law and trusting no one but each other
The explosion rocked the building, making everyone scream and drop to the floor. Enyoâwho had been expecting the blastâremained among the fray, calm and collected in the storm. Blue eyes rake over the mass of peopleâhostages, she reprimandsâlooking for any signs of resistance. Movement catches her attention, and she sees a man reaching for what can only be his sidearm. In a flash, her .45 is out, and the man doesnât even have a chance to scream in pain, the bullet striking right between his eyes, dropping him dead before he even knew a shot was fired.
Screams peel through the air, louder and shriller than before, and people scamper away from their fallen comrade, trying to avoid the blood pooling under his cooling corpse. Enyo sneers beneath the mask she wears, and feels irritation with these people once again. Gutless swine. The had no honor, no power. They scuttled around like measly ants, banding together until it ceased to benefit them. Then they turned on one another. They had no loyalty, not to their families or their friends. They only looked out for themselves.
And they think weâre the corrupt one, she thinks, eyes flicking toward the only other person standing.
Cayne stands in the bank vault, bag in hand as he scoops the mounds of money from the shelves. He moves brusquely, but not nearly as quick as Enyo would prefer.
Her whistle rings through the chaos, and makes her partner look toward her. âMove faster,â she barks, voice thick with her Greek accent, making it clear sheâs a foreigner. âTwo minutes.â
A nod is all she gets (and an eye roll he probably knew she would catch, since she ALWAYS catches sight of them, but which he knew she wouldnât comment on).
She hears over the din of the chaos following the explosion, the scream of sirens and the burning of rubber tires against pavement outside, and knows that time is up. âWe go now!â she shouts, and Cayne (who had also heard the noise) grunts, grabbing two of the bags and slinging them over his shoulder. She runs over and grabs the remaining two, and they rush toward the back just as the entirety of the Seventh District bursts through the front, the sound of gunfire chasing them out as they bustle into their car and speed away.
They have at least a minuteâs head start on the scrambling policeâmore if they stop to try and contain the frightened hostagesâand Enyo already knows theyâre in the clear. A laugh spills from her lips, and she turns to Cayne, their eyes meeting through the holes in their masks, and she knows heâs sharing the manic, victorious grin that currently spreads across her face.
And this, this right here is it. This is all she needs: a job to pull off, riches to be had, and Cayne. People are always looking out for themselves and only themselves, no matter how much they claim to have honor, to hold family above even their own lives. But them⊠they actually have that. Cayne is as vital to her existence as the air she breathes, and she knows the sentiment is shared.
âWhere to next?â she asks, and her voice can only be described as fond.
Cayne looks at her a moment longer, then turns to face the road, because the idiot has never been good at meeting her eyes when heâs speaking from the heart. âWherever you want. The world is our sandbox. And I would follow you anywhere.â