This is a voyage through the possibilities of who he is and who he can be in various universes. I welcome you to a world of each and every characteristic of DeVanté is existing as a separate entity in its own universe.
created: 23 February, 2018
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A machete in its hand, the car's silence stood on its pedestal with the intent of decapitating any threat to its power. The four pairs of eyes shielded by sunglasses, arms of their eyewear being firmly held in place by the tight hemming of their ski masks' eyeholes. Four hearts sink in stomach acid as their conscience dragged their lunch up their esophagus on ropes made of guilt. The youngest of the adolescents stared out of the window his head rested against it, clenching his toes in the heavy boots he wore. Variations of uncertainty were expressed on all parties' behalves though one set of hazel eyes masked his fears the best.
"We ain't gotta' do this."
"You ain't gotta' do this," he bit back, a bitter sting building on the back lining of his tongue as he refused to look anywhere except at the center of the steering wheel. "Nobody making you stay here."
Silence tightened their hold on their weapon.
The entire block stationed before them was filled, patrons visiting their preferred establishments on the fine Tuesday afternoon. Perspiration seeped through bodily crevices as the beaming summer sun heated its subjects with a lack of any relieving breeze. He watched a young child occupy a seat in the nearest the main window of the boutique next to the bank, a silent prayer said on the boy's behalf that he'd leave soon. The date of choice was conscious. Children were in school and the heavy decrease of chances in the statistical realm of a fatality or injury to a body under the age of eighteen was a relief large enough to ease the guilt of what needed to be done.
Pulling the car around the block for the final time, he took them to the back door of the building as they returned to a blindspot of the local cameras. He didn't waste any more time thinking about his plan and its execution. Too much thinking brings panic and panic makes for a slippery road to speed down.
He jumped out of the car without another word spoken. The partner following him knew not to miss a beat. His little brother was left in the car with the responsibility of sitting behind wheel, only after expertly renovating the car's exterior in the necessary time to loosen the constraints on their escapes. The shortest of the four is sent through the front door. He carried the smallest gun, the only one that'd pick up the shortest duration of charges if the plan were to be soiled.
"This a mothafuckin' stick up!"
The brother of their distraction shook his head and scoffed, "Why the fuck would he say that shit?"
Equally as disappointed though much more focused on the task at hand, the brains of the operation treated the question as if it were rhetorical and trudged through the dark hallways of the bank's underground vault. All of the attention focused on the loud mouth upstairs left them the time to handle their business. They wanted to get in and out as fast as possible. No murders, no hostages, no stand-offs.
Work on the vault was the main objective. Tact and speed were the most important skills needed for the two-man job as the most dramatic of the four was left upstairs to put on his greatest performance since his middle school graduation recital.
"On the ground, sweetheart!"
The yelling upstairs didn't distract the two burglars from their forced entry. As the vault was opened, the driver sat in his seat, anxiously, scratching at his forearm in the moment of singing along to Michael Jackson on the radio. Time moved slower for the one in the car. He couldn't hear the dramatic yelling. More importantly, he couldn't see the quiet one and the leader work toward their common goal underground. The driver was left in the dark, leaving him terrified as the youngest involved.
The leader, doubling as the tall one, tossed the laser into his tool bag. "Open it up," he told his partner.
An ear-bleeding screech came as the steep door was opened. Empty. The location meant to carry every big bill the building carried is emptied. Not a single speck of dust rests on the center table. Walls of steel lockers used to protect the bills behind lock and key are wide open, showing the perpetrators enough evidence of their poor luck in life to make them place their gun to their chins.
"We gotta get the fuck outta here."
"Why," the quiet one asked.
Pointing at the smiley face button usually found at Walmart locations sitting in the center of the room, the leader of it all shakes his head. "This shit a set up." He pushed off, jogging down the hall with his right-hand man heavy on his trail.
As he got to the exit, he checked the silencer is on his gun and fired at the machinery that'd make it rain in the bank. The fire alarm cried loud and gave the distraction his cue that the curtain was falling. The three of the occupants jumped into the car empty handed, returning far earlier the driver expected. Caught off guard, his head whipped around in a heap of confusion when his oldest brother slid into the passenger's seat.
"Let's fuckin' go," he aggressively snapped.
The youngest follows suit. "Yo," he said, shifting gears to speed out of the back alley. In less than fifteen seconds are they head into the sewer system they stash their gear in. "What happened?"
"Smiley set us up, man. Me and Joe get in and it's a fuckin' Walmart button sittin' on the counter. That shit was empty—"
Joe emphasized Don's point. "Cleaned the fuck out."
"So y'all had me in that bitch screamin' for nothin'?"
Annoyed glares fell to Cedric in a moment of collective agitation before returning to a worried Dalvin. The four roommates climbed back into the car, no longer being able to withstand the stench of the city's sewer system. Don's paranoia increased in real time upon a moment of reflection. Betrayal on his mind, he had a hard time figuring out what weak link in his connective plumbing sprouted the link meant to drown him and his counterparts.
Stopping at a red light, Dalvin turned to his brother and best friends. He asked, "What now?" Eyes shifted to Dalvin's brother. "So Smiley set us up. What now though?"
A stressed Don pinched at his nose's brim and sighed as he accepted the realism of his fate bestowed upon him following his life's choices and God's lack of pity on his circumstances.
"We gotta figure some shit out," stated Don. "And we gotta figure it out fast 'fore they try to take us out."
