𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈
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The fate lies in 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐓. It's within three hundred million dollars that could fall in the grasp of one team, but the team is only as weak as its weakest l...
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE HEIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ CHAPTER ONE *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE HEROES *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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[[ HARRY. ]]
[[ 8 DAYS BEFORE THE HEIST ]]
Raindrops tainted the violet and red mosaic glass window that I sat before, the gloomy and dampened streets of New York sending me into a trance of tranquility. I closed my eyes, taking a long deep breath before I spun in the red velvet chair, facing the lot of folks who would later be known as the suicide squad themselves.
Sat before me with her pale legs gracefully crossed underneath a blue plaid skirt and a sinister smile painting her pink lips, was Vera Jane, a gritty and rebellious ex-stripper and former prostitute in her mid twenties I met on the downtown streets of Brooklyn. Her hair was a vibrant cotton candy pink, that was what really caught my attention when I met her seven months ago. I still remembered the moment vividly—the countless shots of whiskey, and the chain of cigarettes we smoked while we conversed. She fascinated me the moment she told me how she fell in love with igniting fires. It was also that moment I knew, I needed her to win this. I needed her, in order to pull off the heist.
Although, Vera wasn't the only one I needed, it had to be a team. A team that would know everything like the back of their hands—like clockwork. I needed a group of people I trusted with my gut instinct, and finding these people wasn't a walk in the park. Sketchy business had its consequences of course, and sacrifices always had to be made.
Beside Vera was Ace Heller— a white boy from the hood of England with the thickest British accent. He sat cross legged on the mahogany table. He was also a punk junkie who knew how to sharply shoot a gun practically with both his eyes closed. Literally. He had dark hair with vibrant cherry red along the ends slicked back with gel, and throwing knives secretly hidden underneath his clothes. The Brit has been a good friend of mine long since before the idea of the heist lived, and we went way back through history. I had known the boy years, before I moved to New York so I didn't exactly see why I wouldn't ask for a helping hand on his behalf.
"Ace! Think fast!" The curly haired, Black-Italiano girl snickered, throwing a paper plane she made at her desk to simply dwindle the time and probably ease the anxiety that coursed through her veins. I smiled, remembering the heated summer of 2017 we shared together. This was the epic summer Carmen Stevens and I hopped from nightclub to nightclub, function to to function, and of course had all the raunchy sex we humanly and possibly could.
