Manufactured for Sin

13 The Heist

Greg lit a cigar, brushing his hair back and zipping his pants, wiping the butter off his free hand. I staggered from the kitchen, tossing the broken spatula into the nearby sink, making a wet slap as it struck tomato sauce and spilled Champaign.

"Okay, that's the last round of kitchen sex today; we need to get back to the criminal subplot." I wheezed, stepping over the smoldering hoagie bun on the floor.

"Alright, What's the plan?" Greg asked as he paced the den.

"Well, obviously we need to murder the Garth guy. I'm not killing some poor rando, especially not so this creep can get his sex jollies. According to the bank records, he used his safety deposit box the night after he called us for the blackmail. This guy is stupid, so he likely doesn't have a second burner phone, and his credit card hasn't purchased one recently. So the evidence is in that deposit box, and we need to get it, before we can murder this guy." I huffed angrily.

"So we're doing a bank heist arc now? Are we just rushing every single trope we can think of to make this interesting and random?" Greg added.

"Yes, absolutely, but it has to be done. It's a shame we can't drag Menace into this without risk. She's so damn fast and sneaky they'd never notice her. I swear that girl can just go invisible or something." I replied.

"So how do we break into a bank this quickly? We don't know 10-11 highly specific people who can formulate a full heist plot this far along. We can't trust anyone, and both of us are massive, slow, titans, who can't go anywhere undetected, and if there's a shred of tampering, we'd be the primary suspects. We can't have any suspicion leading anywhere near a murder affair. Yea, we could bribe someone to knock off the bank, and bribe our way out of that if we got caught, but we still don't get the deposit box and that's just more attention to said box." said Greg.

"Unless..." I cringed.

Garth sat in a metal chair, looking disgusted and violated as Greg circled, shining a light into the eyes and checking for problems.

"It's a good thing we have cloning tech. I really wish we had a way to get this Garth joker to get a full memory scan so we'd just KNOW his password and security."

"Well," I said, from a freshly cloned Garth body." With the disgusting condition of his home, there was no shortage of DNA drying out around the place. So at least we have a body to use." I said, staring at my horrid alien hands in disgust. Freshly printed and sterile, and I still feel like these fingers have been licked clean of stale cheese-powder. What a terrible body. This is worse than being human.

"With a retinal scan and fingerprint ID, we should get into the bank fairly easily. This guy isn't the kind of intelligent being to add additional security like random questions or optional passwords. If he did add a password, it would be something like 1234, or "Garth". They would likely have a terminal we could scan, and knowing this guy, getting the password wrong a few times won't be a red flag or shocking.

I strolled into the bank in my brand new Garthsuit, dressed as badly as I could design, to really make it seem legit, complete with cracker dust on my faded jeans. I strolled my skinny ass nervously to the counter, trying to act as douchey as possible, really channeling someone I used to know: A Captain of a spacecrew I'm totally hinting at to plug the previous series I was in. I'm teasing at free content, don't get annoyed at me, it's a living. Anyway, drawing inspiration from the loser, and imagining "What would Captain William Lawg do." I slouched slightly, firing flirtatious eyebrows at the woman behind the counter.

"Hello gorgeous. You like spaceships?" I played.

"Mister Danes, this is a bank, not a nightclub. I rejected your hints before and making them more obvious only get's you flagged for HR. Can I help you regarding your account and customer rights, or are you just wasting my time?" She smiled back politely. Nice lady, good character strength. Shame I had to lightly annoy her like some degenerate bug, but a gig is a gig.