What We in the 'Biz Call, "A Fixer-Upper"

The Sun is No Heavier When it Rises Than When it Sets

"Trevor! That was my foot, Trevor!"

At the sound of voices, Jeremy pressed himself against a shelf lined with DVDs, his heart leaping into his throat, the distant glow of emergency lights comforting him in shadow. The motion was just in time: seconds later multiple sets of feet scraped across the short carpet less than an isle away, their erratic beats coming closer. But, when he poked his head around the beige shelving rack, he found not the respondents to a silent alarm, but instead three figures keeping as close to the shadows as he was. As he squinted his eyes to see through the gloom, he was able to make out the distinctive shape of...

Well. Superheroes was really the only way he could describe them.

All three were clad in plastic masks that didn't cover their mouths, their path trailed by multi-colored capes. Jeremy couldn't exactly make out exactly what colors in the dark, but when he determined these were fellow intruders, he'd seen enough. Once they were past, he stepped from his hiding spot.

"Don't move," he said, pointing his gun at three unprotected backs.

All of them froze at once, one even obedient enough to keep his foot raised mid-stride. It might have been comical if Jeremy wasn't so annoyed at the illogical appearance of his competition.

Slowly, the man closest to Jeremy turned and looked down at the pistol in his steady hands. "...Aw shizballs."

"I told you we tripped an alarm," the one in the back whispered to his friend. "We should have made sure it was off

"That was your job Fredo!" the last one said, sticking him with his shoulder.

It was the higher pitched voice Jeremy had first when he'd first noticed the group sneaking up on him, meaning the one with the dangerously blonde hair-part was "Trevor."

Apparently their leader, Trevor whispered out the corner of his mouth, "not the time guys!"

"Alfredo didn't do his damn job," last guy whined, to which Alfredo gave him a shove.

"Hey! I said don't move!" Watching the conversation ping back and forth between his hostages was giving Jeremy a headache. He tightened his grip. "Who the hell are you guys, and why are you on my hit? And what's with the fuckingoutfits?"

"It's our gimmick," last guy said plainly. "Everybody's got to have a gimmick, otherwise you're just some shlub on the street. I mean, what about you? Who are you even supposed to be?"

Jeremy eyed him up, unconsciously throwing back his shoulders as took in his opponents. The man had a long waft of light hair over mask, and a tangle of matching curls for a beard that set him apart from his friends. His accent was English, but his blue plastic mask was sporting a distinctive A.

Relying on the gun in his hand and the dynamism of his presence, Jeremy said, "the name's Rimmy Tim."

"Not looking like that it's not!" Alfredo chimed in. "You need some major style upgrades if you want to start doing robberies around here. I'm thinking some purple...bit of sea foam green..."

"That's enough!" He turned his gun on Alfredo.

These guys were really starting to unnerve him. He was now holding the barrel a mere three feet from Alfredo's chest, and the man looked at most mildly concerned. The other two weren't much better, starting a small round of bickering now that Jeremy was distracted. There was something terribly wrong going on here, and Jeremy felt like he was stalling his way into a trap.

Trevor stepped forward, getting between Jeremy and his line of fire. "Well Rimmy Tim, it's nice to meet you. We're the Dusk Boys! And uh, sorry about your hit. We just thought this place was undefended."