The Pale Prince

Hearth

The front door clicked open with no solace or respect towards the silence that had befallen the house to which to door called home. Outside, upon the road that crossed the urbanised fields and lined itself with the other houses at either end of the building rumbled various military vehicles, slowly humming along the path that had been filled with Soldiers completing military drills not a few hours earlier, their sandy, dusty boot markings still left upon the hot tarmac, the sun kissing against the hard black. The San Francisco sea air wafted through one of the back windows - that had been open for some time now, long enough for the window to become tight upon its hinges and maintain its position, where usually it would spend some time slowly slipping down from its position towards a more relaxed location within the window frame- and into the dark rooms of the house, flitting through the stale air that had filled the home, cleansing the long overdue breath of the house and replacing it with new vigour.

Through the front door came a boy in his mid-teens - at least 16 years old - wearing a pair of baggy tracksuit bottoms and a white tank-top, a leather jacket covered the revealing top and gave the young boy some form of protection from the elements - though the East Coast weather was largely forgiving and usually hot enough to walk around with next to nothing on. Turning around through the door, the boy wrapped his slender, black fingers around the cover of the door and slowly closed it, slipping his fingers away when the door came close to its hinge, closing slightly with another click.

Taking a few hesitant tip-toes towards the end of the hallway, the boy froze up suddenly as he looked towards one of the doorways, the blue light of a television still on flickering through the darkness and illuminating the stairs - the escalating route leading towards the boy's pseudo-salvation. "It's 4am, Jonzi." A voice - devoid of the synthetic touch that the television set gave to those who spoke through it - muttered, loud enough to make the boy jump. "What have I told you about staying out too late?" Taking a deep breath, the boy dropped all pretence and rounded the corner, looking towards the man who had spoken to him, his brown eyes staring at the flickering television screen.

"I'm sorry David, I," The boy stuttered, looking down at his hands as he tried to figure out an excuse. "I forgot what time it was."

"Bullshit." The man spoke. "That's 2 weeks grounding - and I don't want to have to get one of the Privates to watch you again, there's a lot of different shit they could be doing instead of wasting their time watching you." Groaning at the punishment, Jonzi slumped down upon the sofa next to David, who peered over a pair of glasses to look at him, his chiselled features regarding him with discontent. "Sorry, was that you asking for another 2 weeks on top of that?"

"No sir, sorry sir." The boy murmured vapidly before looking at the television screen, regarding the reporter with curiosity.

"Reports coming in from New York describe this new development in the case as alarming." The reporter spoke, looking wide eyed towards a projector that told her - like a robot programmed to do a man's bidding - what to say and how to say it. Jonzi shook his head slightly, finding a discomfort in watching the woman in her near-zombie like state stare at the screen and pretend that she had some form of interest in what was happening on the other side of the country. "Authorities are saying that the tools used to complete this robbery seemingly bring the tally of the 'Disappearing Thieves' to 23 banks in total - reports coming in say that the same method of a small hole cut through the metal upon the exterior of the safe and the contents missing are both present. With the police not open for questioning yet, the only thing upon our minds is: When is this going to become a big enough issue for Fortress to handle, and what tool are these Robbers using to take our money?; Ellie Bullard reporting live from New York City."

"How many banks are these guys going to rob before they get bored or caught?" Jonzi muttered, turning towards David, who regarded the screen with a lack of interest - the exhaustion of the late night showing from beneath his eyes.