The Things We Do (Under Editing)

Know My Name

My reputation grew faster than even Kacie could keep up with, and the media's interest kept pace. Due to my tendency to break things, especially things made of glass, any pictures of me were taken through cracked lenses or showers of sparks and light bulb shards. With every heist, the reward for a good shot of me skyrocketed. I was living up to my new name if I did say so myself. 

Magazines and news sites had officially dubbed me "Phantom Banshee". I could live with that. Wraith seemed to like it, too. Well, that and the piles of money I consistently dumped all over his desk. 

Two weeks after my first appearance and I was the biggest news around. It wasn't enough, though. I'd cleared out various exhibits at three museums, but people weren't taking me seriously. Everything I'd taken had been doing but looking pretty. I wasn't a threat, but that would change.

4:00 am... What was I doing up at 4:00 am? Not doing the homework that was due the next day, that's for sure. I really had to work out the timing of these jobs.

While the city slept around me, I was hacking the security system of a bank. You'd think the place would be guarded, but I'd been finding that this entire city sucks at security. There was nobody watching, because they were all where I wanted to be, curled up in bed, dreaming of good grades and free pizza.

"Free pizza," I muttered, sitting back on my heels. The alarms were off and there was no one in sight. "Well, I'm getting at least one of those things." It took all of two seconds to pick the lock of the front door and walk right in. Despite the ease of it all, I still paused for a moment to scan the room. 

There was nothing to see or hear, but there was always the chance that I'd missed a silent alarm. Time never could be on my side. Silently, I strode through the building. The vault was easy to find, I didn't even have to leave the main room. After all, it was the only solid steel door with multiple fancy locks. However carefully I walked, my footsteps still echoed around me. So did my knocking against the vault door, but what can you do?

I took a second to check my escape routes: one door, three windows. Even if there wasn't a silent alarm, I wasn't getting the vault open without an explosion, and I hadn't quite figured out how to silence those. Careful to not blow myself up, I placed my bag at the foot of the door and fished two items out with my gloved hands. The first was the detonator, and the second, at Wraith's special request, a can of scarlet spray paint. 

Now wasn't the time for precision or art, but I did let myself have a little fun vandalizing the bank's shiny tile floor. Just as I put the finishing touches on my masterpiece, there was a shuffle behind me.

"Stop right there." A deep voice resounded in the near-empty room. With my back turned, I could only guess about the speaker. I'd say he was a young man who was holding a gun. Confident, but not cocky, it sure sounded like there was a weapon involved. He wasn't afraid to be holding a gun, either. The man was trained. "Slowly put your hands above your head and turn around." 

I did as I was told. My reward for obeying was the barrel of a gun pointed straight at my chest. At least now I'd see my death coming instead of being shot in the back. 

As much as the gun wanted my attention, I forced myself to look at the man holding it. Unfortunately, that didn't help much as the only light came streaming through the glass doors behind him. It was like I was back in Wraith's office; the only difference being that Wraith was significantly more threatening. 

The man released his gun with one hand and reached out towards me. "Give me the detonator." Yeah, that wasn't happening. Even with the gun trained on me, I would still rather disobey this guy than my master. From the corner of my eye, I could see the teller desk to my right, just out of reach.

"You know..." I placed my words as cautiously as my feet, shuffling sideways. "I really don't like helping people who point a gun in my face."

"If you stop moving and give me the switch, I might consider lowering the gun."

I tilted my head, as if weighing my options. "Nah." 

Before he could respond, I hit the button and jumped the desk, the blast carrying me over as well as slamming the man into the wall. It took a moment for me to reorient myself enough to make my way through the dust and debris towards the vault. 

Ears ringing, I slipped a second bag from my back and started shoveling stacks of cash into it. There was way too much for me to carry, but I did get a good haul. My dark overlord would be proud. Returning to the lobby, I spared a moment to check over the man. Luckily he was only unconscious, not dead, but blood poured from his ears and, judging from the wound on his head, he was going to wake up with a serious headache. 

I winced on his behalf. Oh, well. I needed to get out of there before someone else showed up.

The next morning, the maniacal laughter emanating from my phone shoved its way into my dreams and dragged me back to consciousness. I really had to stop letting Kacie change my ringtone. Groaning, I rolled over and snatched my phone from my nightstand. Text after text filled my notifications. Kacie must have sent a hundred.

"Have you heard the news?" No, I just woke up.

"Phantom Banshee showed up again!" What? Really? I hadn't noticed.

"She robbed a bank this time!" Wow, you'd think the giant bag of cash under my bed would have tipped me off about that.

"She stole THOUSANDS of dollars!" How dare I.

"Amy!"

"Are you even paying attention?" Nope, not at all.

"Amy!"

"AMY!"

"AMELIA HOHN!" It's like 8 am. Even if I wasn't up all night, there was no reason to be sending me so many texts.

Kacie's final text consisted of a link to a news article. Sighing, I opened it. I was greeted by a large picture of the bank's floor, dusty and covered in pieces of wall and furniture, two words marring the tile: Phantom Banshee. At Wraith's request, I'd left a little message for the world. This was my doing, and I wasn't done yet.

Underneath the photo, the article gave a report of what I'd stolen, along with a statement from Detective Matthew Corum. I had to admit, if the detective could keep up with me so easily after such a short time, he definitely had skill. It was a pity for him. He'd pointed a gun at me and I'd blown him off his feet. Next time he wouldn't get off so easily.

The page ended with a picture of the vault door. Around it, the wall was charred and cracked, the door itself blackened and barely attached. The vault beyond was mostly intact, but what I hadn't stolen had been moved for safety. The damage was extensive, but I knew what Wraith would say. "At least the money wasn't damaged."