Black Labyrinth

Snow on Dead Neighborhoods

I was frozen in place, trying to piece everything together.

Quincy sat with his knees against the floor, scowling at Lane. I could tell from his eyes he would take a shot the moment he had one, but we were unarmed. Our guns and bags sat in the middle of the room behind Lane's improvised stage. He twirled around gleefully as he screamed for us to pick.

"Tick, Tock. I really thought we were on the same page here. I don't like waiting!" Lane announced, stomping his feet. Not unlike a child throwing a tantrum.

Lauren's face said everything about how she read the situation. She stared at Lane's feet as he playfully moved around the room, carefully avoiding the chunks of marble surrounding him. Her shoulders were tensed before a sigh and release.Acceptance.

She turned her head toward me, and with pain in her eyes, she smiled.

I looked over at Allen. He had his head lowered, and his eyes averted my gaze. He must have gotten caught right after the charge detonated.

The dim lighting made it harder for me to check my surroundings. As I carefully looked around the room, I noticed that most of the bank's employees fled. Probably as soon as Lane had given them the opportunity.For the most part, the room that comprised the lobby was empty. A large penthouse suite with little furnishings. Towards the back were two large rooms on the far northeast corner of the large open suite.

As for what was there, there was no vault, no comically large hurdles of green to feast our eyes on, just a few long tables and some large servers that took up much of the space in the back. That's all they needed, all it took.Money was no longer physical in any sense. It was all digital, information, code. It was all stored into tiny little markings that rested carefully on the inside of our wrists. Tattoos made with conductive ink. It worked the same way we used bar codes, but more like having a wallet attached to our skin.

"I don't understand what's so difficult about making a decision! It doesn't have to be so dour. Come on! Here, look, I'll show you!" Lane yelled as he pulled out his pistol and used it to slowly lift Allen's head. Resting the barrel on the center of Allen's forehead.

I quickly counted the guards in the room, looking for an opening. There were three men assigned to the bank who were still in the room, standing behind us. With him, Lane brought three men of his own. Which puzzled me as I recalled Quincy's first observation of us being followed.

A bike and a van.

It didn't make sense to me why one of Lane's men would ride a bike if there was space in the van.

"I made it clear what would happen if you didn't choose. So who goes first!?" Lane yelled, quickly pulling the gun from Allen's head and aiming it at Quincy.I looked back at the pile made out of our weapons and bags. We still had a chance, even if it wasn't with our guns.

They weren't our only weapons.

'Don't bring a knife to a gunfight,' they used to say. It was an old adage used to convey the importance of being adequately equipped to deal with a situation. There is, however, a glaring absence of understanding when it comes to the actual validity of that statement.Anyone who understands how to properly use a knife will tell you. There's a specific range in