"Alright. Let's go over this, one last time."
La Sagrada Familia Cartel Gold Reserve, 20 Miles outside of Odessa, Texas. 10:50 PM...
The "Sagrada Familia" Cartel has been roosting in Odessa ever since their grandpop showed up and decided that he wanted to try out being a literal Drug Lord. As any of you would already expect, yeah, they're all completely insane. You got the dominatrix, psycho sister. The "suave" gangster wannabe brother who likes cutting up women just a little too much, and all the other yahoos. Pretty basic stuff, as far as spoiled brats with machine guns and cocaine go."
"Who cares about the actual family though, right? Gangs don't flock to them to hear their nihilist philosophies while they show off a golden M16. Nah, it's because they have something others want. For most folks, it's that sweet powder, cocaine. I mean hey! I hear it's really good stuff, if you're into nose candy, that is. It was their pop's technique that but them on the map, and it's really why I've stolen well over a million dollars of the stuff. That's not really today's focus, either..."
Patriot clasped his hands, after having just snapped on some latex gloves, and squeezed them tight. A small ritual, a prayer, a habit he did when their arrival was imminent. He looked at each of his partners for this job, who were all preparing their masks and weapons.
"First, there was Fanboy. Worked with him the most before, and a damn good hand to boot. The code means we don't really get to learn all that much about the other, but I know for sure that he's ex military, maybe a SEAL. I like his style. Doesn't talk, doesn't care about the little things, and loves making money, something I get. He got his code name from his mask, a licensed Selebrity® Samson Starr mask. What can I say, we like what we like."
"Buddy chanting to himself like a berserk viking is Skinner. This huffing lump of muscle wears that wolf head on his face because he killed it with his bare hands... I mean, I don't really know what else to say with that. They guy's nuts."
"And then there's Moji, our tech guy. Sure, they crying face Emoji mask will haunt your dreams for a decade, but he's been a reliable tech and safe guy on more than a few jobs. I just... Wish he didn't freaking dab during a job. He thirty, for Christ's sake."
"Last, but certainly not least, is your truly, Patriot. I'm 23 years old, I hired these guys for my score, I don't understand how life outside of crime works, I've been holding up joints while dealing with puberty at the same time! I love America. I love capitalism, and by god do I funking LOVE money. Combine all three, and my job is heaven. 'Nuff said."
"We're here, one click out from the Reserve." Their van driver announced, opting for a simple balaclava among his employers.
"Good man! We'll see you at the cornfield in exactly 2 hours and 27 minutes. Can't stress that enough." Patriot gave a stern point to the driver, to which he gave a thumbs up while still facing forward. "Outstanding." Patriot grabbed his mask, looking over that mocking grin with Stars and Stripes painted over, and smiled fondly. The smile faded, and he slipped on the disguised ballistic gear.
"Everyone sync up your timers, because it's time to cash out." Patriot slapped a magazine into his KRISS Vector, then kicked the van's doors open.
The crew moved through the dry grass like a pack of coyotes, watching each other's backs with their weapons. Patriot didn't miss a step as he carefully screwed a silencer onto the barrel of weapon, checking his watch while doing so. It was exactly 2 minutes before the outer perimeter was supposed to change shifts.
"One month was all it took. One month to case this place, to prod it's defenses and learn about all it's little flaws. It can't be stressed enough how important it is to prepare. For. Everything. It takes time, it costs money and it's an all around pain in the ass, but holy shot it's worth it when a few million dollars is in the line. It's the planning that gives you all the edge, like timing your kills of the perimeter guards..."
Patriot took point, crouching down and popping the guard's head with tight accuracy. "Clear." He spoke into his earpiece.
Moji was next, taking his shot after barely a second passed from Patriot's shot. "Clear."
It was difficult to tell whether Skinner or Fanboy shot next, with how closely synced their take downs were, alas they both called out with "Clear."
"...Then you can take out the next patrol shift, while they're kindly opening up the security entrance for you."
"<Nah man, I'm tellin' you that this comic is gonna be worth a freaking fortune one day!*>" (*Translated from Spanish)One of the guards shouted, tucking his Uzi under his shoulder and held open the Selebrity® comic book to his patrol partner. "<Samson mutha-funking Starr AUTOGRAPHED THE FRONT PAGE.>"
The other cartel member could only scoff, attempting to swipe it as the other pulled away. "<Get real with yourself. You bought that off of Ebay, man. You know how many of those things are fakes? You'd have to like, get it appraised or some shot like that. Why do you even like comics? That's for kids and shot."
The comic holder cursed him under his breath, looking back to the four other guards behind them. Right as he opened his mouth to get their opinion, the entire lot of them were ripped to shreds by silenced gunfire, the crew coming out of the bushes as quietly as they entered them.
Fanboy obviously noticed the ruined comic book on the ground, and gasped dramatically. "Oh sweet Jesus, no. That's a freaking autographed issue number 13- Wait... Never mind, that's definitely a fake." Then shrugged while catching up with the rest.
Moji stopped as the others moved along, noticing a wiring panel that he could hook into. With his trusty laptop and some questionable soldering work, their security systems would find themselves in a stable loop of last five minutes.
"With the security entrance opened up for us, it was a cinch to sweep through the locker rooms. See, just because a Cartel owns their personal gold reserves, doesn't mean it's like government reserves. It always spooks the rookies. It looks like a government building, the patrols are like the ones you'd find at a government building... But there's no regulations. Security cameras are five years outdated, the guards are packing their own heat, normally not at all suitable for their station, and all of the craftsmanship is sketchy as all hell. You can't exactly bring in a legit crew to build a safe place for your 200% illegal gold. This one's laid out more like a prison than anything else, which makes sense if you think about it."
With each room they breached, and each room they filled with led, the Reserve's personnel dwindled at a steady rate. No security footage, and guards with no discipline made for criminally easy progress. For above ground, that is...
"Like any sensible multi-billionaire, the Cartel moves all of their gold underground, in some dank mines that have been there ever since America had been stealing land. It's pretty smart, actually. A single elevator that drops into the mines below, with no foreseeable way out other than the way you just got in. A metric F-ton of cartel bangers just chilling in front of the lift, which means we have no choice but to "go loud". Couple that with home office calling in the next ten minutes for a routine check, only to hear radio silence, and we got a lot of blood on our hands."
Patriot slammed the elevator's gate shut, followed by the crew dropping their bags to switch out their gear. "We have 9 minutes and 40 seconds before backup is called in, and 20 minutes before that backup actually gets here." He unzipped his bag, revealing a Kevlar vest and a weapon that was much more suitable for what was ahead.
"Heckler & Koch HK416 with a Beta C-Mag? You can say a lot of things about my sister, but Juno always knows what to get someone as a present."
Even after getting locked and loaded, the crew had to endure what felt like the longest few seconds ever, as the elevator descended to it's final depths, with lamp light pouring in as soon as they reached the bottom. It was one look at Patriot's mask, and all hell broke loose.
"<TAXMAN'S HERE!!>" Patriot screamed, squeezing down on the trigger, and joined his comrades in a firing line, mowing down the closest cartel members while they were still surprised. That would be the only edge that they'd have, though, as the rest instantly came pouring in from the many tunnels that littered this ancient mine.
The voiceless cooperation between each of the thieves was astounding, each knowing what the other was doing, and covering them as they did so. It wasn't long before all four of them stepped off the elevator, leaving one of their bags behind...
Patriot's gun clicked, announcing that it just ran dry. "Oop!" He yelped, pulling out his Beretta to continue keeping the cartel ahead of him behind cover, proceeding to find himself some just as he shot his last round. "Just wanted to let you guys know-!" The clown thief flinched, a bullet breaking off a chunk of rock he was hiding behind. "-That you can still surrender! I swear we'll stop shooting if you stop!" He continued "negotiating" pulling a frag grenade from his breast pocket, and pulled the pin. "PROMISE!" He chucked it down one of the tunnels, the resulting explosion actually caving it down on his enemies.
"Hey Skinner! You carrying around that SAW to look pretty, or what!? We need to get going!" Patriot yelled over to the heavily armed mountain, to which he complied by laying down some serious cover fire with that LMG. The rest of the crew made their moves, splitting up into twos.
"Remember all that preaching about preparation? It's not so preachy when you lift a maintenance map off of a transport truck two weeks ago, of the mines you're desperately trying to navigate while a platoon of cartel is shooting at your backs, is it?"
"BLOW IT BLOW IT BLOW IT BLOW IT BLOW IT BLOW IT!" Patriot screamed, sprinting out of the tunnels along with Fanboy, as the two of them literally leaped into the pit ahead of them.
Fanboy didn't wait any longer, and clicked the trigger that he was holding since they left the elevator. Sure enough, the bag they left behind was stuffed full of C4 plastic explosive. The resulting explosion was immense, with debris and flames shooting out of multiple tunnels, two of which Moji and Skinner barely got out of in time.
The dust started to settle, and the crew lifted their debris-covered heads to look at what they just did. "Anyone else feel like that was way cooler than anything that happened in The Crystal Skull?" Moji groaned, weakly dabbing before letting his head back down on the ground. "Because all that? Was some serious Indiana Jones shot"
Patriot dusted off his ripped up suit, staring ahead of the crew while they all collected themselves. "Moji, you got no idea how much more that joke is about to work..."
The crew all took a note, and looked the same direction.
"You folks know how much gold is worth? It's unbelievable how much something so small can be, something that can literally change your life. Today, a kilogram of gold is worth $57,959.12. For a goddamn KILOGRAM. 2.2 POUNDS. So... You could imagine our faces underneath those masks, when we were all staring at 50, 1KG gold bars that were stolen from the Yakuza...$2,897,956..."
Fanboy sniffled under his mask, averting his eyes as if witnessing an angel. "I- I can't man. It's freaking beautiful."
"It's a job that isn't done yet, is what it is." Patriot looked at them all, turning back towards the gold and threw his empty bags near it. "Everyone start packing, the drill's gonna be here in ten."
And so they got to work, methodically, yet greedily stuffing the gold inside their large bags, making sure not to stuff any one of them too full. After a very long 10 minutes, they crew now had more bags than they could carry on foot.
"I know how it seems! Four robbers that are hopelessly outgunned, impossibly outmatched and they just caved in their only means of escaping this mine. NOW they have more gold than they could ever hope to get out of here! Heh. Well, maybe next time I will start telling the story when it actually began... Two weeks ago, because you see-"
The next day, CNN Broadcast...
"-Multiple reports were called in at Odessa, Texas last night of a massive Earthquake that could be felt for dozens of miles outside of the city itself. While it took emergency services some time to figure out what was occurring, they eventually found the source of the disturbance in a corn field, 25 miles outside of Odessa.
A military grade "tunneling carrier", designed to transport troops under combat zones, was found in the field, completely destroyed by what is now called a "Potential terrorist threat." The United States military has since identified the drill as the very same that was stolen two weeks earlier from Austin, Texas' high security research division. Judging from the footage of that theft, the FBI now has reason to believe that the prolific "Patriot" is responsible.
This "Patriot", a thief and terrorist who wears an "American clown mask" has been making waves in the news as of late, due to the startling amount of heists this figure has been involved in-"
Dion switched the channel, now watching Home Improvement while sipping his morning coffee. After one more nip, he clicked on his tape recorder again, finishing concluding his audio journal.
"Because, you see, when you live in a world of super heroes and villains? Everyone's too busy to notice when you steal the fancy tech... Anyway, that was last night. I don't know when you're going to get a hold of this June, but just know that I... Miss... You... God, I wish this had a delete button. Mom sends her best wishes, as usual, and told me to tell you that you better be keeping low over there, I know you are though. After all, you learned from the best." Sobol chuckled, ready to speak into the recorder one last time, before deciding that it was good enough the way it was.
"This is Patriot, signing off."