Great Again (CVnU Introduction)

"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?"

"Now we get to the good part"

"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."

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Brimstone Highway (CVcU Short)

Highway 76, Acme, Ohio, 2:04 AM...

The girls were out on the road, burning rubber in their recently "acquired" Chevy Impala. All four of them hollered into the night sky, standing up to catch a breeze with the roof retracted. Their liquor stained the pavement they sped on, having complete and reckless abandon on these empty miles. Blood was hot, and there was something in the air, or maybe it was the full moon that provided a serene light on the slab ahead of them.

"I can't believe we actually did that! If he ever found out, nah, I don't even want to think of that." One of them cackled, looking back at the town of Acme, as it slowly grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

The Driver glanced at the mirror to look for herself, a sly smirk on her face. "You have no idea how long I wanted a car like this one. I offered him twice what he was offering, three the next time. Old man should have just taken the money." She scoffed, flooring the pedal even further into the pristine carpet.

The Driver squinted immediately after flooring it, though, as headlights from behind shined right against the mirror.

"Who the hell is this now?" One of them grumbled from the back, unable to see the vehicle due to the brights clearly being flicked on. "I swear if that's a cop.."

"It's not a cop." The passenger rolled her eyes, now looking back with the rest. "If it was a cop, they would have started the sirens by now."

And so they kept watching, as the lights got closer, closing the distance and contending with the Custom Impala.

"We gonna lose this tool or..?" The passenger leaned over, looking at the speedometer.

"It's maxed. Whatever they got, it's freaking fast." The Driver gritted her teeth, flipping the car off when she realized it had no intention of passing them. It was then that it backed off, still within a stone's throw of the Impala.

"Hey, there's a stop up ahead, I wanna see who the hell this d-bag thinks they are.." The Passenger tapped her friend's shoulder, cracking her knuckles. The rest were almost preparing to give this stranger a hard time.

Soon enough, the pulled up the blinking red light that tangled above on a wire, anxiously waiting for the car behind them to the same. It wasn't slowing down, not even a little bit, which only agitated them further. Even the collected Driver tapped on the gas, half convinced that it was going to ram right into them.

At the very last second, the car flung it's tail end out, and screeched to a scorching stop right beside them. The girls finally got a good look at the vehicle. A matte black 1970 Chevy Nova Super Sport. A fitting ride, considering the individuals that sat inside.

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It was a man and a woman, dressed head to toe in Rockabilly fashion. The man didn't even look at the crew, instead taking a second to run a comb through his shiny hair, cigarette smoke escaping out of the corner of his mouth. The girl on the other hand stared right at them, blowing up her bubble gum with a peculiar sass behind it. Tattoos smothered her neck, with the most notable of them reading "Matthew 10:28"

"Wow, okay then." The Driver scoffed, glaring at the opposing female stranger before looking at the greased driver. "Hey! Ponyboy! You just looking to piss people off? Or were you lookin' to race?" She declared, certain in her assumption after seeing that they were clearly gear heads themselves.

After half a minute, the couple in the Nova finally looked at each other with a shared smile, that smile that was only possible with mad love. "You hear that, baby? Chick thinks that little Impala there even stands a chance."

"Baby" laughed, looking over at their car with disdain. "I think she does, Dee, I think she does!" Her gaze met the Driver's, eyebrow raised. "If she knew any better, she'd go easy on the pedal and save us all the embarrassment."

That was enough for the Driver, revving her engine furiously and continued to talk past Baby. "She always speak for you!? Why don't you put your miles where your mouth is, greased lightning."

Finally, Dee looked over and tipped his raybans down to look her dead in the eye. "Your funeral, sweetheart."He said mockingly while revving his own engine, the Nova's tail pipe popping flames as the custom V8 fired off. After a moment, both vehicles steadily roared, both of them twitching at the gear shift in a classic standoff to see who ran first.

Baby's ears perked as the radio buzzed, grinning as she cranked the volume so that Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich could provide ambience with "Hold tight"

With all eyes glued to the road ahead, and the girls in the back hooting and hollering, the Driver made the first move, throwing the Impala in gear as it took off smoothly. The whole car erupted in taunts and jeers as they sped off. The Nova remained still, the couple's expression becoming much more cold as they watched the taillights ahead.

"...Think that's enough?" Baby looked over to Dee, warmly smiling while strapping herself in.

"Yeah..." Dee smirked, slamming the 8-ball shift into first. "Always nice to give 'em somevigor."

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The greaser let off the clutch, and gave hell to the gas pedal. The Nova's tired burned up a storm's worth of smoke before finally taking off, the front tires bouncing off the road a few times just from how much power was behind this sleeper rod. The entire cab shook from the power, Dee's knuckles fading to white from how tightly he gripped that steering wheel. It was only a matter of seconds before the Impala's tail lights reflected off of his shades.

"Ho-lee shot. You're kidding me.." The Driver glared at her mirror, realizing what was up. The Nova wasn't just fast, it was way faster then her new ride. "He was sleeping on us!" She muttered through her teeth, not ready to lose quietly. She jerked the wheel, cutting off the Nova from making a pass. Smoothly, it traced the wrong side of the road before getting behind the Impala once more.

The girls in the back waved mockingly, even flipping off the couple to show they were fighting dirty. That would be the last moment of fun, right before things turned sour.

The Nova roared like the mechanical beast it was, and proceeded to ram the Impala's bumper. One of the girls in the back, Sue, instantly flung off the trunk and tumbled violently on the side of the road.

"WHAT THE FUNK!? WHAT THE FUNK- SUE!!" The other girl cried out, her eyes turning to a vibrant red for only a moment.

In all the confusion, the Nova easily pulled up beside them, matching their speed. Baby laughed at them with an eerie cool, pointing behind them. "You thought that was bad!? Give it a second!"The Rockabilly girl tightened her bandana on her head, slapping the side of the Nova as if it was a horse to be spurred.

The next few seconds all happened at once. Dee let off the gas for a moment, letting the Impala put itself in place, before he slammed into it's rear side. A classic use of the P.I.T Maneuver, the Impala spun out helplessly, taking just a second before it flipped under it's own force. Bodies flung from the moving wreck as it flipped over and over again, the Nova swiftly speeding past as it occurred.

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The wreck ended up in the ditch, ending it's cacophony of sheering metal just as Dee and Baby burned a U-turn, coming to a complete halt. "Could have kept goin' for a bit more, you know?" Dee chuckled, looking over to his wife while taking off his shades.

"Oh hush. Another second and they would have started leapin' at us from the damn car. My turn or your turn for stragglers?" Baby popped the glove box open, pulling out a .45 magnum, checking that the silver was loaded.

"Your turn. And I know, I know! Just a damn shame is all. Not everyday we get to race with somethin' actually fun. Ugh, that poor rod. We gotta let Peterson's family know where the car ended up." Dee shook his head, tossing his seat belt behind him and popping the door open to exit.

"You should have seen his body, hon. Things ripped him up like confetti." Dee mentioned, walking over to the Nova's trunk and accessed it's contents. Inside was a borderline armory, adorned with charms belonging to most religions on this Earth. "Five minutes. Five minutes and we could have saved him.... I'm pissed, is all I'm sayin'."

Baby remained at the front of the car, staring at the Driver as she sprinted down the highway at a Tiger's pace, her maw visible from even this far away. "You can't save them all, love. It's the one's we do save that matters, and the ones we put down..."The red head raised her revolver, getting a good bead on the Driver and putting a round square in her kneecap. "Boom, you dumb ass. I'm going for the rest, this one's all yours, babe." Baby made a kiss before walking off, putting another round in the Driver's gut while walking past her.

Dee wondered why he bothered even perusing his arsenal, knowing already what he was going to grab. His trusted sawed off and katana. His boots clomped on the empty road, taking his sweet time approaching the Driver, who revealed enough of her appearance to lose all sympathy. A half demon, through and through, her jaw dislocated to accommodate for the disturbing amount of fangs that jutted from her gums, her eyes as red as the blood she spilled time and time again.

"What did I tell you, cherry? Didn't I say it was gonna be your funeral?" Dee looked down at the demon, a look of disapproval looming on his face.

The Driver croaked, reaching out like a cornered animal with her elongated fingers and claws. Dee anticipated it, and stamped his leather boot down on her hand, then drove the unnaturally shimmering katana through her hand, and even some of the pavement. He twisted the blade, kneeling down to the smell of burning flesh and looked "her" dead in the eyes.

"Now, I know you got a master. Sure, Acme was just a twisted night out with the "girls", but you were just passin' by, weren't you?" Dee tilted his head, waiting for an answer. When he was met with nothing but silence, the greaser produced his shotgun, shaking it lightly before pointing it at her forehead. "I. Said. Weren't. You?"

Gunshots rang out in the distance amidst the silence, Baby going to work on the so called "stragglers" that flung from the wreck. With the situation getting bleaker, realizing she was now on her own, the demon Driver complied.

"Dorian. His name's Dorian." She hissed out her answer, to which Dee scoffed at.

"Really now? That's gotta be the most cliche demon name I've heard in a while. You're all really full of yourselves, aren't ya?" Dee shook his head, pressing the two barrels against the Driver's head. "Big question time now. If I know the answer? Then let's say you lose, alright? Ol' Dorian wouldn't happen to be stationed in Coventry freaking Township, would he? And y'all were heading back into town after grabbing that old timer's car... Right?"His teeth gritted audibly, reminded again about the scraps of a corpse they left behind in that garage.

The Driver looked surprised, before giving up to her sadistic nature, and started laughing in the voices of many. That laughter only got to pollute the night air for a moment, before Dee swiftly separated her head with his late sister's silver blade.

"Yeah... I thought as much."

Baby returned from the darkness shortly after, blood smeared on her face to match her ruby lipstick. "Got your answers, handsome?" She called out, a pair of boots from one of the stragglers dangling over her shoulder. The spoils of war, indeed.

"Sure did, Baby doll, I sure did. Hope you're in a workin' mood, because it looks like we're gonna be staying in Coventry for a spell." Dee draped his arm over his girl's shoulders, playfully squeezing her arm as they made their way back to the Nova.

"Hey, as long as they got good music and even better bars? I couldn't be bothered." She smiled, resting her head against Dee.

"Maybe, maybe not. Only thing I know? We're gonna rock that town to it's core..."

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