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[PRIVATE]
'I've got a gun to your head. That click you just heard means it's ready to fire, and the magazine in the handle is filled with twelve big bullets that can tear this skull of yours clean off your neck. Clean? Who am I kidding? It's going to be messy as hell.' Jack M. Garand was once a detective. How things had changed. Two years ago, he would never have considered aiming a loaded gun at a police officer. Yet right now "Flak-Jack" -- as he was currently known as -- watched as his gang shoved thousands of dollars in to black bags, a hurried rush before backup arrived. The floor was covered in five dollar notes, yet there was no time to individually pick up each one. Throw it in bulks, regardless if a few were lost. 'How's it going? How much we got?'
They all dressed alike, no way to distinguish the leader. Each man wore a gray suit, brown shoes, and a gas mask that covered every inch of his face. The windows for his eyes were small, and cast a shadow to hide any recognition. The filters of the mask caused a distorted voice and heavy breathing, one which competed with the quiet whimpers of the hostages in the warehouse. The money belonged to a small time gangster who preferred the use of hiding places to banks for his money. Guess that was one idea he'd soon be regretting. The police officer was corrupt, just as they all were. He'd turned his head the other way so many times he had made a living from walking around with his eyes closed, ignorant to stopping petty crimes.
'We got one-twenty (thousand)! It's just smash and singles that's left. We're out of here, J.'
Jack nodded his head, keeping one eye on the officer in front of him. 'Guess you should have taken a different career path, Clancy.' He smirked, a loud bang shuddering against the walls. Blood and fragments of skull splattered against Jack's gas mask, gloved hands wiping it away. 'Get out, all of you!' The hostages - both male and female - began for the door, but Jack prevented another officer - a young woman - from leaving. She gave him tears, and pleading cries, but Jack wouldn't give in. The handcuffs kept hands behind her back, and the helpless woman was thrown in to the back of a van. It had once belonged to a pet shop owner, but a quick paint job removed any evidence of it's former life. Jack climbed in to the back of the van with the policewoman and smirked, although the mask did not allow her to see it. There were a number of cages, large enough to fit a human inside. However, she remained in his hands, whimpering.
The bags of money were all around them, his gloved thumb rubbed against the paper. $120,000. Divided in to three, that was $40,000 each. It was the third robbery they had commited this month, with total earnings now hitting the $300,000 mark. Not too bad. And as a little bonus? A cute little policewoman who looked far too young to have been working in this department. What age was she? Early twenties? But a youthful face gave off a different impression. They reached their hideout, the van was emptied, and Jack had taken his "prize" in to the main warehouse. Needless to say, he didn't waste any time in having some enjoyment with her. The woman hung from the ceiling by her wrists, the rope allowing her to tiptoe and no more. A piece of rolled up cloth was packed in to her mouth and tied behind her head, while her trousers and underwear slacked around her ankles -- indicating what had obviously been done to her over the last half an hour. Flak-Jack -- whose clothing choice was always reinforced with kevlar, including a bullet proof vest worn at all times, hence the name -- was upstairs with his gang, celebrating their recent success. If only they knew what was approaching. A thud on the roof, a frown on Jack's face. She was here. The damn superheroine was here for them! 'Guns ready.' He whispered.