To be honest, I never expected to end up on a subway holding a gun to my best friend's head with a string of explosives strapped around my waist. We all think we're gonna be rockstars or actors and be rich and famous, but that's a lie. I'm going to be famous, but not for a reason I like. I despise the source of my infamy, and I hate the fact that I'm the cause of the dozen expressions of fear around me. The gun feels smooth, and the trigger is almost speaking to me, telling me to depress it. Before today, I had never even fired a gun, and now I had killed three people with one and had expended four clips.

The duffel bags were clustered near my feet, each one stuffed with hundred dollar bills. To think there was roughly ten million dollars sitting at my feet did not brighten my day the slightest, possibly due to the ring of explosives that could be detonated remotely.

Speaking of detonating things remotely, where the hell are the others? I know Richard Mockett got triggered in that condo without a warning, promptly showering most of the street with little gore speckled pieces of high-quality furniture. Jason was still alive to the best of my knowledge, my last sight of him a single short hour ago. They had the poor bastard's wife, and he was frantic.

Thirty million dollars is enough to fund a domestic terrorist organization for years, I think. If they run out of cash, they could always find another poor sap, kidnap whomever he loves the most, and then tell him that if he can't get them ten million in twelve hours the loved one is toast. Of course, you're almost shitting yourself with fear when they pass you a manila envelope and a belt with tubes strapped onto it. You open the manila envelope and see you're to go to the National Bank with the belt on and scream for money. If the bank doesn't comply, they merely push a button and you go boom, levelling the bank. You try to run with the money, and you go boom, ripping apart whatever you're near at the time. You take off the belt, they press a button, and you get annihilated.

In other words, we were fucked. Sons of Liberty is one of the strongest terror groups out there, strong enough to launch a raid on the CIA building in Langley. Last year, they kidnapped the VP and sent the White House his ear in the mail. Six months ago, they blew six high-density Impact Charges in the basement of three shopping malls a week before Christmas. Coincidentally, I'm wearing the miniature equivalent to a high-density Impact Charge. If I go boom, I level the whole subway and everyone on it, including my best friend Kurt. Kurt's here because he has the bad habit of trying to help people out of a situation where they can't be helped out of. I'm holding a gun to his head because he tried to shoot me with the gun he got off the guard, and trying to shot somebody who's wearing explosives is the stupidest idea I've ever heard. So, I end up holding a gun to his head to prevent any stupid moves. The subway had stopped moving, the emergency lights casting the compartment in a dim red light. I guess the Sons of Liberty cut the power to the thing or something, because they needed some way to pick up the money. If the cops and the bad guys get here at the same time...

That would not be good. I need a way out of this...

The End

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