Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2066043-The-Price-of-Safety
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Drama · #2066043
Entry to the "What A Character" writing contest in November.
I run down the hallway as fast as I can. My sneakers squeak every time I take a step. I think it’s all because the floor is polished and stuff. To me it just sounds silly, but I guess to anybody who didn’t know I was here it would probably sound scary. At least, I hope it does.

On both sides of me paintings whiz past in a blur. Every one of them is nothing but squiggly lines and paint splotches thrown around on a canvass. It’s so stupid. I thought art museums were supposed to display art, not some two-year-old kid’s paintings.

The dummy I’m running at still looks oblivious, even as I get closer. Can’t he hear me by now? Jeez. Seriously, this guy’s only job is to keep an eye out for stuff, and he can’t even do that right. It’s kind of amazing he can function at all without a chaperone.

I jump a good three feet and land feet-first right on the guys back. I grab onto his shirt and hold on like I’m a rodeo star riding a bucking bronco. He stumbles forward a bit, but I’m able to hang on and keep him from reaching for his walkie-talkie or his gun.

Then I open up my left hand, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the light bounce off the shiny steel scales of my three, full-finger claws.

I wrap my hand around the guy’s neck and squeeze. Hard.

I fall off his back when he slumps forward, but I roll to a crouch a few feet away. I can’t help but smile when I turn around and get a good look at my handiwork. Man, am I good at this or what?

Before I started this little adventure, I never would have thought that a piece of emo jewelry would come in handy so much. I swiped them from the jewelry store thinking that they’d really only be useful for helping me climb stuff better.

But I guess I should have figured that if I sharpened them, I could make them into awesome weapons. Well, either way, they look pretty cool.

It looks like this guy is the only guard on the whole floor, since I don’t see anybody else as I sneak around. I’m just about to go down another floor when I hear cop sirens in the distance. Damn, that was quick. Either there was a guy watching the security cameras, or I tripped some kind of invisible alarm somewhere.

Whatever. I guess it’s time for me to make my escape. It’s a shame I didn’t get to down more guards, though.

Oh well, maybe next time.

I run up the flight of stairs and make it out onto the roof. The door’s open, just like I left it. There’re no helicopters flying around just yet, which means getting away is gonna be a snap. I run as fast as I can towards the edge of the building and jump over to the nearby tree. I dig my claws into the bark, and it’s just enough to stop me from falling and breaking my neck.

I climb down as quickly as I can, and from there it’s just a quick run to cross the street to make it the nearby alley. In the dark, I slow up and start nonchalantly walking away. With my hands in my pockets, you never would’ve guessed that I just broke into a place and killed some poor sap.

The cops sure as hell can’t tell. In fact, why not take a look at the moron parade myself? After a few turns, I make it back out to the sidewalk. I got a big, stupid grin on my face as the cop cars fly by me at a million miles an hour.

Just look at these idiots. They’re in such a rush to get to the crime scene, where the crime already happened, that they let me waltz right past them. I could probably wave at these dunces with my claws on and they still wouldn’t put two and two together.

Just goes to show how effective they are when things go bad.

When I’m through watching, I turn around and head back into the alley. I realize I’m strutting as I start to make my way back home. Honestly, I think this is my favorite part of the raids; when it’s all over and I feel like a king.

And really, why shouldn’t I? I’m tough enough to take down adults with my bare hands. Nobody in their right mind would dare mess with me. I mean, that is kind of the point, but boy does it work.

In about fifteen minutes I get across town to where my cozy little apartment is. Well, really it’s just an old room in a building that hasn’t been used since before I was born. I climb up the fire escape, since the doors are still nailed shut. No reason for me to open them up; I’m the only one that lives here. And I don’t like guests, anyway. At all.

I open the window to my pad, shut it behind me and sprawl out on the couch. For a sixteen-year old apartment, I think I made it look pretty great. I got a couch in here, a bunch of candles for light and warmth, and a couple of books and stuff to keep me entertained. What else could I possibly need?

I kick off my shoes and sigh as the cool air rushes over my socks. All that running around and stuff kills your feet, and everything else too. I know for sure that my scar’s going to be sore tomorrow, though. I rub it on the left side of my belly. It stings when I touch it.

It’s so weird, because I got it such a long time ago.

Back then I had this buddy named Tyler. He stole stuff to get by, just like me. In fact, I taught the kid everything he knew after he ran away from home. He wouldn’t shut up about how much better he was than me, though. He was a cocky punk that way, but that’s why I liked him.

One night about a year ago, we met up to count our loot together, just like we always did. But this time, two guys jumped us. We tried to fight back, but they were way stronger than us and they had knives. One guy jabbed me in the side. and I went down right away. But Tyler got it way worse.

They cut his throat right in front of me. The sounds he was making after it happened…didn’t even sound human. He dropped to the floor, and after that the bastards left with all our stuff. It still pisses me off when I think about it. To them, we were just two kids nobody’d miss if we just dropped dead.

I was able to get up and make my way to this apartment, but I had to leave Tyler behind. I don’t even know if the cops arrived to investigate. Screw ‘em; doesn’t matter if they did or didn’t. Either way, they were too late to do any good.

I learned back then that you can’t protect anybody or anything unless you look so tough that nobody would mess with you in the first place. That’s when I got the idea to start doing these raids; if people found out that I was some badass killer who could break into places with high security, kill everyone inside, then get out without getting caught, then nobody would screw with me.

Ever again.

I wake up the next morning as hungry as a horse, so I make my way to the nearby deli to get something to eat.

As I slide into my booth and get started on my egg sandwich, I see a news report about a break in at the local art museum. This part always feels good too: when they run the stories about your work. It’s great to see the cops totally confused as they try to figure out what you did. It’s always good for a laugh.

It looks like this newscaster is interviewing some lady. Her name is Claire…something French or Italian or whatever that I can’t read. Apparently she’s with the FBI, and she’s spewing some garbage about how they have some solid leads and that the perpetrator will be apprehended in due time…blah, blah, blah. It’s all stupid crap they say so people don’t freak out. Truth is, they got nothing, and they have no idea who could have done it.

But there is something I notice about this lady that rubs me the wrong way. Unlike the cops, who you can see are sweaty and all nervous, she’s all cool and composed. Who the hell is this chick anyway? And where does she get off being so confident? Screw her, and screw all of them. I get up and out of the deli. It’s time to get ready for tonight’s raid.

First I take a look at the big map that I have posted up in my apartment. On there I have marked every place that I’ve hit. The art museum is on the other side of town, so I should probably stick with something closer to here to throw the cops off. The natural history museum is close enough, and it’s probably got just as much security as the place last night.

Maybe if I’m careful, I can wipe out a few more guards before the cops come. I get so excited I giggle to myself.

I’m kind of surprised how quiet it is when I get to the museum. There weren’t as many cars around tonight as there was last night. Though I was on the nicer side of town before, so that was probably it. And besides, it’s raining quite a bit anyway. It’s amazing how people react to a little falling water. Doesn’t bother me though.

There’s a pipe that leads straight up to the roof. With my claws, it’s easy to climb up it and reach the roof. The entrance to the museum is close, but it’s locked. I make my way over to it and start picking the lock with my claws.

Then I hear it.

A hundred sirens start blaring down on the street. I run over to the edge of the roof and see that there are FBI and SWAT vans completely surrounding the place. I can’t leave the way I came. I hear a helicopter fly overhead, and its bright searchlight blinds me for a second. All of a sudden, I hear the door to the museum crash open behind me.

That lady Claire struts onto the roof with a squad of cronies. Did she set a trap for me? Damn her…damn all of them. She’s just standing there, holding her gun up at me with that cool expression on her face. It makes me sick.

I run at her as hard as I can. I want to rip that smug look off her face with everyone watching. Then they’ll know who they’re dealing with.

All of a sudden I drop to the ground. At first I’m just mad and confused. But then the pain comes. It’s almost as bad as when I got my scar, but all over my body this time. I want to scream and cry, but not in front of these people. I hold it in, and feel a warm puddle wet my belly with…

Then I get sleepy. I know, I just go to sleep and then the pain will be gone. Then I’ll eviscerate every one of these jerks. Nobody will mess with me after that.

Ever again.

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