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Saturday. The day of the heist cum killings. I wasn't looking forward to it, and neither was Brandon nor Dylan. We all had our roles, and the rest of the gang were busy taking up their positions or checking gear. Since we were still green behind the ears, we were given the easiest job: the truck drivers. Earlier we'd been briefed by Icarus on our lone task, while he and the rest of the gang geared up.

"You guys have it easy. Once we're in position, I'll notify you. Then you take your time and drive the truck all the way to the front of the bank. Once that's done, notify me and then leave it immediately. We'll give you fifteen seconds to clear out, then we detonate. Once the truck goes up, get your masks on and head in and join us. Once we're done we'll bail, and you guys provide us with cover."

Sounded easy enough. We were dressed up in regular street clothes. The truck was unmarked and wired with experimental chemical explosives, all rigged by Wicker during the interim. He told us the compounds and the rigging were unstable, so we had to drive really really carefully, his exact words. Once we were in front of the bank we were to get right out and message Icarus. We were still waiting though, and it didn't exactly relieve the tension of sitting on a bomb. Brandon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and sighed. He was driver today, I was to act the part of his disinterested passenger. A lousy cover, but it served its intended purpose. We were parked nearby, two blocks down but within viewing distance of the bank. I stared at the structure, letting my eyes drift over the stone pillars and white plaster exterior. Glass and stone and concrete and plaster and steel. That's what the place was. Yet it was haunting in what would take place within it later. I could picture the Jenkins clan now, having their breakfast and discussing business, before they made their way to the bank to talk even more with their American colleagues, no doubt on how the place was going, and if any of their illicit trades were profiting their already substantial income. They had absolutely no idea that they were doomed. It chilled me to consider that. Who wouldn't go insane if you woke up one day knowing you were going to die violently?

Just then my phone rang. It was a disposable cell instead of my regular phone, one of a bunch that we'd gotten specifically for the heist. The number that rang me was Icarus, so I hit the green answer button and held the phone to my ear.

"Yo."

"We're in place. Go now."

I clicked the call off and nodded to Brandon. He got the message and started the engine. In moments we were off, blending into the late morning traffic as we made our way towards the bank. Brandon made extra sure to keep away from everyone. He knew how risky it was. Dylan was no doubt in the bank, masquerading as an employee or a patron or someone else, along with the rest of the gang. Within minutes we were parked right outside the bank, much to the chagrin of a driver behind us who'd wanted the space. Brandon killed the engine and nudged my shoulder.

"Show time."

I merely nodded and got out. As I walked away I called Icarus.

"We're here."

"Alright. Delivery in fifteen."

Fifteen seconds for us to haul ass. I pulled Brandon into the bank, way past the front doors and into the main atrium. Security wasn't exactly that tight, but the guards were well armed. We took a place to the side in one of the expensive leather sofas and waited. Time felt slowed as I counted down the seconds.

Ten seconds seemed like an hour.

Then five.

Then three.

Two.

One.

The truck erupted in a fireball of epic proportions, shattering all the glass that lay within the front of the bank, along with the shops and apartments right across the street. Bystanders nearby were blown onto their asses or faces as the shockwave engulfed everything within a block from the blast. Even we weren't spared, as the sofa we sat on was blown backward by the explosion and we were unceremoniously flung from it and onto the expensive marble flooring. I scrambled to my feet as the guards manning the security checkpoint rushed forward, guns at the ready, oblivious to the interior of the bank for a few seconds.

All we needed.

I rushed forward, using the chaos as cover, and applied a straight chop to the neck of the rearmost guard. He dropped like a stone as Brandon caught up with the other guy and grabbed him in a choke. Seconds later the man collapsed, unconscious, and we stripped them of their weapons and ammunition. With masks donned and screaming people all around us, we advanced into the main lobby. Above us, I saw Grease on the catwalk muscling down another guard that was next to her. Icarus stood on the tellers' desks, a shotgun pointed in their faces, and all this from behind the bulletproof glass window that he was leaning on. The tellers themselves were cowering behind the counter, unclear to my vision though I saw glimpses of hands and the tops of heads past the counter. Gunfire to our left drew my attention, which led my gaze to rest on Wicker, who was busy gunning down a guard, his high-pitched, cackling laughter echoing through the now mostly empty bank. I ran up to the front counter and tapped on the glass with the butt of my appropriated rifle. Icarus glanced back at us.

"Hey! You guys made it. I'm kinda busy, go find Booker. He's around here somewhere."

I nodded an affirmative and took off, Brandon right behind me. With Wicker securing the vault side, Grease above us and Icarus keeping the tellers down, that left Wilhelm, V, Bishop and Dylan over to the right, where the offices were. I spotted V straight away, the manager in a chokehold as he retreated backward into an empty cubicle. Wilhelm and Bishop were above us on the second floor; the former was keeping a door closed with his substantial bulk while Bishop was doing something on a computer.

I didn't see Dylan anywhere.

Just then V reemerged from whatever he was doing, a keycard in his gloved hands. He spotted us and waved.

"Hey! Over here!"

I jogged over with Brandon behind me, covering my back.

"Yo."

"Glad you could make it. There's something I need you to do, and it involves this keycard."

"What's the job?"

V turned to Brandon first.

"Riley, I need you to head upstairs and go talk to Bishop. I think the guy needs someone covering the front doors from up high."

He nodded and went off, which left me.

"Civic, take this keycard over to Wick. He's at the other end of the bank. We'll need this and one other to get into the inner workings of the bank and the vault."

I nodded and grabbed the plastic card from his hand and ran off. Wick was right there at the other side of the bank, keycard in hand. His got us past the double security doors that guarded the inner sanctum and straight into a hail of gunfire. We retreated back outside as the guards within rallied to defend their precious. I threw a volley of fire down into the narrow hallway which let Wicker move up in the lull that followed. He waved me off as he reloaded his rifle.

"Civic, go help someone else! Maybe head upstairs and tell Grease to come down here and assist me with the vault!"

I merely nodded and left, leaving Wicker on his own as the guards within slowly moved up. I hurried up the stairs leading to the second floor and located Grease and Brandon, where they were covering the main lobby from the balcony overlooking the whole place. I tapped the former on the shoulder and motioned downstairs with the barrel of my gun.

"Wick needs you downstairs, Grease. Vault."

She nodded and ran off, leaving me and Brandon alone on the balcony. He sighed and looked at me through the mask.

"Damn, this is some shitstorm we've gotten ourselves into, eh?"

"Yeah no shit. I'm surprised we're actually pulling it off. No doubt the cops are already on their way."

"You reminded me, how in the bleedin' 'eck are we supposed to get away after this?"

"Good point. I guess I'll have to work something out."

Our musings were cut short by a withering hail of fire from down below. The cops were here, and they were here in force. Below us, Icarus ducked down behind his bulletproof shield as he came under fire from the SWAT units that stormed the building. I had no choice but to spray them with fire to force them back, Brandon joining me as we fired at their feet and around them, not really aiming to hit them at all but forcing them to retreat. Icarus soon joined in, blasting away with his shotgun, probably shoved through the slot between the counter and the glass. To our left, I heard yelling. It was Bishop looking for us. I turned as he rounded the corner.

"Civic! Riley! You okay?"

I gave him a thumbs up and squeezed the trigger on my rifle, sending a few more rounds down range to the feet of an officer that was getting too close.

"One of you needs to stay here and suppress them, one of you needs to follow me!"

Brandon looked at me and jerked his chin towards Bishop.

"Go man, I've got things here."

I nodded and got back to my feet and followed Bishop. He led me back to the office area, where Wilhelm was keeping the door to a meeting room closed with his considerable bulk. The men trapped within were pounding on the glass, demanding something that I couldn't hear over the chaos, and I knew that some of them were attempting to break down the door to no avail.

"Civic, I need you to keep those guys in there at bay. Don't break the glass, but keep 'em down."

"Got it."

I jogged over to the meeting room and aimed my rifle at the huge glass window and everyone in there backed off immediately, hands raised. Wilhelm gave me a nod and kept his shoulder braced against the door. I couldn't tell what was going on in the bank, but the gun battle in the lobby was quieter somewhat. I heard someone coming up the stairs behind me and I turned to see Icarus hurrying up.

"Ya'll good?"

"Golden, boss." Wilhelm.

He came forward and patted our shoulders.

"Nice job. Wicker and Grease are working on the vault, Riley and Bishop have got the lobby covered and we're up here. What say we roll on stage three, gents?"

Wilhelm nodded and I could see his face stretch in a grin beneath his mask. He moved away from the door as Icarus moved in close. He racked his shotgun and blew a gaping hole in the door knob and kicked it right open, shoving down the two men who were cowering behind it. He yelled down everyone else who wasn't cowering and leaped up onto the table. Wilhelm and I entered right after him and he closed the door and leaned on it. I made a show of swinging my rifle around to aim at those who were still standing, making them lie flat. One of them, an old man with a cane, craned his neck up to peer at the would-be leader of our ragtag group and I saw recognition go over his face.

"Y-you!"

"Yeah pops, it's me! I'm back!"

He racked his shotgun.

I barely processed what happened next until I went back to it in the days after the heist.

Icarus levelled his shotgun at the old man. Pulled the trigger. Splattered him all across the carpet. The rest of the men around him backed away and cowered as Icarus racked the slide again. The ejected shell landed on the table with a clatter.

Overall there was a deafening silence, one that overrode the commotion outside.

"Anyone else want to talk? Cause no one else is talking unless I say so!"

There was a lack of a response. An affirmation in his book. He lowered the shotgun and spread his arms.

"So these are the high and mighty Jenkins boys, eh? Robbers? Thieves? Murderers? People who would kill over teeny tiny mistakes?"

He hopped off the table and made a slow circle of the room.

"Each and every one of you is guilty of some crime or other, so it'd be fair justice for all of you to die here. Of course, that's exactly what's going to happen, but I believe in appeasing your spirits before you perish, so that maybe this place won't be haunted by your ghosts after it's rebuilt."

He reached the front of the room and spun, facing the rest of us.

"So why, you might ask. Why is this gang of masked men attacking your bank? The reason's simple, dear boys. It's the same thing you did to us."

He gestured to the board, spreading a hand over the imaginary things written on it.

"We were merely conducting business, didn't mean you any harm at all, and yet you had the CHEEK to interrupt the proceedings! You cost us two men and a lifetime's worth of money! I was going to quit doing this shit and open a store or some shit, but noooo, you assholes had to ruin my life!"

I glanced at Will and he returned the look. Obviously some of us disagreed with him. Icarus pulled one of the men off the floor and made him kneel in front of the huge glass window overlooking the street.

"Kneel! All of you kneel!"

Unbidden, the rest of the men slowly crawled and knelt in front of the window. Icarus moved back and grabbed my rifle as he set his shotgun on the table.

He was going to do the unthinkable.

I excused myself from the room, nudging past a stunned Wilhelm as I hurried back outside. The gun battle had died down, though I didn't know in whose favour had it ended. From behind me I could still hear Icarus on his mad rant.

"Now, now I'll show you how wrong you are! How you should've never messed with the Ghosts!"

I heard him spray fire. Glass shattering. Distant screaming. His roar of rage. When I spun around again, I barely caught the last body tumbling out the window to land in a heap on the concrete below.

He'd killed them all, just like he said he would. Only, he'd done it in the most theatrical way possible. No doubt there were news cameras out there. He'd just killed an entire family's worth of men on live TV. If he was caught, he'd be dead before he even set foot in a prison cell. I wanted no part of this. I ran from the room, never once looking back at how Icarus ranted and whooped. He was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

I made my way back to the balcony where Bishop and Brandon were camped out. I knelt and lowered my voice.

"He did it."

Both of them turned to look at me.

"He did what?" Brandon.

"He killed 'em. Killed 'em all."

Brandon paled and returned his gaze to the lobby. Bishop held a hand to his mouth in shock.

"Well I never. I thought he wasn't going to do it."

"Well he bloody did, Bish. We're all in for it now." Brandon.

"What are we gonna do now?" Bishop.

I sat there and thought for a moment. I had credentials. I could possibly wriggle my way out of this mess bureaucratically, along with Brandon, but what about the rest? Grease? Bishop? Wilhelm? I knew Wicker was probably just as crazy as Icarus so there was no saving him. V? I wasn't so sure.

Then it hit me. I had a failsafe, and he went by the name of Max. We'd have to do something illegal again, but then again I'd done many illegal things and not gotten caught. Brazil came directly to mind at that. Erasing a few records and putting him at risk was the price we had to pay for our safety.

"Well...I might have a plan, but we need to gather everyone that wants out right now."

"Well I know I do." Bishop sighed and reached under his mask to scratch his nose. His motif was a skull with a cross plastered over it. "I didn't sign up for this shit."

"Yeah, you 'n me both pal." Brandon again.

"Right, so that's the three of us."

"Make that four."

The voice made me turn around. It was Wilhelm, and he'd apparently listened in on our conversation. He took off his mask and shook his head in exhaustion more than anything else.

"I signed up to get some simple revenge, maybe rough 'em up but nothin' more. He's gone and killed 'em all. I didn't sign up for this. I don't wanna go to jail man. I got a family to feed!"

"Well shit." Me.

"Anyone else?" Brandon.

"Yeah."

Grease showed up from the bottom of the staircase. She carried a duffel bag with her, no doubt filled with loot from the vault. Behind her was Wicker, also loaded with his take.

"What's going on guys?" Wicker.

"Icarus just offed the whole lot of 'em." Will.

"Shit. He was serious?" Grease.

"I knew the guy had it in him. Hehehe, I'm gonna go over there and show him what we got!"

Wicker ran off with his bag, leaving the five of us on the balcony. I shrugged.

"Well that's five of us. What about V and Booker? Anyone seen them?"

A chorus of negatives came from the group clustered around me. I sighed. Now or never.

"Right, well, I have a plan. I have a friend, a very good friend, that can erase our records and help us get away scot free, but the condition is that we leave all of this shit behind, leave them behind. We lose our loot, but we get our lives back. Anyone that disagrees can stay here."

I didn't see any objections.

"Right, guys, we need to get away from this place. Is there a back door?"

Grease nodded.

"Yeah. There's a service exit through the employees only area. Leads out the back."

"Alright. We can use that. Just ditch the masks and guns and gear. We want as little stuff as possible that links us to this shitstorm. That includes the disposable cells."

Immediately everyone began to discard their gear. Masks were tossed and guns were laid aside. Magazines and ammo were left behind and even the duffel bag full of money was left. We made our way downstairs as a group and snuck to the service area, where the bank normally received miscellanious goods like office supplies and food and such. The coast seemed clear, so we made our way outside, and were almost instantly ambushed by police.

Of course they had the building surrounded. How could've I been so stupid? Luckily we'd left behind most of our shit, so I spun the story that we were a bunch of random folks that got herded into the back area by one of the thugs that was robbing the place, then were apparently forgotten about. We'd made our daring escape then.

Much, much later, after the bureaucratic dust had settled and Max had done his thing with the computerised records, we were let out from holding cells in the local police office. We were free to leave, our records apparently expunged during a convenient server failure. No advance word was given to the Bureau for both Brandon and my involvement. I later read that Icarus and Wicker had tried to make their own escape after learning that the rest of their crew had abandoned them, but were shot down right after they exited the bank. V was gone. As was Dylan. I couldn't even reach the latter by his regular cell. I got back my stuff and left the police station and immediately called Max as Brandon joined me.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for that."

"No problemo pal. I owed you one anyway. I read about that heist on the news anyway, sounds bad."

"Oh believe me, it was bad. But we're out of it, thank god."

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe how covert I had to be to pull you guys free from th at mess."

"I'll buy you a drink when we get back to New York."

"Oh a drink won't even begin to cover it."

I smiled as he rambled on, and eventually I bid him farewell and hung up. I owed a lot of things to that crafty raccoon. He was the one that orchestrated the server crash, a crash that had served as camouflage for his entry into the closed system wherein he wiped every single trace of criminal info from their records, along with writing a little report that stated our involvement in the heist was part of an undercover operation gone very, very wrong. He'd even doctored some official documents to back up our case. Long story short we got away scot free, and so did the other Ghosts. Grease, Wilhelm and Bishop were exonerated of their crimes and let free. They'd later found us lingering outside the station and thanked us profusely for the help. We ended the little encounter in a burger joint a few blocks down, dinner and a drink. Grease later gave us their phone numbers and told us that if we needed anything, just give them a call and they'd help as much as they could.

Would-be Guardians, had they turned up on my Watchlist, but Max dug into their identities and confirmed that they weren't in there. Just regular people that were good at what they did. Which left me one task.

Find Dylan.

---

That night, we made our way back to the dojo, absolutely bushed from the whole thing. All I wanted to do was to relax and unwind with a friend, or friends as it were.

That's when I saw him, waiting for us, leaning on the door of the dojo, cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of whiskey in his hand, half full.

Or half empty, depending on the way you viewed it.

He stood properly and I could see that he'd been drinking. A lot. He even reeked of liquor, but his faculties were about him apparently, as he ditched the cigarette and took a swig of Jack.

"Hey."

"Hey."

We stood there in silence for a while, unsure of how to go on. Eventually Dylan broke the silence.

"Y'know, I never intended for it to happen that way."

"You didn't know that Icarus had gone mad, Dylan. It's not your fault."

He sighed.

"In a way, it is my fault, Daniel. I was the one that suggested we do that job all those years ago, the one that broke him. Rock had the job all lined up, but I was the one that suggested we just do it, y'know, the way we always did things: without thinking. It led to this. If I had known..."

He sank to the pavement and held his head in his hands, bottle forgotten. As I sat and placed a hand on his shoulder, I could faintly hear him crying. I sat right next to him and put an arm on his shoulder. Later, after he'd cried himself asleep, Brandon and I carried him inside, laid him on the sofa to let him sleep and then retired to their guest room ourselves. Brandon took the bed, so I had no choice but to have the living room easy chair as my resting place.

The next morning I woke up to find Alex curled up next to her brother. Her cheeks were crusted with a fine layer of what I assumed to be tears.

I suddenly felt very sorry for them. Here was a family trying to get by, and I'd made things worse for them. I knew that most of it wasn't my fault, but I did have a part to play. So I felt extremely guilty for what I did next.

I gathered energy into my palms and changed them both.

Later, after I'd recovered from the sudden drain, I explained to them the whole story, the exact same spiel I'd done with Max and Brandon and Connie and Victor. They understood after I was done, and after I'd shown them what I really looked like, what Brandon really looked like. Alex acted like she was in a wonderland, but Dylan merely nodded his understanding. I didn't even know if he approved or not. I showed them how to cast the disguise charm and that was that. We had to leave.

Before we left, however, I turned to Dylan.

"Y'know, Dylan, we're always here for you."

He looked at me and I had never seen a sorrier look on his face, even though he, and by extension his sister, were both orange tabby cats now.

"I know, Daniel. I know."

I gave him a tight hug, and for a moment it seemed like he'd break down in my arms again, but he held it together and waved goodbye as we got into Brandon's rental car and headed back to the airport.

Our work here, though dirty, was done. We were going home.