The Heist is a community roleplay. The story resolves around a group of people forming a crew to pull off a heist, with each person having his own motivations to do it.
- Travis Shay (Played by Weejoh-_-) - A city native and a depressed network administrator.
- Charlotte Lynch (Played by 900bv) - A mysterious woman and podcaster with anarchic believes.
- Kazuo Sakata (Played by EternalBlaze) - A Japanese immigrant and son of a former Yakuza member
- C.J. Parsons (Played by My Wunderwaffle iz missin) - A former American football strong safety with a traumatic past of domestic abuse.
- Bryan Matthew Bedard (Played by Section) - A former small time porn star and armature bodybuilder
- Jamal Danson (Played by TheAmazingBBP) - An African-American with a decent record of minor violations of the law.
- Alex McCarthy (Played by Hk 4sixteen)- An Irish-American son of a rich deceased business tycoon, left to repay the debts of his dead father
The door of the café opens. Travis steps inside, slowly closing the door. Circles beneath his eyes, he makes a defeated impression. He sighs deeply and walks to the counter.
“One coffee, please. Black, no sugar.” He can hear the cashier say okay, but doesn't really listen. “Here’s 2.” He lays the coins on the counter and turns around, leaning against the counter. Looking at the clock, it says it is 8:44 AM. In 16 minutes, he will be sitting in his office once again.
“Here you go, one black coffee, no sugar.” The cashier interrupts his daydream. Travis takes the coffee and nods. He walks to a table and sits down. He grabs his laptop and turns it on. Seeing a notification in his mailbox, he opens his mail.
“What the hell is this?” Travis mutters when he reads the title: ‘Silent Screams: A Broken Nation’. He opens the document and a pop-up opens. A podcast recording plays.
“2,201. That's the number of people that the United States let die in Afghanistan. For what? Have they wiped out terrorism? Have they done anything? You all need to listen, and hear wha-” Travis closes the pop-up, right when a guy behind him taps his shoulder.
“Are you watching those stupid videos?” The guy is in his early twenties. On the other side of the table sits a girl.
“Excuse me?” Travis responds calmly, while turning around his body.
“Go watch your fucking commie videos somewhere else. We’re part of a proud nation, you asshole.” The guy moves his hand angrily while talking, raising his right hand in the air.
“Look show-off…” While saying that, the guy stands up from his chair. “I’m too tired for this. Please, just shut up.”
“Or what?” The guy tries to intimidate Travis. “You going to hit me?” He sarcastically says, catching the attention of the crowd.”
“Just shut up, I said…” The guy kicks softly against Travis chair. Immediately, Travis bounces up and grabs his cup of coffee, smashing it in the guy’s face, who drops on the ground. “I said shut the fuck up!”
“Hey you!” The counter guy says. “Get out of the store, right now!” Travis doesn't hesitate and grabs his laptop. When walking to the door, the guy stumbles up.
“I was just joking man…” The guy says
“I don’t care if you're joking….” Travis responds. “I’m in a bad mood and you were pissing me off.” He continues towards the door.
“Asshole…” The guy mutters. Travis raises his middle finger above his shoulder as he leaves the store.
19:59, February 9, 2015 (UTC)
Kazuo Sakata wipes his grease covered hands with a light blue cloth that he keeps with him at all times. He lets out a quite breath of air as he takes a few steps back from his project car and admires everything he has done so far to it. It was a white 2002 Nissan Silvia S15 Spec-R, imported straight from his home country, Japan. He had been working on it since he somehow managed to get it legalized in the States a few months ago and was not planning on stopping soon.
He was glad that it was a clear, sunny day. The weather was fair and it felt like everything was going so perfectly. Birds chirped in the distance and the neighborhood kids were outside playing football with one another, pretending like they were in the NFL. It was such a peaceful environment and time seemed to stop all of a sudden.
Kazuo left his garage, closing the door behind him, and went back inside the house for a lunch break. It was around midday and he hadn't eaten anything yet because he was so busy.
The telephone rang. It startled Kazuo for a second. He rarely used that telephone and usually preferred it people contacted him via cell. He approached it and picked it up.
"Hello? Is this Mr. Kazuo Sakata?" A woman's voice came up on the other end. She had a heavy accent.
"It is. Who is this?" Kazuo replied.
"Big brother! It's really you! It's your little sister, Shizuka!" The woman continued, this time in Japanese. She immediately became excited.
"Shizuka? Wha...? How...?" Kazuo continued in English.
Kazuo hadn't seen or contacted any of his family in well over a decade, not since he ran away. It puzzled him why his sister was calling him and how she even managed to do so (though he considered she just looked him up). A rush of emotions flowed through him as he processed what just happened. Questions filled his head. Everything happened so quickly that he actually forgot he was still on the phone.
"Onii-chan? Are you still there?"
"Yeah. I'm still here. What are you calling me for?" Kazuo said, staring to speak in Japanese as well.
"It's about the family. I need to tell you what has happened lately."
The two gun shots in rapid succession from the shotgun revolver in close proximity to his face deafened Bryan, the ineptitude of the person in the passenger seat pissed him off greatly. With his right ear ringing and his face flushed red he punches the man in the jaw knocking him out cold.
"Oh... You, stupid motherfucker!"
A faint wheezing noise is heard, Bryan looks in his rear view mirror and sees the wounded man in the back barely breathing.
"Oh no,no,no... Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Don't you fucking die Frankie"
As the traffic light finally turns green he floors it just in case anyone heard the gun shots, Bryan picks up his mobile phone and dials a number. The call fails, Bryan tries again in frustration, it fails once more. Bryan looks back at Frankie to see him fading in and out of consciousness, in an effort to keep him conscious he throws a protein shaker at his head. Brian picks up his phone and dials the same number a fourth time, to his suprise the person answers.
"Hello? Why are a calling at this ho..."
"I have a problem, real big fucking problem man!"
"Slow down Cash, what happend?"
"Frankie got shot, he, he he..."
"What! What do you mean Frankie got shot? Is he dead? Did he fucking die?"
"Barely, he is barely breathing. Tommy is a fucking lunatic! He shot Frank twice in the stomach."
Bryan switches of the phone as he reaches his destination, recklessly knocking over some trash cans alerting the resdients of the house. He pulls Frankie out of the car and carries him to the house, the man living inside the house helps him. They bring Frankie and lay him gently on the floor.
"Why the fuck did you bring him here, Cash? Take him to the hospital"
"He got shot for fuck sake, get your girlfriend...Now!"
The man goes and gets his girlfriend, the sight of Frankie in her living room wakes her up out of her sleep-induced trance. The man's girlfriend examins Frankie's gunshot wound.
"What happened? He got shot in the chest? Okay, Marvin honey could you get me two clean tea towles and some duct tape please"
Marvin gives her the equipment that she requisted, she seals Frankie's gunshot wound and instructs Bryan to put pressure on his wound.
"I don't think he is going to make, i am sorry Bryan"
The rumble of the F-150's V8 engine filled the streets of the housing projects as the white truck blazed down the road. It occupants, members of a minor local gang, were on the hunt for a former member who had debt to pay.
They found their target on his way to the nearest convenience store. They quickly pulled up and surrounded Jamal before he could make a break for it. The leader of the group, who had ridden shotgun in the truck, grabbed his shirt and shoved him to the ground. Jamal narrowly missed splitting his skull on the curb.
"Where the fuck are the goods, 'mal?" he asked.
"Nigga, I dunno what you're talkin about. I'm just on my way to the shop and you comes up in-"
The man kicked Jamal in the gut. "Don't fuck with me, boy!" he yelled, as he pickedd him up by the shirt. "Gimme my shaver." he said to one of the other men. He quickly pulled a razor blade out of his pocket and handed it to the leader, cutting his own hand in the process. "I'm gonna ask you one more time. Where the fuck's my money, and where the fuck's my weed?"
"I don't have it."
The leader's eyes widened. He was enraged. Jamal braced for his next beating, and was surprised momentarily when he started laughing instead.
"Fuck. You's one funny nigga. You could replace fucking Chris Rock if I didn't have to kill you now."
Jamal eyed a car down the road coming towards them. A polished, shiny sports car with four Crips in the cabin. Jamal, despite his physical condition, could spot the blue bandanas a mile away. He quickly thought up a plan.
"What, you're just gon' lay there, lazy ass fucker?" The leader asked him, kicking him in the gut again. By now, the car was about to pass them.
Here goes nothing, Jamal thought. "FUCK THE CRIPS! BLOOD LIFE!" he screamed. Immediately, the car braked. One of the four crips pulled out a Glock 23 and started firing at the group. Immediately, the locals retaliated, collectively diving behind a car. One of them pulled out a revolver and started firing. In the midst of the chaos he created, Jamal managed to escape and flee to a nearby house.
Well, shit, he thought. I gotta get outta here for tonight.
Jamal ran back to his house. Tonight, he'd have to leave and sleep elsewhere to avoid being attacked a second time.
We ain't having that shit again.
“Why did you throw coffee over him?!” Isaac almost chokes on his words while laughing. Travis only shows a grimace and wobbles on his office chair.
“I don’t know, reflexes probably.” While Isaac is still laughing, Travis gets impatient and turns away from the conversation. “If you could stop talking about it, that would be great.”
“Mate, this is fucking gold.” Isaac inhales deeply to try to stop laughing. “Wouldn't thought you had that in you.” He sniggers, while Travis turns his head to him.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, normally you’re… inert.”
“Well, I just wouldn't expect it from you.” Travis' mood changes to him being annoyed.
“Shay!” A loud roar echoes through the office. Both Travis and Isaac look around to the source. Their boss is approaching them with a mad face. “What the hell did you do?!”
“There are 2 police officers asking for you.” Travis sighs and strokes his eyes with his left hand. Isaac slowly looks away.
“Look sir, somebody must’ve recognized me and-“
“I asked what you did?!” Says the boss sternly. It keeps silent. The boss sighs and moves a bit nervous. “Now go downstairs….” Travis stands up and walks away, not facing the boss. “Oh and Shay…”
“Take the rest of the day off. I don’t need someone who’s a stain on our image”
O16:00, February 13, 2015 (UTC)
"-and soon, their lies will lose subtlety. Everyone will realize, and we will finally take freedom from the governments cold, dead hands. Silent Screams Chapter 21."
Charlotte turned off her microphone and stopped the recording. She was on the 21st week of sharing her thoughts online. She had been taken down numerous times, and recently moved to a deep web server. Her claims about suppression of free speech were validated, providing more fuel for her podcasts.
"Mark! What's last weeks figures?"
"Just over 1.5 million, as of about an hour ago. What feedback did you get for this one?" Mark replied, whilst fiddling with a server.
"The usual stuff. 'Stupid feminazi cunt', 'action-less mouth'. It's been the same for months."
Charlotte closed her laptop and put it in her messenger back.
"We're going out."
Mark stopped messing around with the wiring. "Going where?"
"For a drink. My head's a mess."
Charlotte walked into the coffee shop and immediately noticed someone picking up bits of cup and cleaning up coffee.
"Looks like someone had a bit too much." said Charlotte, snarkily.
Charlotte walked up to the counter and noticed the slightly agitated barista.
"A cappuccino and a mocha please. (beat) So what's all the mess?"
"Just some crazy guy listening to that Silent Screams thing." replied the barista.
"Oh really? What do you think of them?"
"Eh, not really sure. For all her claims she hasn't really done anything." said the barista, serving Charlotte's drinks.
"Yeah, I guess so. Thank you." Charlotte took her drinks and joined Mark and his table. "I really need to do something and I need to do it soon."
"What do you propose?" said Mark, stirring his coffee.
"I need to make good on what I've said. I need to take on corporate America."
Alex pulled his hood up and checked his surroundings as he entered the shop, gun in hand. There was no one at the counter, and, as Alex looked around, in the shop at all.
This is gonna be easy he thought to himself.
He took off his rucksack and started stuffing anything he could find into it. Then he raided the cash register. Pleased with his work, he made to leave but he heard a voice from behind him first.
“Hey, get back here!“
Turning around, Alex saw the man take out a phone from his pocket and begin to dial the police. Alex pulled his gun out and aimed it at the man, who didn't drop the phone.
“Put that down, now!“ Alex shouted, his hands trembling.
“He has a gun!“ the man wailed into the phone.
“Now!“. He still did nothing.
“Fuck this!“spat Alex. He hurled the gun at the shopkeeper , striking him on the side of the head and causing blood to splatter from it. He fell to the ground, knocked out cold. The gun was fake anyway, a realistic airsoft replica. Alex grabbed the rucksack and ran from the shop. He jumped into his 2016 Nissan GTR and sped down the street, avoiding other cars as he made his made to his penthouse apartment in the west of the city. He could lose both the car, and the apartment, if he failed to repay his debts.
It all started when his rich, business tycoon father invested millions of dollars he loaned from the bank into an ambitious hotel development in the Philippines. The whole project fell apart and he was left with a mountain of debt to repay, and when he couldn't, he became clinically depressed, taking his own life and bringing his wife's, Alex's mother, with him. Alex, the only living relative left, had the responsibility of repaying the debt. And that's why, for months now, he had been conducting raids on small shops and business, scraping together as much money as he could. But as he heard sirens from behind him, and turned around to see a police car gaining on him quick, he realised that he was going to have to have cash in bigger than he was currently doing.
Bryan groans and grunts his bicep curls as he looks at him self in the mirror, his face, focused and determine.
"I'm huge. I'm ripped. I'm hot. I'm amazing... Disciplined. Successful. Desired. He repeats these words for the duration of his set.
Bryan does one more set while repeating his arrogant mantra, dropping the dumbbells he quickly does a double bicep tense followed by a back double bi. He admires his pump in the mirror, his smile shows self-satisfaction.
"Look at that fucking pump"
Sarah interrupts Bryan and tells him to come down, he is told to go to the basement. Bryan walks down to see a large plastic tarpaulin placed neatly on the floor, Marvin, completely naked walks out of the storage room with a bunch of cleaning supplies.
"Take off your clothes" Marvin instructs Bryan with assertiveness, unusual of him.
Bryan complies and strips naked, Marvin opens the freezer and asks Bryan to help him take out Frankie's body. They place the body on the tarpaulin, Marvin pours bleach onto it. Both pick up kitchen sink scrubbers and scrub Frankie's body, Marvin slowly pours water over the body to dilute the bleach.
"Lets flip him over'
Bryan and Marvin flip Frankie's body over and pour more bleach on it, once they finish cleaning it Marvin walks to the store room. He comes out with two hatches and hands one to Bryan, he begins to hack Frankie's feet off.
"Start on his hands and work your way up, cut between the joints"
Bryan does exactly what he says, after some time they chop Frankie into seven different pieces. They place his severed limbs in a plastic barrel while the torso and head in another, the two spend hours cleaning the basement floor.
Three hours later.
Bryan and Marvin cleaned the basement floor spotless, Marvin tells Bryan to deal with Tommy while he goes and talks to his girlfriend. Bryan enters the guest room and sees Tommy tied up and gagged with BDSM gear, he takes off Tommy's ball gag.
February 21, 2015 (UTC)
Jamal shut and locked his back door. With his backpack in hand, he threw it over his run-down backyard fence, the bag landing in a ditch behind the house. Jamal then climbed over his fence and put it back on his back, before turning to the bike he had propped up against it. It was formerly a pink princess bike, bought for some teenage girl who hadn't quite grown up yet. It had since been stolen and spraypainted black. It was slightly too small for Jamal, but it got him where he needed to go, and it was a less likely target for theft than a car.
Jamal hopped on the bike and pedaled around to the front of the house, locking his front door before pedaling downtown. Jamal already was thinking of where he'd sleep. On a bench? Fuck no, it's too cold. Jamal next considered breaking into a building to hide in for the night. Fuck no, I don't need to be hunted by the cops too. As Jamal passed his bar, he thought of entering. No. They know I go there. Jamal kept pedaling. However, this also jogged Jamal's memory. I can go parachuting. Just gotta find a willing hoe.
Jamal rode past another bar. Slowing down, he decided it was worth a try. He kept riding to the nearest bike stand, stopped and tied it in place with a cord; he didn't want to give up the money for a lock.
Jamal jogged back to the bar, putting his hood on as he approached the door.
“Good evening, Travis.” he barman says while Travis walks into the bar. “What a surprise to see you here.” he barman smirks.
“Knock off the bullshit, Harry...” Travis responds. “And give me a drink.” He throws his jacket on the coat hanger.
“What would it be?” Harry turns around towards the beverage rack. Travis sits down on a stool.
“Just the usual.” He unties his necktie while sighing.
“When isn’t it a tough day.” Travis says curtly.
“For you, well, seems like never.” Harry puts down the drink. Travis grabs the glass and takes a sip. “When will you start doing something about it?” Harry is cleaning up some filthy glasses. Travis looks up while his fingers rest on the glass.
“I don’t know. I can’t sleep lately. I can’t concentrate at work.” Travis takes another sip, slightly larger than the last one. “It’s like I’m stressed about how my life is. Honestly, I wish I could do something about it. But every morning I get ready for the exact same day of my shit life-“
“And each night you end up here, telling me the same story.” Harry interrupts Travis. He takes a deep breath and puts down the glass and towel in his hands. “Look, even though you’re my best customer in the last weeks, I don’t want to see you here, if you know what I’m saying.” Travis finishes his drink with a big gulp.
“Too bad…” Travis whispers while the door of the bar opens.
20:46, February 24, 2015 (UTC)
Jamal walked up to the front of the bar and sat down next to a white person. "Ey, lemme get a Budweiser. I need the fuckin' buzz right now."
He looked around, and noticed that the white man was looking in his general direction. "I'm right here, nigga, the fuck you lookin at?"
"Relax." Travis responds. He raises his hand to harry and then points to the guy next to him. "Harry, one for me too."
"Here you go." Harry places 2 budweisers on the bar. Travis grabs his beer and places it against his mouth.
"Cheers, street rat" He mutters before taking a big gulp from the bottle.
21:52, February 24, 2015 (UTC)
Some time had passed since Kazuo spoke with his family. His father and brother had disgraced their family and were left to rot by the Yakuza after being forced out. Their extended family would no longer speak to them and Kazuo's father was nearly beaten to death as a "parting gift," only to find out that he also contracted cancer.
Kazuo sighed and took the cigarette out of his mouth, twiddling it between the index and middle fingers on his right hand. It was ironic that Kazuo continued to smoke even after hearing that his father contracted lung cancer from all those years of smoking himself. A few short minutes passed by as Kazuo squashed the butt and returned to work. He and his co-workers were fixing some cars that were involved in serious accidents. They didn't understand why they couldn't just scrap the cars instead of using more time, money, and resources fixing them up.
Despite how hard he tried to concentrate on replacing car parts, Kazuo could not help but think about how he could come up with that amount of money. His family was in dire need of help and everyone else had turned their backs on them. It was up to Kazuo to save them. But fuck, how was he going to do that? It made his brain twist inside out.
"Kazuo, what the fuck are you doing?" His boss yelled.
Kazuo was shaken from his daydreaming, only to realize that he sanded the body farther than he was supposed to, leaving a rather hideous mark where it shouldn't have been.
"Goddammit. I'm sorry! I was just having a bad day and couldn't focus all that well." Kazuo apologized, backing away from the car body.
"What's been bugging you?"
"Ah, it's just family problems. They're in a tight squeeze right now and I can't stop thinking about them. It pains me." Kazuo said, not wanting to go into too much detail.
His boss let out a quick sigh and looked around before maintaining his focus on Kazuo. He walked up to him slowly.
"Just for this once I'll let you off a bit early. You looked like the world was going to end from the moment you came in this morning and you're never usually this reckless around a car, so I'll let you have some time to think and whatnot. Just don't go bragging to the other guys about how you're going home early, alright? I hope you get things sorted out with your family. Good luck, man." The boss whispered to Kazuo, patting him on the back.
Kazuo thanked his boss and got his things, leaving the garage early. Today he decided to drive his Silvia to work, as it made him happy and he definitely needed something to lift his spirits up.
The road was wet and the sky looked as if it was about to downpour. Kazuo prayed there wouldn't be too much traffic as he shifted into second gear and felt relief to know that the turbo was working when it spooled and practically overpowered the noise of the SR engine.
Rain drops started falling from the sky, making the conditions even worse for driving. Kazuo didn't care. He just needed to get home so he could relax and rethink his problems. In that brief moment of time he was too absorbed in his thoughts, his concentration was not on the road. Kazuo refocused on the road a little too late and by then, he had smashed his car into the rear end of another.
"Shit. I hope I didn't do too much damage." Kazuo mumbled to himself as he got out of the car.
The front end was trashed and the lights were out of place, but it was jut a minor crash. The other vehicle also received some amount of damage, but it was not bad. Maybe the other driver was a bit startled, but all in all, no one was hurt and everything was going to be alright.
The driver of the other vehicle, a white male, came around, looking annoyed and surprised at the same time. He looked around Kazuo's age and had a pretty strong build going on. Kazuo was afraid the man might hurt him or something, so he remained extra cautious around him.
"Sorry, man. I wasn't paying attention and I guess I was going too fast." He said.
The rain started to pour down faster and faster.
"My name is Special Agent Robert Capone, Federal Bureau of Investigations. I was on an undercover operation and was instructed to eliminate Frank."
"Don't fuck with me Tommy, i am not in the fucking mood okay? Now tell me, why did you kill Frank."
"My name is Sp..." Tommy is interrupted by Bryan's right hook, the punch knocks him out.
"M.A..R.V.I.N... M.A.R.V.I.N... We have a situation with Tommy up hear". Bryan calls out for Marvin, spelling his name out just in case the FBI is listening.
Marvin comes up to see what's going on, Bryan replies.
"Tommy told me he's an FBI agent. I don't know if he is lying or not"
"He's probably messing with you, trying to trick ya so you could let him go. When did you meet him?"
"Uh..around two, three weeks ago. He was Frankie's friend, meet him a couple of times"
"Did something seem off about him? You know? Weird mannerisms, sayings, anything like that?
"No, nothing that i can think of. Can't you just check if he's legit?"
"What the fuck do you mean? Hey um is this the FBI, yeah we got one of you agents tied up with some BONDAGE GEAR IN MY HOUSE COME GET HIM YOU...FUCKS!
30 minutes or so later, Bryan and Marvin are sitting at the dinning table and are eating food.
"When do you think she's coming back?" Bryan ask Marvin, his mouth full of food making his words barely understandable.
"I don't know"