Guardians of the Crest

Preface:

Life in the lively city of New York never ceases, as the title goes: "The City that Never Sleeps." Such a fitting title.

Someone always walking the streets in a quick swagger, another giggling at the certainly newest gossip wafting in the air; stopping is not an option. Laziness in this place and time, portraits death or illness.

The refined, sophisticated upper class of New York is in peril as are the homeless wandering aimlessly in the trash infested streets. No one is safe. Daring to let your eyelids fall momentarily inside your cozy bed may be the end of you and all that you hold dear.

No one shall fall into dream.

Or you are destined to die.

*-*-*-*-*

Beginning of the End:

"Hehe..This is going to be fun…"

That sadistic brute of a voice grunted, a thick sound bubbling in the back of the throat gurgled out of a bloody maw of a mouth, an unmistakable noise that had to be a laugh or chortle. A soft, insistence of a blade glistened in the overbearing moonshine; the shrouding darkness of the night was pierced by not the singular, but the numerous blades that were suspended ominously in the air.

No.

These weren't for killing tonight. Today or maybe the next day would be scheduled for a little bloodshed. After the vigorous hours of intricate planning and pin-pointing, everything had to be perfect, not one hair out of place for this operation to go as smoothly as predicted.

Tonight was to get everything out of the system, the loud, boisterousness that lay now dormant inside, was about to be released, thrusting all smoldering levels of hell upon the city.

Hmm…Brick or rock?

No, yes.

Erm.

Which should I thro-?

A splintering of a fragile pane of glass bled into the silent morbid alleys as other objects of choice were taken upon the storefront in storm, shards of the broken slivers spewing into the gloom in such a synchronized, precise movement they resembled a flowering plant slowing growing it's majestic, glittering petals.

Bursts of exhilarated laughter clicked and snapped in time with the stiff footfall of thick, leather-bound boots over the endless sea of impedingly hazardous glass. (The flower had ended its journey upward and gravity had now forced to lay unspoken on the dilapidated oaken floorboards of the quaint little porch abreast to one of the entrance to the massive jewelry and antique store.) In an organized marching line did they each plant a foot onto the creaking, thin window seal- threatening to collapse at any given second- then catapulted through the empty space leading into the calm, tranquil treasure pit inside.

The stream of guffaws hindered with the smoldering embers in the hearth, the coals had just be recently stroked lightly, streamlines of wistful smoke still seeped past the charred, seething logs roasting.

A low hiss serpentine out from a tightly strained pair of teeth, the growl rolling off the tip of the tongue as it trembled spastically. Lava burned like a hot iron brand as it bubbled beneath the surface, fermenting and foaming as it warmed in the pit of a stomach.As realization hit like a kick just below the belt, the haze lifted, showing how perilous this mission was, how it could be jeopardized with the minimalist of mistakes or stupidity.

There was no room for error.

Heaving that punk- who though he could just carry out the elaborately constructed produce by chucking a rock so simply that he could get away with it?- by the scruff of his collar, thrusting him, not quite so delicately as planned, about the nearest wall, face to face, demeaning in the faces of his peers.

"Do you have anything to say about your demerit, son??"

He was gravely startled by the mere action, his pupils dilating as they gaze remotely sound into his superior's, not knowing whether to continue to challenge his authority, or to bow his head to the greatness. If it broke out into a fight, the followers would stand behind him, the numero uno, the alpha, so to speak.

His eyes fell downward in defeat, his tongue was tied and not a word floating in his empty mind. His head creaked mechanically to the side and then back again, no thought put into that movement, the pain of the judgmental eyes were too much, burdening him so, his conscience aflame in embarrassment of breaking moral and order.

"I'm sorry..."

His lips strained to form the words, his tongue stiffening, not willing to move as his nerve endings commanded, his eyes failing to register the images of the leader smirking the little, cocky grin of his- the trademark of his being- though his ears seemed to pick up those fast, oncoming vibrations that sounded so, so familiar as they rang through the deserted streets.

Some of the member of the small parade of bandits were risqué to ignore the subtle quarrel between an insignificant and the precious leader- It was pointless to watch, no one dare make a severe comment back, for fear of torturous reactions following the snide quip- but began to run zealous, endearing hands over the glinting emerald encrusted jewelry: fine braided chains of thick, smooth gold, earrings of pure silvers of turquoise remembering, all of the pieces so appealing. The fingertips of those greedy hands dug deep within the piles of riches and grasp all that cradled in the palm without spilling and thrust it into a bag that was settled in the opposite hand, letting the suave collectables plummet to the velveteen interior inside, cushioning the fall. The bags grew heavier in time whilst the confrontment grew dimmer- lackluster as the poor man dangling in the air chocked out of feeble answer- and as the sirens in the horizon beyond grew louder.

"Apology accepted. Now star- Noo!!"

The man, now growing limp with pain, was dropped onto the hard tilted floor without grace, crumpling into a pile at his feet. This was the consequence of not being cautious, nearly were the just red and blue flittering lights upon them, the brisk bags of treasure far to heavy to escape with, the heist forsaken, all was gone. The slick police cars halted, their tires squealing as they revolved into the black pavement without aim, men piling out of the cars in numerous, tight squads, guns pinpointing each figure of the gang-eyes narrowing as they scrutinized each tiny tremble or twitch, deciding if it was an attempt of escape or violence, while others curled into a crouched position, ready to spring through the slim opening in a matter of seconds.

Coming out of the last cruiser arriving on the scene was the general of this crusade, a smug snicker and a thin smile upon his gleaming posh countenance, lightly, almost tenderly, pushing the door shut behind him. Taking a mere few steps away from the comforting protection of his car, he raised what he held in his hand- obvious, it was a megaphone; There was no way that pretty boy got any dirt underneath his manicured fingernails, thus, the only job fitting his requirements was the important person telling the criminals that they had no chance of escape.

"We have the building surrounded."

He paused, gesturing, placing his free palm upward in the direction of the back of the lone building, the menacing clicks of semi-automatic pistols and orders bellowing from every direction meant that the back-as well as the front- was surrounded with half-witted idiots with guns, who weren't afraid to shoot.

Surrounded...

Beautiful.

So simply enacted to destroy the bandits.

Raising the boot before smashing the quite innocent scurrying ants.

Escape was futile.

Capture was certain.