Chapter Text
Paul Blart is a proud man. He takes pride in his work, meticulous to the last detail. He provides for his family, cruelly whittled down to himself and his daughter. He would do anything for Maya. Anything in the world.
That's why he's pleading now to God and the sharply dressed man in front of him. He feels barely recognizable in some small corner of his mind watching this play out from above. Paul's face is ugly and puffy. Snot, tears, and who knows what else leaking is from his face. He is doubled over on the ground, his reservoir of tools knocked aside by the hotel staff towering over him.
The man before him holds Maya close, using her as a shield. A gun is pointed towards her, held like a king declaring his divine rule with his scepter. At any time, he could decree an execution.
"Pathetic. You came waltzing in with a taser and a segway with some half-baked plan. What was that speech again? You were all kinds of crazy, you could kill me with the fork in your back pocket?" The man nodded to the men beside Paul. One of them- a bald, stocky man- kicks him in the side. The wind is knocked out of him and all he can see is the floor dissolving into flashes of darkness.
"Just let her go, do what ever you want with me," Paul wheezes. The part of him watching from above feels disgusted at the display of absolute powerlessness.
"What could I ever want with a mall cop? We've already had one little complication tonight. I doubt two more would ruin things. Especially not a little girl and her nobody father." Paul can hear Maya begin to hyperventilate and his heart sinks into the earth.
"I-I can help! I know the layout of the hotel, I know the head of the staff. I know how to get around the security-" The man straightens the pistol in his hand and aligns it closer to Maya.
Suddenly Paul's mouth is in overtime, spilling everything he knows. Everything he's ever known about security comes tumbling out, betraying everything he's ever stood for. He can't stop, not even if God reached down and handed him a way out. He talks about guns, he talks about alarms, he talks about bypassing camera feeds. The man waits patiently as Paul's life spills out, rambling about metal detectors, security procedure, and things that the police would never know or could cover.
At the end, the man fiendishly smiles. Two different colored eyes bore into Paul's own. He has a feeling he handed the devil his eternal soul on a silver platter. At this point, Paul only feels saved.
"Well. Maybe we can work something out after all." The man doesn't lower the gun, but turns his attention to the staff above Paul.
"Take her to the helipad. We have some things to wrap up with our newest recruit first." The two men take Maya, practically hoisting her out of the room. It's only the two of them now, and the part of Paul watching them alone already knows what's going to happen. The sharply dressed man cradles the gun in his hands as though it was the only thing he ever truly loved.
"So... Paul, was it? Let's talk about your retirement package."
---
Paul gasps for breath, sucking in the now familiar cold air of the night. He's back in bed at home, clothes laid out on the foot of his bed. Suitcases haphazardly crowd the door, ready for their flight in five hours.
Paul is home again, the horrors of the past last month now washed away into nothingness. Only he remembers what the following fall would be like, held under Vincent's thumb. None of his friends would remember being betrayed. No innocent people would die. Maya would never know how she was always a hostage, always dangling in front of Paul's objections of Vincent's command. He rolls over on his side, feeling the adrenaline high of the final heist subside into exhaustion.
He fucked up this time. He made the wrong choices somehow, a fatal misstep in his calculated plan. He had promised it wouldn't be like this again ever since the first occurrence. Of course, that was a long time ago.
Paul promises himself that this will be the last time.