Chapter Text
The heart monitor beside you beeps steadily, giving you flashbacks to every time you’ve ever been in the hospital. Your vision is hazy as you hunch over in your wooden chair with your hands clutching your head. Tears and snot drip to the linoleum floor, forming a small puddle between your feet. God damn it, you think. God damn him and his crazy-ass plan. I should have never let him talk me into this in the first place. Now look where we are. You sniff and wipe your face with your forearm, slowly raising your eyes to look at the man laying on the cot, mere inches from you. All manners of tubes protrude from his arms and mouth, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in time to the heart monitor. Your face scrunches up, more tears threatening to fall as you firmly take the man’s hand in both of yours. You manage to choke out a single sentence before the sorrow clogs your throat again, and even then it’s barely a murmur: “I am so sorry, Mark.”
Five Hours Earlier
“Oh I am sooo sorry, Mark.” The sarcasm coats your voice as you harshly whisper. “It’s not my fault I had to drop literally everything and hop on a red-eye to Austin fucking Texas to break into this stupid museum. You can at least give me a little leeway timewise. I am here with you right now, you know. Risking life and limb.” You gesture wildly about with your grappling gun. The pair of you are crouched on a catwalk suspended over a dark cavernous space, moonlight streaming through the hole in the window that Mark had just unceremoniously smashed into. Displays of sculptures dot the floor far below you, surrounded on all sides by equally priceless paintings.
Mark rattles his own grappling gun at you in annoyance. “Hey, you said you’d be here at 2:30 on the dot; now we have to rush the plan even more. And don’t pull that card about risking your life.” He squints at you. “You owe me.”
You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. But after this, we’re even. Got it?”
Mark gives a sharp nod. He shifts his weight, glass crunching under the soles of his feet. His face breaks into a tell-tale smirk that you know oh so well. “This the big one. And if this goes according to plan, we’ll be walking out of here with a prize that will change our lives.” His shit-eating grin gets even bigger. “Just follow my lead and everything will be fine.” He extends his arm to the ceiling and fires a grappling hook.
“Ok, but what are we even stealing?”
“Good luck!” He rockets upward, far out of sight. You grimace, bracing yourself for what’s to come. It was a good thing you did because the next five minutes test the limits of your sanity. They are a blur, from ducking behind pillars to flat out sprinting for your life away from the bumbling guards that litter the museum’s many rooms, all while keeping Mark in your sightline and blindly following his frenzied directions You don’t know how, but before you even have time to form another coherent thought, you’re at the entrance to the vault with key in hand. A cartoonishly massive door stands between you and the sought-for treasure. You lean against the wall and suck in air, out of breath from the ordeal you just went through. “Yeah, I’m never doing this again,” you say in between gasps.
“You won’t have to,” Mark says as he inserts the key into the slot in front of him. You do the same, and he gives the signal. Both of your turn your keys and the heavy door creaks open, revealing a single solitary display case smack dab in the middle of an empty room. Mark hurries forward, gently lifting the glass case and setting it aside. A small, rectangular box covered with intricate gold engravings rests on the pedestal, its sapphire clasp locking who knows what inside.
“That’s it?” you ask as Mark gingerly picks up the box and stuffs it inside his bag. “Tell me it holds the secret to the universe or some shit.”
Mark ignores you, once again digging around in his bag. “Aha!” He pulls out a small timer and a strange-looking package, which you immediately assume is some sort of bomb. He turns to you. “Ok, since you’ve been such a good sport, I’ll let you choose how we get out of here. There’s a sewer directly underneath us that we can get out through, or I can use this little doodad,” he shakes the package, “to blast our way out of here. So what’ll it be?’
“Uh, I don’t…” The distant shouting of guards interrupts your sentence.
Mark’s eyes widen in alarm. “We don’t have time! Choose now!”
“Ok ok ok! The… the bomb! Blast out of here!”
“You got it, partner!” Mark gives you a manic look and chucks the bomb at the back of the vault. You barely hear the beep of his remote before a deafening explosion nearly knocks you off of your feet. Once again, you’re swept up in a whirlwind as you stay two running steps behind Mark, dodging and weaving through exhibits until finally, you find yourself outside. The clear Texas sky is full of stars as you look out over the field adjacent to the museum, as police sirens wail faintly in the distance. Bizarrely enough, a helicopter and a jeep wait like strange animals amongst the grass. “Ok, which one?” Mark shouts as you both continue to run deeper into the clearing.
As if that were even a choice. “Helicopter!” you shout as you sprint toward chopper; now Mark was the one following you for the first time tonight. You’ve always wanted to ride in one of these babies, and what better occasion would you have than running from the cops? Yanking open the door, you settle into the cockpit as Mark climbs in after you. The sirens get louder, heightening your anxiety. “Come on, come on, come on, come on.” You frantically pull Mark into the helicopter.
“Wait.” He freezes and looks at you. “Don’t you know how to fly?”
“No! I thought you did!”
“I don’t!” he practically screeches.
“Why would you even give me the option then?!” Your squabbling is interrupted by a bright searchlight beaming down, nearly blinding the both of you. You can see Mark’s face clearly, full of dread, and shouts ring out from all around you. You give him an equally despairing look. “Fuck.”
Fuck, indeed. The justice system moves swiftly in Texas, and within a matter of hours, the pair of you are charged and sentenced to an indiscernible amount of time in prison. “This can’t be legal,” you mutter as you and Mark shuffle through the fluorescently lit halls of your new home, dressed in the striped garbs that prisoners are wont to wear. “What the hell even is this state?”
Mark nudges you. “Don’t worry about a thing. I got it aaall figured out.” You arrive in the mess hall, a depressing sight to see. Uncomfortable looking chairs circle wobbly tables, giving you a sort of school cafeteria form hell kind of vibe. What makes it worse are the people milling about; every face looks well worn and hardened by life, and not a few look cruel. Some mildly curious glances turn your way, but otherwise, they mostly ignore you. “Alright so here’s what we do,” Mark turns. “We gotta rally the prisoners in whatever way we can, and convince them to help us break out. It’s foolproof!”
“Shh shh shh, lower your voice,” you hissed. “You really think we’re going to be able to do that? I mean…” You look around dubiously, scooting closer to Mark. “They’re all… criminals.”
“Well in case you haven’t noticed, we’re criminals too. Now, are you going to follow my lead or what?”
You rub your face in exasperation. “Fine, fine. You’re doing the talking though.”
He gives you a cheeky wink. “That’s what I’m best at.” He scans the room, then his eyes settle on a particular prisoner.“He’ll do,” Mark quips as he confidently walks toward him. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you tentatively follow. The prisoner is the last person you’d pick. A burly, bearded guy with arms the size of freshly cut timber and a spider web tattoo covering his head accompanied by a scowl that could curdle milk; this convict just reeks menace. And wet socks. “Hey you! Yeah, you! I think you need to show more respect for me. That look you’re giving us? Not going to fly, buddy.” The towering criminal looks down at him, anger contorting his face.
You yank Mark’s sleeve. “This isn’t a good idea,” you say through clenched teeth. “Let’s get out of here, man.”
Mark totally ignores you. “I’m talking to you here! You need to help us break out of here.” He wags his finger at the prisoner. You gulp, seriously doubting Mark’s self-preservation will at this moment as you attempt to pull him away. It’s too late, however. With a roar, the convict snaps, sucker-punching Mark in the stomach. The force of the blow sends him flying backward, straight into a wall. He hits his head against the concrete with a sickening smack and collapses motionless on the floor.
“Oh, God.” You race forward and kneel down next to him. “Mark! Are you ok?” you ask frantically. You get no response. A small trickle of blood begins to flow out from the back of his head, and he doesn’t seem to be breathing. Panic sets in and your own blood rushes in your ears. You shakily place two fingers on his neck, searching for any sign of a pulse.
A strange voice croons from just behind you, clashing with your own desperation. “Break out? Of this place?” You finally find a heartbeat, though it’s not very strong and getting weaker by the second. “Huh, why would anyone wanna break ou-”
“Medic!” you scream, cutting him off. “Somebody get a doctor over here! Please!” You whip your head around, looking for someone, anyone, to help. A guard, who was already shooing other prisoners away, notices the blood slowly pooling around Mark’s head. She speaks quickly into her radio and within moments two nurses clad in white rush in with a stretcher. They carefully lift Mark onto it, and speed walk back the way they came. “Move!” you shout, shoving past the person who had spoken only moments ago. You barely notice him as you trail behind the medics, hot on their heels, through the double doors and out of sight.
The prisoner in question stands dumbstruck. Apparently forgoing the normal striped shirt, he is wearing merely a t-shirt and striped pants, a pack of smokes snugly rolled up in one of the sleeves of his shirt; his dark hair is slicked back with an ungodly amount of grease. He had caught a glimpse of your face as you pushed him aside. Only a glimpse, but it flashed a spark of recognition in him all the same. He blinked once, twice, then three times before slowly treading in your wake as he tried to work out the puzzle in his head of who exactly the fuck you are and why you’re in his goddamn prison.