Chapter Text
There’d been a copy-cat or two before. Always were in Los Santos. Ryan’s mask was too easy to come by, and kids would take advantage of that in all their muggings and convenience store hold-ups. But the notorious Vagabond strung a guy up by the ankles from the bridge on La Puerta Freeway, and for awhile, no one dared copy him again.
Then some random girl from an up and comer gang, some not-quite-allies called Funhaus, impersonated Barb from Rooster Teeth; walked into a meeting, smiled all nice, gave a guy a shotgun to the gut. After that, the gang made sure to look out for impersonators, which is why they weren’t surprised about a month later by a man wandering around town with a fake red beard. Bruce Greene from the same gang, and when the Fake AH Crew met up at the marina to sabotage Greene’s plans -- make enemies for the enemy with a few tons of explosives, so it seemed -- Geoff was laughing too hard to execute him.
(“A fat suit! He wore a fat suit!” Geoff screamed as Greene stood there awkwardly, then eventually helped Geoff off the floor.)
Funhaus learned their lesson, and the two groups formed a wary peace, and there hadn’t been another incident of a copy-cat since. This wasn’t all general knowledge, not even very public knowledge, but Jeremy knew about every single detail of it. Fanboys generally tended to keep up on their idols, though they were usually looking up to musicians or movie stars. But his obsession, well, it was different.
“How’d you get this number?” A terse voice asked as the dial tone ended.
“You really don’t trust any random calls, do you?” He returned with a smirk, and he heard a huff of laughter from the other end of the line. “That’s some paranoid shit, Heyman.”
“Michael. What can I do for ya?” Joel asked in a tone of recognition. Holy fuck, it worked.
Jeremy grinned to himself, then pinched his nose, made sure his voice was a little less throaty than usual, and spoke again.
“Heard you were looking for a mercenary for that Pacific Standard job.” ‘Michael’ replied.
“Yeah, you got a recommendation?” Joel asked as something clinked in the background -- gold coins? Jesus Christ, the man was exactly what he was rumored to be.
“Actually, myself.” Jeremy said. “Under the radar, Geoff hates when I take outside jobs.”
“So why are you taking one?” Joel asked.
“I keep spending my paycheck on bikes and trucks.” Jeremy lied easily. “Lindsay and I need a new place though, so I figure I should do some job hunting.”
“You should save up.” Joel noted dryly. “But I’m sensing there’s a rush -- you finally get her pregnant?”
“Dude, shut up.” Jeremy answered, because he had no clue if Lindsay was pregnant or not. In fact, he was pretty fucking lucky that Joel was filling in the blanks for him instead of asking questions.
“What, a guy can’t wonder?” He asked, and Jeremy gave him a warning groan.
“A guy can worry about his own damn business.” He replied, but didn’t deny it. It was a good cover story, after all.
“Alright, alright.” Joel relented, though Jeremy could sense his smirk. “But you’re not taking the bank’s cash, that’s my number one rule, don’t take a cent. Burn it all, burn the whole damn thing.”
“Someone’s got a grudge.” Jeremy remarked. “But fine. Half my payment before, half after, okay?”
“Sure thing. All in gold, usual drop spot.” Joel said, and Jeremy groaned. “Oh come on, why do you guys get so annoyed when I try to pay in gold bars?”
“Because they’re fucking heavy.” Jeremy huffed, and he could hear the other man chuckle, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well enjoy the workout. Drop tomorrow at five a.m.” Joel said, and Jeremy nodded to himself.
“Okay. Just remember, not a word to Geoff.” Jeremy said quickly, because that was the important part.
“‘Course. Congrats on the baby.” Joel said and hung up. Jeremy did the same, and cleared his throat.
He should’ve thought about getting paid in gold bars, god damnit. If Joel realized he wasn’t paying Michael to do this job, those gold bars would be too damn easy to track. Not that he thought Joel would mention it to Geoff, because then he’d be in the middle of drama he didn’t want to be involved in, and that’s definitely not Joel’s style. Geoff of course would ask Michael, and Michael would realize that someone was out there taking a job in his name.
But he needed the cash to buy the explosives, and he needed the explosives to pull off the heist. The cosplay of a lifetime, a LARP like no other; Jeremy was going to pull off an entire heist as the whole AH Crew.
He didn’t know where Joel usually hid his cash for Michael, but it didn’t matter -- it just became a new fun fact to learn. Someone who worked closely with his favorite gang, of course he was fascinated. And of all the buildings that the RT Crime Syndicate operated out of, Jeremy was right in assuming Joel would be in the Maze Bank Tower. Not that Rooster Teeth owned the company, they just had the right people in the right places. Spies, hackers, those trained in espionage, and their crew’s accountant, one Joel Heyman.
Speaking of which. He exited the building at the end of the day, and Jeremy, sat in a nondescript (stolen) car, tailed Joel’s pricy Banshee back to a high-end apartment complex, and sat patiently outside the place. He slept a few hours in the backseat, but got up at four and sipped a Red Bull as he waited for that infamous early-bird to get going.
Soon enough, Joel’s car pulled out from the parking garage, and Jeremy tailed him expertly from a distance. When he first entered the life of crime, he thought that was his special skill, tailing, and he certainly used it a few times just to take a look at his favorite crew. He once followed the AH Dubsta for three miles before someone threw a grenade out the passenger window at him -- that incurred a hefty bit of fan-boying once the smoke had cleared and he’d driven off.
Obviously, though, that wasn’t his real talent. The day he made a drug dealer laugh at an Arnold Schwarzenegger impression was the day he thought to himself, hey, I can pull off a fucking accent. Actually, I could voice anyone I wanted to. After that, he spent awhile mimicking cops, moved up to prank phone calls from low-level gang members, and eventually saw some news clips and listened to some police scans and started rolling out the AH impersonations.
He shook himself from his thoughts and kept his eyes on the Banshee, and followed Joel’s car to an alley a few miles away. He parked around the block, then climbed out and rushed over to watch Joel grab a blue duffel from his trunk with incredible ease. Damn, if that was the gold then Joel clearly got some strength in whatever deal he made for eternal youth.
He watched the other man stuff the bag under the dumpster, and when he drove off, Jeremy waited until he was out of sight, then rushed over and pulled the bag out from beneath the smelly garbage. It was heavy, alright, and he bore a wide grin as he returned to the car.
He threw it on the passenger’s seat and unzipped it to see a folded piece of paper. He picked it up and grinned further at the shine of gold that resided beneath it, then unfolded it and scanned the poorly-written words.
Michael -- thanks for the help. You have a week. Kill everyone inside and torch the place. Final payment, same spot. If it’s a boy you should really consider naming him after me -- Joel.
Nice. Though whether he would actually do the job was up in the air; he’d rather just rob the bank and get the rest of his funds that way, but he didn’t want Joel to catch on. But until he made that decision, he had some wig shopping to do.
The sun had already set when he met his contact at the construction zone. His thrift-store leather jacket creaked with every movement, and he couldn’t get why Michael wore one so often. The curls were distracting too, stuffed into his beanie but still bouncing ever so slightly on his forehead.
“Jones.” A voice sounded out in the distance, and Jeremy turned to observe the figure and knew that the rim of his glasses glinted momentarily in the moonlight, catching on his newly shaved chin.
“Luna.” He said with some difficulty, as he couldn’t hold his nose between his fingers in person.
“I’ve got what you asked for.” Luna said, but didn’t procure any sort of box. He shuffled his feet, and Jeremy was suddenly on edge.
“Well? Where is it?” He asked, and stiffened up a bit in warning. It was admittedly difficult to feel threatening in four inch heels, but hopefully Miles wouldn’t spot those.
“Ordering weaponry without the crew? It’s fishy.” Miles said. “I just wanna make sure everything’s on the up and up.”
Jeremy paused for a fraction of a second, then looked around to see if he could spot Miles’ well known partner anywhere nearby. He wasn’t keen on being jumped or having Kerry figure things out, but he saw no dragon mask in sight, and turned back to Luna.
“I needed cash, I’m doing a job for Joel.” He said eventually. “Can you two keep that shit quiet?”
“Fine.” Miles nodded curtly. “But you should use some of that cash to get a haircut. Those curls are getting out of control.”
“You said it.” A shorter man donned in a black dragon mask stepped out from behind Luna and tossed the bag at Jeremy’s feet.
“Kerry.” Jeremy noted dryly as he grabbed the bag and unzipped it. C4, sticky bombs, everything he needed, though not for Joel’s case. No, he was going to use these for something just a bit . . . bigger.
He tossed his own bag to Luna, and he caught it with a noise of displeasure.
“That proves you’re working for Joel.” He grimaced at the weight of the gold bar as he handed it over to Kerry. “We’ll keep quiet on your shit with him.”
“Appreciate it.” Jeremy answered, and the pair began to step away.
“Seriously, haircut!” Kerry called over his shoulder, and Jeremy threw out the fake laugh he’d spent weeks perfecting. A hearty chuckle, hint of a growl, still with Michael’s slightly nasal tone. The pair laughed themselves, and Jeremy felt his heart leap.
These people were buying it. People who knew Michael and had met him on multiple occasions were eating it up! Jeremy was way more talented than he thought, and he had to resist pumping his fist in the air as he walked away and barely avoided a stumble in his platforms. The plan was working better than he ever could have hoped.
He spent much of the next day sat in his bath tub in his boxers and an undershirt, a red wig in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. He trimmed it down while contemplating the bank robbery. Well, not a robbery. Joel clearly had a grudge over some form of mismanaged funds, and he didn’t want any of the cash that resided in the vault. He wanted revenge, he wanted the bankers to watch their money burn, and he would certainly find out one way or the other if Jeremy stole any of that cash.
Not that he’d suspect Michael of that. But he had eyes everywhere, and though Jeremy knew Joel wouldn’t waste time monitoring a man he trusted, he would know if cash got into his pockets. So clearly he had to do it legitimately. And do it in broad daylight, which made things pretty goddamn difficult.
He made a mental list of his weapons. Some guns for the killing, a few smoke grenades, and some bombs, but he needed those for his own work. So he had to start the fire by other means. At least he could use the smoke bombs for cover, then use the actual smoke from the fire to keep up the pretense. But disguising as another guy in broad daylight in the form of a cheap wig and platform heels would not be the easiest of tasks, god help him.
Once satisfied with the wig, he stood up, rinsed out the tub, and went into the impossibly tiny bedroom to his little apartment. He pulled the platforms out from beneath his bed, put them on, and paced the room patiently.
“RDJ wore these all the time for Iron Man.” Jeremy reminded himself through gritted teeth. “So you can do it for an arson.”
Now he just had to figure out how to get that flame started.
Stealing a RON tanker wasn’t the most sophisticated of plans, but it would do the job, and do it well. Of course, the stupid building was made of stone, so he couldn’t do the convenient thing and bust the truck right through the door, but he could park in front and drag the hose in.
He pulled up in the early morning, inconspicuous at first, then pulled the hose to the front door, went back, and flipped the lever. Then he ran back, his platforms clicking on the concrete, grabbed the gushing hose, and hauled it through the large mahogany doors. He very briefly wondered if he looked as ridiculous as he felt, some guy dragging a hose around in high heels, but focused on the task at hand. Before anyone could turn to look at him, he threw a canister of tear gas on the floor, and through the smoke, the screams began.
He grabbed his semi-automatic and blasted into the building, and though there weren’t many people inside, bodies began to fall. He shuffled forward a bit, aware that the sound of his heels would be obvious on the marble floors.
“It’s Mogar!” Someone yelled, and Jeremy smirked. He threw another tear gas down and rushed to the teller’s windows.
“Take me to the vault and nobody gets hurt!” He yelled in Michael’s voice, and a shaken teller rushed to open the gates.
He pressed a gun to the man’s head and pushed him forward to the stairs. It seemed he was the only one not overly disoriented by the tear gas, and Jeremy felt confident that the alarm wouldn’t be triggered until it was too late for any of them. They bounded down the steps, he a bit wobbly in his platforms, and Jeremy was quick to push his gun against the back of the man’s neck as he typed in the password to open the vault.
Once inside, Jeremy kept his gun trained on the man and unhooked a gas can from his belt.
“I don’t understand, we gave you your payment!” The man said, his hands held high and shaking with terror.
Jeremy didn’t respond as he poured the gasoline all over the bundles of cash, but he saw the teller tilt his head from the corner of his eye.
“Wait. Who are you?” The teller asked, and without a word Jeremy sighed, turned, and shot him in the head. Five feet away in a well-lit room wasn’t the worst discovery to be had, he wouldn’t chastise himself for that. As long as there were no cameras around to hear it.
He struck a match far away from himself, his jeans coated in gasoline, and dropped it, then ran back to the main hall, where the tear gas had worn off and the small group of those left alive were clearly panicking, but staying in position. They knew Mogar was there, so they didn’t dare move when he exited in fear that the rest of the AH Crew were with him as well, lingering in the shadows.
Jeremy rushed to the door without looking at any of them, jumped over the hose, lit another match, then dropped it. From the sudden screams as he ran into the distance, he knew the whole place was aflame. He felt heat on his back as a boom sounded out, and knew instantly that the tanker had exploded, but by then he was at the other end of the street. He busted into the nearest car and heard sirens in the distance, but smirked with the knowledge that he’d get away with it.
As he climbed in, satisfied, he kicked off his heels and took off. It was a job well done, and he was excited to get the rest of his cash and continue moving forward. He had a long way to go, but he took each step in stride knowing that he was getting closer to his goal. He would pull off the heist to end all heists, and he’d do it as his heroes. Oh what fun this would be.