We were going to hit the joint on a Monday. I argued for Tuesday, Wednesday even, and God forbid Thursday, but no, it had to be a Monday. That was the day the armored trucks refreshed the cash deposit in the vault. The biggest possible score.

There were several reasons I didn’t want a Monday to be the day we robbed one of the biggest hits of our lifetime. For one thing, it’s just bad luck. You never hear about anything going right on a Monday. Secondly, my suit wouldn’t be back from the dry-cleaners until at least Friday, and I never go on a heist without it. That sepia-brown suit was my signature look, but no, it just had to get covered in blood after the last heist, and now I get stuck with the tacky black suit and tie instead. Just my luck.

Anyway, not like I had much say in it anyhow, seeing how this was Bain’s gambit we were taking. Guy had said he’s been staking out the joint for a couple weeks and saw the perfect opportunity to swoop in and make a payday like no other.

High security local, too, from what he’s described it as. Big-swig joint where fat cats and pimp-busters, along with the corrupted dope smoking cop or two, deposited their blood covered funds to spend on cheap booze and even cheaper hookers on. Sure, it looked glitzy and glamorous on the outside, what with the fancy Roman architecture and floors so clean you can fuck ‘em without the risk of a disease, but it was just filled with the most rotten, filthy excuse for spendable dough on the planet. You’d find more reputable money shoved in a stripper’s g-string than this fuckhole.

But still, the cash was too good to pass up, so I just shoved a rabbit’s foot in my pocket and got ready to get jiggy with it.

We were all seated in the back of the van, the driver taking us to our destination. Good thing about those hippies always driving up here to protest at the White House or some other bureaucrat shithole, or else a bright blue van out in the middle of the Washington DC area might have looked conspicuous.

“Man, what the hell is Bain thinking?” Wolf asked, shoving shotgun shells into his gun while his other finger tapped on the trigger, itchy to pull. I always told him to mask his voice somehow because of his obvious Swedish accent, but he said some idiot American would just call it a Danish accent instead. At least he took my advice for the wig, though I don’t know how popular long, goldilocks-style hair went with a rough and tumble beard. “We already robbed First World Bank about a dozen times now. I’m telling you, it’s bad luck to swing by this place on too many occasions.”

“Maybe that’s because they stepped up security ever since you racked up that impressive body count,” Hoxton, my younger brother, suggested. He shot a smug grin covered in stubble at Wolf, who just rolled his eyes at him.

“Maybe you should watch your fucking mouth,” Wolf said, pumping his shotgun.

“Goddamn, can’t both of you assholes go five minutes without bitching to each other?” Chains asked, the much larger black man too focused on his weapon to cast an eye to either of them. “Dallas, tell your lil’ bro to simmer down.” Chains was already loading his rifle; over a decade of hard military training making him the kind of guy who always double-checked his weapon.

“He’s old enough to act like an asshole if he wants,” I replied, staring over Chains’ shoulder to the driver’s window. Looks like another couple of blocks of DC metropolitan area to drive through before the we reached the target location.

“You know what? Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you!” Hoxton said, pointing to every single one of us. “I do my job better than all your assholes combined, but of course, since you’re all assholes, all I get is shit!”

“Maybe if you kept your fat fucking trap shut sometimes, you wouldn’t get shit so often,” Wolf muttered, checking himself in the rearview mirror of the van to make sure he wig stuck on right.

“Same could be said about you too, Wolf,” Chains muttered, stowing extra ammo to his belt.

“You know what, Chains,” Wolf said, getting up from his seat, just as the van took a hard right turn, causing him to nearly fall onto Hoxton.

I reached out and grabbed Wolf by his shirt collar and threw him back in his seat. “Why don’t all of you shut up?” I demanded, holding onto the side of the van as we made another turn. “Come on, we’re never this edgy before a payday. Anger leads to fucking up which leads to you dying, or landing your ass in prison, just like the last Hoxton!”

“At least the last Hoxton was more bearable,” Wolf muttered.

Hoxton got up, but I quickly pushed him back down with a steady hand. “Hey, hey! No starting fights in the van! I don’t need to pay for anymore bullet holes on this thing than there already are whenever we finish up with a joint!” Sitting back down, I brushed a hand through my short-crop hair and sighed. Well, at least attempted to. My old smoking habits made exhaling and inhaling air a bit troublesome, so I breathed deeply through my nose for several seconds as tensions in the van petered out.

 Finally, it was Chains who was the first to say, “You know, I think I know why we’re all high-strung. It’s the job.”

“What, we’ve hit World Bank plenty of times,” Hoxton reminded him, slyly smiling. “We withdraw from there more than all their legit customers put together.”

“I think he was referring to the fact that Bain didn’t tell us squat about this assignment,” Wolf said, his hands unsteady as he fidgeted with the shotgun in his grasp. “No security mentions, no intel on any guard patrols, and basically shit on anything else other than that fact a couple hundred G’s were stashed in the place.”

“Why the hell are we accepting this assignment in the first place?” Chains asked, pointing his unloaded pistol at me. “Dallas, you want us to walk into a suicide mission or what? Because the way I see it, we’re running into a fucking slaughter house with bullseyes tattooed on our asses.”

        “Walk, run, does it make any difference how we get the job done?” I asked, slipping on my gloves as I noticed this was the final street before the turn to the bank. “Listen, Bain has treated us fairly in the past. We’ve gotten our equal cut, he’s supplied us with everything we need to get each job done, so I’d cut the guy some slack a little.”

“Maybe it’s not slack. Maybe you’re just too scared,” Chains said. Wolf and Hoxton stopped preparing, all eyes in the van focused solely on me.

I shift my gaze to each of my teammates, their eyes wary, even the usually stoic Chains. Scratching at the scruff of my beard on my cheek, I coughed under my breath. “Guys, you know neither me nor Bain would double-cross the other.”

“How are you so sure Bain won’t fuck us over?” Hoxton asked, crossing his arms with his assault rifle standing up in his lap. “He controls the city, Crime Net, and probably most of the criminals in the immediate five-mile area. If he wanted to he could have us all floating down a river in less than five minutes with just one word.” Hoxton shook her head, shoulders drooping. “For all we know, this could be a way for him to tie up a loose end.”

“How the fuck did we become a loose end?” Wolf asked. “We never fucked up a job, always completed any assignment we were given. We should have gotten fucking gold stars for doing a job well done instead of this shit!”

“Well, that’s crime for ya. Unpredictable and occasionally fucking you over,” Chains said, staring dismally at his gun for a moment before looking up with a wide grin and perfect white teeth. “Which is why I love it.”

“Listen, we’ll talk about Bain and fuck overs later,” I said, getting up from my seat. I could feel the sharp pinch of my ballistic vest beneath my suit as it hugged my body, the best protection I had from any bullet with my name on it. “We’re at the drop zone.”

The van pulled up in front of the bank, several passerby entering and exiting the building in a nonchalant manner. First World Bank was basically one of the easiest stops we’ve ever made. Hell, there’s practically a red carpet leading right up to the vault. Along with so many security cameras that the NSA gets a stiffy just thinking about it.

“Okay, guys, you know the drill,” I said, setting my assault rifle to fully automatic. “Get in, make it smooth, keep civilian deaths to a minimum, you see a cop you shoot the fucker between the eyes, and most of all, you grab the dough before we all die. You know where the vault was last time, doesn’t take too long to break it open. Easy enough to do?”

“Yeah, sure, except for the mask part, big brother.” Hoxton pulled out a container from under his seat, opening it up and pulling out four straws from within. “Okay, gentlemen, pick your poison.”

I rolled my eyes, the last one to pick out a straw. We did this routine each time we got a new package from masks from Bain. He said it was to make us less conspicuous on repeated missions, but really, I knew it was because the guys—myself included—loved donning a new mask just for the hell of it. There’s nothing like robbing a joint wearing the face of a psychotic clown or an alien. In the end, it was really about accessorizing.

To make things fair, we usually chose the new batch of maks using straws so that no one complained too loudly about what mask they received. And in the end, like many other times, I got the short straw. Oh joy…

Opening the container wide, we all gathered together to see what potential robbing gear we were going out in style for today.

“Ah, Presidential,” Wolf said, smiling wide. Reaching inside, he withdrew a tight-lipped Bill Clinton mask with a wide-brimmed nose and putting it on. “Clinty, old boy, we’re gonna get along just fine. A man of my own heart, some might say. He knew how to appreciate the finer things of life.”

“Yeah, like his secretary’s fine ass,” Hoxton laughed, donning his mask of a slightly frowning and hawk-nosed George Bush. “Well, how-day y’all,” Hoxton said in his best attempt at a Southern accent. “Ain’t we gonna have a fine tootin’ time robbin’ dis here bank?”

“Shit, of course I get the Obama,” Chains muttered, scowling at the choice his straw got him. An out of proportion, widely grinning Barack Obama mask with huge white teeth that covered most of the face, which he put on reluctantly. “I didn’t even vote for the guy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a criminal, of course you don’t vote,” Wolf said, winking to Chains from behind his mask.

Chains lifted up a finger, stopped, stood still for several minute, then solemnly shook his head and double-checked his equipment, muttering, “Sly son of a bitch…”

“Okay, everyone, knock it off with the jokes, we’re on a tight schedule here,” I said.

Wolf nudged Hoxton with his elbow and said, “Almost as tight as my secretary’s—”

“That’s enough!” I ordered, Wolf and Hoxton laughing like immature pricks.

Chains was at least somewhat professional during this time, taking care to move to the back of the van with his shoulder against the wall, legs bent forward. Wolf joined him on the other side, shotgun in one hand with a duffel bag in the other. Hoxton was right behind, crouching down low as all looked to me for the signal.

Now it was my turn. Reaching into the box, I withdrew… a Nixon mask. Ugh, not that guy. Anything but that guy. Pointy, beaky nose, pudgy cheeks, and a balding hairstyle that had gone out of fashion way before the sixties. Even with empty eyeholes, I can feel the weasley, shrewd look staring right back at me. Creepy as hell.

“Goddamnit…” I muttered, fitting the mask over my face. The uncomfortable musk of the facewear came almost instantly, like breathing fumes from a plastic toy factory in China, which might very well be the place the mask was from. Bain never cared to mention where he got the things anyway. He mostly includes them in the package for any heist to keep us anonymous, and to have a bit of ‘flare’ with robbery. Accessorize to robberize, as the others call it. Me, I just used it so my face didn’t get plastered in every police station from here to the West Coast.

“Okay, Tricky Dicky, we ready?” Wolf asked.

My vision was somewhat blocked by the mask, but not so bad I was walking blind. Raising my rifle up, I said, “Gentlemen, time to cash out.”

With a holler of pure joy and what could only be described as sticky-fingers for some green, Wolf opened the van and jumped out while howling his namesake. Chains was close behind, with Hoxton bringing up the rear. The Payday crew, about to bust another heist, fuck another bank, collect payment for Bain, and spit in the rotten husk of human decency called law enforcement just to make a few cheap bucks. And where did I lie amid this ruin of old moral standards and the new age of crime that had so politely screwed over society because of its own materialistic wealth? Well, I was in the back of the van, a voice talking slowly into my earpiece.

Dallas, it’s me, Bain, he said, voice, as always, with a tinge of a robotic sound.

“Um, Bain, I’d love to chat, but I’m kinda busy here,” I said, itching to join my crew as they were probably assaulting the front desk as we spoke.

I know. The heist. Your last one. Shame you won’t even be participating in it.

One foot was outside the van, my hand on the door, just about to jump off. Holding my finger to my earpiece, I asked, “Say what?”

Dallas, Dallas, Dallas. You always were the best. Which means it’s only fair you’re first. Wait up for the others when you get there, won’t you?

“Bain, what the hell are you talking about?” I shouted. My head was beginning to feel like it was drowning in a pool of liquor, all fuzzy and slow. I tried to support myself on the handle of the van’s back door, the light from outside dimming as my eyesight blurred. “Where is there? Are you screwing us over?”

Just remember one thing, Dallas. Keep your feet tucked in.

And with that, my body seized up, and I fell out of the back of the van. This was a less then three foot drop, but at the current speed I was going, it felt like I was free falling out of the side of a plane. Thousands of feet of free fall, to be exact.

Yep, this Monday was definitely going swimmingly.

---

“Luna! Luna, come out now!” Celestia demanded, knocking repeatedly on the door to Luna’s bedroom. “Sister, request you to exit your room at once!”

A bang, followed by muttered curses and shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door. Finally, Luna slammed the doors open, dark bags hanging under her eyes and her mane frizzled and tangled into knots.

“What, dear sister, could you possibly need me for?” Luna asked through gritted teeth, bloodshot eyes glaring at Celestia’s perky demeanor.

“It is time to raise the moon, Luna. I came here to make you’d get up on time, since the last several attempts resulted in the sunset’s lateness,” Celestia said, smiling wide.

Grimacing, Luna rubbed a hoof against her temple. “Tia… daylight saving time just started three days ago, remember? I’m a thousand years out of the loop and even I knew about that.”

“Huh…” Celestia tapped her chin, staring down at the floor. “Guess I should reset the clocks then.”

“Great,” Luna said, shutting the door inches from Celestia’s nose. “Call me when it’s the proper time for me to raise the moon, okay?”

“Okay, Luna, so sorry for the mistake!” Celestia called to her sister, her white cheeks now tinged red. Turning around, Celestia took a few steps forward, then stopped in her tracks as a loud noise sounded directly behind her.

Checking over her shoulder, Celestia immediately noticed a large hole having replaced much of the ceiling, which was followed by the floor as well. Dust rained from the roof as a voice crying out in a shriek echoed as floor after floor broke away beneath its non-stop path of descent to the very bottom of the castle, where it halted with a resounding bang that shook the very foundations the castle was situated on.

“What in blazes…” Celestia hurried to the hole in the floor, staring down below at the numerous other identical holes all leading to the bottom floor. There, amid rubble and dust from the crash, she could barely make out a figure, who was attempting to get up. “Where did that thing come from?”

That thing finally got back to its feet after a few minutes with a shout she couldn’t make out, dozens of flights of floors and a fall from who knows how high up not even hindering its movements a bit. Vaguely, Celestia could make out the sight of it staring back up at her. What it looked like, she couldn’t be certain, but one thing made itself clear right away.

It was currently traveling up each floor, each leap and grapple lifting it up several feet in the air as it quickly scaled the castle in the finest example of strength or agility Celestia had ever seen. Also, for some strange reason, the creature was making a strange noise, sounding like an, “Aroo!”

Yep, it was going to be another one of those Mondays again.