It was a humid Tuesday morning when Marcus, the mastermind behind what would become the most talked-about heist of the year, constructed his crew in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. His plan was flawless—a meticulously detailed blueprint to rob the Central National Bank. Yet, Marcus, a man of principle despite his criminal tendencies, felt the need to assemble a team that reflected what he called "the modern world."
He reviewed dozens of potential crew members, looking for a diverse group. He interviewed an ex-military strategist with a spotless record, a veteran safecracker who could open any vault in under five minutes, and a tech-savvy hacker who could shut down the city's entire surveillance system in seconds. But all three were straight, white men. Disgusting.
In the end, Marcus passed them over.
Instead, he chose a crew that checked every box of diversity but lacked the same level of expertise. First, there was DeShawn, a former street racer with a hot temper and Parkinson's disease, who Marcus chose to be the getaway driver. Next was Maria, a single mother who went to the induction class of 'Computing 101' , before dropping out, during her teenage years but had since focused on her kids and the extra unemployment benefits they bring. Then there was Emily, a recent college graduate with a degree in gender studies, who had never picked a lock but had organized a protest against systemic inequalities in the criminal justice system. Finally, there was Ahmed, a self proclaimed artist who was known for his creepy anime artwork, but had no experience with anything related to heists.
The day of the heist arrived. The crew, decked out in matching black outfits, stood ready in the alley behind the bank. The plan was simple: DeShawn would keep the car running, Maria would disable the alarms, Emily would manage crowd control inside the bank, and Ahmed would assist Marcus in the vault.
But from the moment they entered the bank, everything went wrong. Maria struggled with the alarm system. Emily, trying to calm the terrified customers, ended up in a debate about social justice with one of the tellers. Meanwhile, Ahmed found himself captivated by the intricate designs on the walls, sketching them in his notepad instead of helping Marcus crack the vault.
Panic set in as the minutes ticked by. The plan was unraveling. Marcus cursed under his breath, regretting his choice to prioritize diversity over competence. But it was too late now. The police would be on here any second now.
Suddenly, the bank's front doors burst open, and in walked the police.
But these weren’t the seasoned officers Marcus had feared. The precinct, in its own attempt to reflect diversity, had recently hired a new batch of recruits. Leading the charge was Officer Patel, fresh out of the academy, who had been assigned to this case as part of an initiative to put minority officers on the front lines. He was flanked by Officer Thompson, who had been promoted to head of counter terrorism for her dedication to community outreach, despite never having fired, or even handled a gun.
"Everybody freeze!" Officer Patel shouted, though his voice wavered slightly.
Marcus braced for the worst, but what happened next left him in disbelief.
"Don't shoot!" Emily cried, stepping forward. "We’re here to make a statement about the injustices of wealth inequality!"
Officer Thompson nodded, lowering her gun. "I hear you, sister. But we can't let you walk out with the money."
Marcus watched in astonishment as Emily and Officer Thompson engaged in a passionate discussion about the redistribution of wealth, while Officer Patel fumbled with his radio, trying to figure out how to call for backup.
Ahmed, seeing the opportunity, whispered to Marcus, "We gotta get out of here, man."
But Marcus had a better idea. "Let’s see if we can get them to open the vault for us," he whispered back.
While Emily and the officers continued their conversation, Marcus casually approached the vault. "You know," he began, "if we were to donate a portion of this money to community programs, wouldn't that be a step in the right direction?"
Officer Patel, eager to prove his progressive values, nodded. "That sounds fair. We could make sure it goes to underfunded schools and shelters."
Marcus could hardly believe his luck. "Exactly. But we need to get it out of here first. Could you, uh, help with the vault?"
Patel hesitated, but Thompson quickly agreed. "Why not? We’re all working toward the same goal."
The officers helped Marcus and Ahmed open the vault. With bags full of cash and jewelry, the crew walked out the front door, no shots fired. As they loaded the money into the getaway car, DeShawn turned to Marcus, shaking his head in disbelief.
"We actually pulled it off," DeShawn said, laughing as he started the engine.
But as the car roared to life, DeShawn's Parkinson's kicked in, his hands started to trembl. He gripped the wheel tighter, but the more he tried to steady himself, the worse it got.
“DeShawn, you okay?” Marcus asked, a sinking feeling forming in his gut.
“Yeah, man, just… just a little tense, that’s all,” DeShawn replied, forcing a grin.
As they sped down the narrow streets, Marcus noticed DeShawn’s hands shaking more violently. The car swerved slightly, brushing against the curb.
DeShawn tried to correct it, but his overcorrection sent the car veering into the opposite lane. Marcus shouted, “Watch out!” but it was too late.
DeShawn tried to correct it, but his overcorrection sent the car veering into the opposite lane. Marcus shouted, “Watch out!” but it was too late.
The car slammed into a light post with a deafening crash. The impact sent the vehicle spinning out of control, crashing through a storefront window before coming to a halt. The engine sputtered, then erupted into flames.
The end.
