burglaryfinalfinal

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The gentle chime of glass on concrete reaches your ears as your accomplice lowers his hammer. You have been granted indisputable entrance into a house located in one of the most affluent neighborhoods of the city. Such an entrance would normally be followed by gawking around at the space, but you don't have that luxury. Not yet. The alarm is right where Tristan thought it would be. [[Turn it off.]]

You don't actually have to turn it off—it hasn't gone off yet. Now it never will. Shards of plastic explode off of the contraption, littering the floor. Evidence. They'll find out how you got through their expensive security system soon enough. [["Check out the couches."]]

Your eyes trail over to the moonlit living room, where your partner is already staking out the furniture. He runs a hand over the leather of a couch. You know without touching it that it is real. "Wish we could bring this thing back home," he says offhandedly. "We could use a new seat or two." [[Ignore him.]]

You turn away from him and roam round the corner. You're greeted by frying pans hanging from a rack above an island counter. Kitchen located. "Bedrooms must be upstairs," you mutter. Tristan strides into the kitchen behind you. He spots some dark bottles lined up behind a glass window and takes more interest in that than the job you're here for. [["Not right now."]]

Tristan frowns at you. "What?" he demands, clearly a little affronted. You roll your eyes. "I was just gonna—" "Just focus, please. Who's going where?" He eyes you for a second, then turns back to the wine cabinet. "Doesn't matter." Looks like it's your choice. Where will you search? [[> Kitchen]] [[> Bedrooms]]

You take the first floor, and Tristan heads up the stairs under your instruction. As your accomplice has discovered, there is expensive wine in the kitchen, along with shimmering sets of silverware in the drawers and fancy spices you're sure this family doesn't use in the cupboards. [[Take what you can.]]

You take the second floor, while Tristan takes the first. Hopefully he won't drink himself silly before you can get back down there to supervise. There are indeed bedrooms up here. Before that, you head to the bathroom and check for any prescription drugs you can snatch up for an easy sale. You've trained yourself to ignore staring portraits on the walls of hallways, but they're always just the slightest bit unnerving. [[Ignore harder.]]

Another look around the living room brings to your attention small trinkets and souvenirs from other countries stacked along the shelves. These people are obviously fans of travel. Who wouldn't be if they had the money for it? On the mantel of the fireplace are multiple little crystals, lined up straight across. At some point, you could probably have identified many of these. Your sister used to be way into these things. Not like she could afford them. Your grimy boots make contact with the white wool in front of the couches as you cross your way out of the living room. [[Guess they're into art too.]]

Paintings of varying sizes and themes hang on the walls of the hallway leading towards the stairs. You have no clue what's popular on the art market, but Tristan said he'd heard from an old buddy that this stuff's selling quick lately. Bigger is probably better, but unfortunately, you're constrained to the size of your backpack. If you had a choice, these people would come home to an empty house. You pick out a relatively small painting of a landscape from behind some... trees...? Eh, someone'll probably like it enough to buy it. [[Probably.]]

There isn't much else on the first floor worth exploring, or at least that you're willing to explore. You go up the steps in search of Tristan. The second floor does indeed have bedrooms—two rooms, one for the parents, one for their child. You find Tristan in the parents' room, where he's sitting on the bed with a picture in his hands. [[Knock on the doorframe.]]

Tristan turns his attention towards you, hands jerking away to move the photo out of sight. He takes a moment to reconsider the action, and his gaze returns to it, fingers clutched around the frame with some uncertainty. You can guess what the photo is, but you can see it from here anyway. It's a photo of what you'd assume to be this family's first child. You'd seen the same chubby face on the walls of the first floor as well. "I wonder if Leslie's already in Kindergarten." [[Ignore that prickly feeling on your back.]]

Can't. You rub the back of your neck. "We should get a move-on," you try, looking behind yourself, into the hallway. "There's still the third floor." Tristan casts a halfhearted glance your way. "Go ahead." You suppress a sigh. [[Go ahead.]]

Up the stairs you go again. This floor has a couple bland, empty rooms, nothing you especially want to poke around in. You do notice, though, that the closest to the stairs appears to be under renovation. A nursery. You're momentarily thankful that Tristan didn't have to come up here. You know why he gets so depressed about stuff like this, but another part of you gets frustrated that he's so easily distracted. This may sometimes seem like an easy gig, but little mistakes make a huge difference. You can't afford to get tripped up on past regrets. [[Bag some kid's toys.]]

Tristan isn't on the second floor when you return. You do a one-over of the bedrooms—just in case—and check the bathroom cabinets as well. Tristan tends to forget to check for medication. When you're sure he isn't there, you check downstairs. Tristan is slouched over on the couch, holding a bottle of wine you couldn't fit in your bag. [["What do you think you're doing?"]]

Tristan opens his eyes blearily at you, lifting the bottle in a vague gesture of greeting. "What are you doing," you repeat a bit more forcefully. You think you're a fairly understanding person, and you also think this situation is unacceptable. You're trying to stay levelheaded. "We're on a job right now." "Oh, whatever, we're practically done already." [["We're still in the house."]]

"God, I just started drinking and you're already giving me a headache." "I'm—!?" You stomp over and snatch up the bottle, immediately earning protests. "Take this seriously! Did you even search like you were supposed to? " "Relax, I checked all the rooms. They got good stuff. Fancy clothes, game consoles... Can you believe they got guns in the back room? With a newborn on the way? Rich people are crazy." He laughs dryly, still reaching towards the bottle. [["You're not getting this back."]]

<<set $isDrunk = false>> Tristan clicks his tongue and slams his back into the couch, leather squeaking underneath him. "Have some then. I'll just get another bottle." "No, you won't." You catch his wrist, and he protests again. You eye the bottle. There's no way you can leave it here now—more evidence. But you definitely can't sell it either. You need to go soon, but this is a pretty rare opportunity… [[> Taste]] [[> Don't]]

<<set $isDrunk = true>> Tristan's impulsivity is rubbing off on you. You pause for a moment, then take a swig, then down the whole thing. You know he's watching you. You try not to show how much you needed a drink. "We should leave." You remember belatedly that you're holding his wrist. You let go and throw him the now-empty bottle. [[Time to go.]]

You have more important things to worry about than this. You dump the rest of the drink down the drain and shove the empty bottle back into his hand and let go of him. “We need to go. Come on.” Tristan watches you, visibly frustrated. "Seriously? What are you, my mom?" [[Time to go.]]

Tristan is following you out of the house. You tend to take the back door when you leave, just in case someone is watching. Well, today's your lucky day. A flicker from the corner of your eye is enough to set your nerves on edge, but you can see the curtains moving as soon as you look over. [[Great.]]

You motion frantically at Tristan that he needs to hurry, and he catches on quickly. The two of you are out of the yard in an instant, but that doesn't mean much. All it takes is your license plate, and the police will be on you in an instant. You pile into the car, slinging your bags into the back seats. You need to get as far away from here as possible. [[Get moving.]]

The streets are both blessedly and frustratingly empty. It makes for a quick getaway, but one with absolutely no shielding. The police are on your tail in an instant. You're practically flooring it in this dump of a car, but Tristan is yelling at you to go faster. He's laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. You join him over the incessant wailing behind you. <<if $isDrunk == true>> [[It pops up out of nowhere.]] <<else>> [[It's a close call.]] <<endif>>

For a second you think you're seeing things. The streets were so empty that you'd thrown caution completely to the wind. But it's clear as day—that's a car turning the corner, directly in front of you. The impact must have knocked you out. You can't open your eyes at first. You can hear someone shouting in the distance, far far away from you. [["Hands up!"]]

You almost don't make it around the car that pops out of nowhere. It takes a huge swerve that almost sends your car rolling off the road, but you make it. The policeman behind you does not. They collide in an instant. You and Tristan look at each other for a second. [["Eyes on the road."]]

"Put your hands up!" the voice repeats, as if anyone within 500 miles couldn't hear them. The echoing of their voice mixes in with that awful ringing in the back of your head, and you wince involuntarily. "Get out of the car and put your hands up!" You open your eyes. [[He's digging through his bag.]]

Tristan glances at you, puffing from exertion, or adrenaline, or maybe pain. His face got cut up. The windshield of your car, you realize, has shattered and gone all over you and Tristan. You can hear some glass fall off of your clothes as you try to sit up. God, your head is killing you. [[Tristan finds what he's looking for.]]

He's fumbling with the item, hands shaking. You can tell he didn't just get cut up—he probably got his arm hurt in the crash too. His movements are clumsy and panicked. You watch for a moment, uncomprehending. He has a gun. [[>> Stop him]] [[>> Don't]]

You can't stay awake for some reason. You keep getting snapshots of what you assume to be reality. You can see the smoke of your totaled garbage hunk car, and then you can see Tristan carrying you. When next you wake, the first thing in your line of sight is green. Green leaves... Bushes. You hazily look around. Tristan is next to you. [[It's no mystery to you what he did.]]

You may be concussed, but you're not stupid. Tristan won't look at you, so you stop waiting for him to. You seem to be in a park of some kind, right next to some large bushes. You can't tell if what you're hearing is sirens or more ringing in your ears. Probably both. You and Tristan are silent. [[What is there to say?]]

You could thank him, maybe, for trying. Or you could be angry at him. Or you could be angry at yourself. Both of you know it won't change anything at this point. The two of you stay there together, you slipping in and out of consciousness and him completely subdued. You figured it would have to end at some point.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he says it. Your skin is buzzing with adrenaline. You're not safe, exactly—you'll need to get rid of this stupid car now, for example. But as soon as you get to your ugly old apartment building, the two of you are grinning from ear to ear and examining the haul. There's nothing like the rush of a good heist. You'll get caught at some point. You're both resigned to this fact. But for the time being, this is good enough. You're in no rush to meet the consequences.

It seems that on this floor are the parents' and child's rooms. You start with the latter. The kid's room is full of toys and knickknacks strewn about on the floor. You don't think the posters on the walls are especially valuable, so you leave them alone. A game console sits beside the small TV on the dresser. What you assume to be its respective games are lined up on the shelf just above it. [[How helpful.]]

Next is the parents' room. On their nightstand is a nice framed photo of their kid. Fair, but they can't protect much of anything if they can't keep their home safe. You slip the photo out and pocket the frame. You find expensive fabrics—silk and velvet of a variety of colors. They make you think of your wife—ex-wife—who talked occasionally about the most extravagant clothes. You never escaped the conversation without feeling guilty. You grab a few garments that look like they would fetch the best price. [[Move on.]]

<<set $hasGun = false>> Before you leave the room, you check the closet—people often leave their valuables hidden, but close to their heart. You find a gun cabinet. Tristan's discovery seems much less worrisome in comparison. [[> Take gun.]] [[> Don't.]]

That seems like just about everything. Just as you're about to head upstairs to explore the third floor, Tristan comes up. You might as well not do this alone. [[Head to the top floor together.]]

No, you don't need that. Tristan doesn't either, especially if he's down there drinking himself to death. [[Is that all?]]

On the third floor are a couple spare bedrooms. You think Tristan would have made some crack about how often they would even need these rooms, but he's distracted by the closest guest room. It seems to be going under renovation. Tristan's expression quickly takes on a certain solemnity. You know how touchy he is. Before you can suggest that you ignore that room, he walks in. [[Follow to make sure he doesn't shatter.]]

He looks around at the walls, which are painted with gentle scenery and a few cartoon characters. It's blatantly obvious that one of the people who made these murals aren't the best at painting, but it's clear that they've put lots of time into it. There isn't much furniture yet, but a crib sits with a mobile hanging over it in the center of the room, away from the splash zone. Tristan does not look at you when he's done surveying the room. [["We should probably leave."]]

<<set $hasGun = true>> This could be useful. [[Is that all?]]

Tristan looks at you with an expression you can't (don't want to) read. You turn away. "Come on. We've likely overstayed our welcome." You can hear that he doesn't follow you out of the room. You don't wait for him. By the time you're searching the other guest room, you hear footsteps at the door. A glance over reveals that he's leaning against the door with his arms crossed, as if he was a teenager whose moodiness you were responsible for. [[Finish up.]]

"I wonder if they're doing well," Tristan says softly. There's no noise in the house. You hear him loud and clear. You consider pretending you didn't catch it anyway. "You should really focus," you say. "We should leave soon. I'm done here." He says nothing. [["...How old was she?"]]

Tristan finally meets your guilt-ridden gaze. "Your daughter. How old was she?" He considers the words, weighing them in his head. "She was only seven months old when I left. She'd be about four or five now." [[Ignore that prickly feeling.]]

"I wonder, sometimes, if leaving was the right choice." You flip through a book on the shelf mindlessly. "There's no telling. You can't take that decision back now." Tristan hums quietly in agreement. "Yeah. Worrying doesn't help anything." You both know that saying that doesn't lessen the anxiety and regrets. [[Pretend.]]

"Come on," you say again, except this time a bit more gently, as you slide past him in the doorway. "We need to go." Tristan's footsteps trail behind you this time. It's time to head back. You've spent enough time here by now. Tristan takes the lead. [[Exit.]]

You don't expect to be greeted by anyone once you're outside, but once there, you find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun. You look to Tristan. He looks back. "Hands in the air." <<if $hasGun == true>> [[Nah.]] <<else>> [[Well, okay.]] <<endif>>

Tristan's hands go up. The man pointing a gun at you is not dressed in attire that would make you think he is a police officer. Probably a neighbor. How sloppy of you. "Hands up," he says again, targeting you. Tristan glances at you and clears his throat. "Hold on, I think there may be a misunderstanding here. You see, my friend here—" "Was I talking to you?" The neighbor turns again to Tristan. "Keep your mouth shut." [[Very casually get the bookbag off.]]

You're awful at lying. You don't know why you think you can distract this guy—talking your way out of things is Tristan's strong suit, not yours. "We haven't stolen anything," you lie through your teeth. "Don't lie to me. Just keep your hands up." [[Tristan can tell you're panicking.]]

The bookbag starts to slide down your shoulder as you raise your hands in a very noncommittal manner. Tristan gets a little louder. "Hey, don't you think you're jumping to conclusions here? You don't even know what happened, and you're holding me at gunpoint." "That family has been on vacation for a week, and here you are in their yard with full packs full of I-don't-know-what." "That's… fair, but—" [[Edge further out of the neighbor's line of sight.]]

"You know what? People like you disgust me. You think just because you're dirt poor you can set your filthy hands on other people's belongings. How low do you have to be?" Tristan snorts. "How low do I have to be to steal from the poor, poor rich?" [[The backpack hits the ground.]]

You immediately drop to your knees and grasp at the gun you know you kept at the side of your pack. The neighbor seems to see a sudden flurry of action from the corner of his eye. "Hey, stop! Don't move!" [[Well, it's a little too late for that.]]

A gunshot resounds throughout the area. What feels like seconds goes by and the loudmouth neighbor is on the ground, bloodied, your gun pressed to his head. Tristan has taken the firearm off of the stranger. [[>> Finish him off.]] [[>> Don't.]]

It was disgustingly easy. Tristan's expression cracks into a big smile, one of pride and adrenaline. You flee the scene. You're sure that they've called the police by now. You have no idea if they have your license plate, but you'll probably trade this car in soon enough. Just in case. "I can't believe how reckless you were being," you say, and you really want to put some frustration into your voice, but you can't help it. "Look who's talking! He was gonna shoot you if I didn't step in." [[You're sure he's right.]]

"We probably have to lay low for a while." Tristan hums as if he isn't listening. "Let's not think about that." "What are you doing?" You spare him a glance, careful to keep your eyes on the road. He's digging through his bag. "Celebrating!" He brings out one of those stupid fancy wine bottles, and you can't stop the laugh that escapes you. "To never getting caught!" "You have to pour wine to toast, idiot." You're aware that you can't get away with something like this again, not with the mess that ensued. But Tristan is right. [[Now isn't the time to think about that.]]

"I can prove it. Let me open up my bag." The neighbor is immediately alarmed. "Don't move! I'll shoot if you do!" You don't listen. [[There's a gunshot.]]

Tristan is lying on the grass, clutching his arm. You figured this would happen, just not so soon. Never so soon. You were trying to buy him time. What an idiot. Police sirens cover up the neighbor's frenzied yelling. You don't want to hear it. You're not moving now anyway. You're hot and cold and a wave of emotions are crashing over you, completely overwhelming, sweeping you away. You've failed the heist.

You reach your hand out and rest it on Tristan's arm. He starts to jerk away, but stops himself. You stare at each other for a moment. There's resignation in his eyes. [["You don't have to do this."]]

You don't want to waste your energy fighting with him. He seems to have made up his mind. Who are you to stop him? [[You don't see what he does with it.]]

Resignation breaks into pained restraint and sorrow as he studies your form. You both know you won't be able to escape. "We can't stop here," he says. You close your eyes for a moment, attempting to deepen your breathing to ease the thumping pain in your head. It doesn't help. The policeman is still yelling. [[> "You're right."]] [[> Grab the gun.]]

Tristan nods, glancing away from you out the back window of the car. He's almost shaking with adrenaline. You blink groggily at him. You're so tired. [[You don't see what he does with it.]]

Tristan looks at you again when you grasp at the gun, almost incredulous. "Are you insane?" You can barely even see straight, but that doesn't matter right now. This is all you can manage now. "Get out of here." You push open the car door. Tristan hisses out a few curses. [[It's the final boss, and you're destined to lose.]]

The policeman is a little too relaxed when you face him—maybe he was starting to think you were both dead. He's immediately on high alert when he sees both car doors fly open, and he points his gun at Tristan first. You fire. It doesn't matter that you missed. His attention is on you now. [[You wonder if he notices you're stumbling.]]

Tristan is gone. He took the car you hit, throwing the person in the driver's seat onto the ground, and he was never heard from again. You learn about this by proxy from within a jail cell. You didn't expect anything different. The two of you knew people who could treat his injuries. It was just a matter of getting away. Something bitter rises in your chest when you think about it too hard, so you cut off your thoughts from there. You refuse to stay stuck in the past again. All you have to do now is wait.

Tristan turns away. You don't actually see him do that, but that's what you think he would have done if you'd been watching him. You don't want to look at the man whose life you ended. Who cares so much about their neighbor's house, anyway? He probably didn't actually care about them at all—he just jumped at the chance to make himself a hero. He lays, crumpled, on the grass, bleeding out from his skull. His slippered feet catch your eyes as you look away from him. [[Some hero.]]

"Come on," you say to Tristan, and when you look at him, it seems like you cut him off from saying something just now. The sound of police sirens drifts in. You turn away. There's no time for this. "We need to leave." He follows you to the car. [[Silence.]]

"You didn't have to do that," Tristan says, breaking the quiet. "We would have gotten away regardless." You almost roll your eyes. "And then there would be a witness." Tristan hesitates, then falls silent. He knows you're right. You reach into your pocket and toss him the gun, keeping your eyes on the road all the while. [["You might need to use it next time."]]

Next time never comes. Neither of you had ever killed someone before, and it appears the idea is enough to get Tristan out of here. For a while after his disappearance, you're angry, and scared that he'll rat you out to the cops. He even left you with most of the stolen goods—it looks like he only took some wine in the end. Yet weeks go by, and the police never come knocking at the door. [[That just makes you angrier.]]

If that idiot thinks he can just go back to a regular life with his family, he's sorely mistaken. You should know better than anyone. You've tried many times before. He'll find out eventually. He'll come crawling back when his money runs out and he's sick of the streets. You may not have the nicest apartment—this place is a dump—but it's so much better than a tent in the middle of winter. He'll see soon enough. You never see Tristan again.

You look at Tristan. Tristan stares, and eventually shakes his head. You're glad the two of you are in agreement. You instead collide the gun with the subdued man's head, a resounding crack rewarding you of your efforts. He's out. [[You almost want to laugh.]]

Now is later, when a policeman knocks at the door to your new apartment—you knew you had to relocate—and he flashes his badge and arrests you in a flash. You kick something over so that the clatter would alert Tristan, but the idiot comes and sees what's wrong. You thought you'd get away with it. You've failed the heist.