Tik tok tik tok... “It’s almost time.” The city is finally starting to sleep, yet the distinctive sound of cars zooming by leaves a constant hum. Sylus, on the edge of his unmade bed, starts to tie his laces but is stopped in a daze as his gaze meets the empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand. He breaks the silence with a scoff as he recalls the promise, he made to himself—that it would be his last. Now that he’ll have his hands and mind busy, he can finally have a new start with a new job. At least, this is what he tells himself. Patrolling a museum might not be the best thing in the world, but it’s something. Something calm, quiet, safe—but... he knows this won’t silence the darkness deep down.
With a sharp exhale, he forces the thought away and continues with his routine, all without giving another glance at the bottle. The city light pollutes the air, but as he continues his drive, he reaches a point where the shadows stretch longer. Sylus tightness his grip on the steering wheel as he pulls into the parking lot. As he starts his walk to the main building, he mutters to himself, “It is not a mission; it is just a job.” The hum of the fluorescent lights stops him in his tracks, and a tightness in his chest begins to form. The quiet is so loud in a way only he can hear. The vibration of his watch, reminding him to clock in, brings him back to reality.
Sylus’ jaw tightens. Just a job. Check the perimeter, secure the doors, and wait til morning, reminding himself again. A deep breath away from unlocking the door.
The museum is silent, aside from his boots brushing on the wood floorboards. He would occasionally flash the artifacts, his light casting long shadows over the dinosaur bones, creating distorted figures. He stares. What am I doing? He slowly turns as he meets the corridors. He knew he was alone, yet he was becoming alert. Turning away, a loud sigh overcomes him.
The faint echoes of his footsteps become rhythmic in the gravel as he rounds the exterior of the west wing, the clouds flickering the moonshine. Almost like that night. No, nothing like that night. Far in the distance near the east wing parking, a shadow moves, darting toward the building. His chest is buckling under the pressure. The figure completely stops, hesitates, but continues to turn the corner. Yep, that was nothing, probably. That mere thought would be going against his instincts, honed by his military experience. He makes his way to the security office in the west wing and begins to scan the cameras, meticulously looking for any movement. Nothing. Dinosaurs, Egyptian, and Greek artifacts—the same burned images.
And then, there.
A flash of moments from the third into the fourth monitor. Someone is inside. His veins filled with adrenaline; he slaps on the dispatch button ensuring that the police will be en route. He moved cautiously, flashlight in hand and the other resting on his baton. The echoes of his steps match the swiftness of his heartbeat. He turns the corner and spots it. Filling its bag with Egyptian jewels through the broken glass. However, it slowly starts to stand in the moonlight, she points to an Egyptian dagger.
“Drop it, you don’t want to do this, step away from the bag”
Sylus barks, his voice raising to a level he couldn’t control.
She tilts her head, her smirk illuminated with the dagger’s reflection.
“Walk away. That’s rich, coming from you. Tell me, soldier, did you walk away, or did you run?”
What. How. How could she... know that?
The crunching of broken glass brings him back into action.
“I said to drop it.”
Her smirk dissipates as her gaze shifts past Sylus toward the emergency exit.
Before Syluscould react, a flash of light zips by, the sound of glass sharding and artifacts crashing to the floor. The sound reverberates through the open space. Stunned, he freezes. She takes advantage, moving past him. But, with the last bits of adrenaline he lunges in her direction,missing the strap of the bag as she jumps through the open window.
Breathing hard, Sylus stands over the wreckage, taking in the crime scene.
How could have missed the window? The sound of sirens drowns his thoughts.
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