S.H.O.V.E.L. - Chapter 1

The Clerk

         I was calmly handing a nice, elderly lady her money when a nervous looking girl, maybe twenty or so, walked into the bank. She had a black unitard clinging to her skinny form and a rainbow mask, with her shifty blue eyes peering through.
         “Thank you, deary,” the old lady said, trying to speak loudly over the murmur of the customers talking and machines clicking, putting the bills in her pocketbook. As she left, the unitard lady approached me and pulled out a gun.
         “Fill this bag with twenties!” she yelled, shoving an old, green sack in my face. I heard a co-worker scream in the background. The bank's pleasant hum silenced.
         “Okay, okay, just don’t shoot,” I pleaded with her. I filled the bag, wondering what kind of whack job asks for twenty dollar bills instead of hundreds. I then returned the money-filled bag to the girl. Her mask slipped as she slung the bag over her shoulder and I saw half of her face, delicate and pale, before she pushed the mask back in place.
         "You saw it!" she exclaimed and fired her gun at me. I was dead! Wait, no I wasn’t. It took me a moment to process that I did not have a gaping chest wound and that the wetness was actually water. It was a water gun! What a poser!
         She had this bewildered look on her face and I realized she had thought it was real, too. It serves her right for paying the price for a real gun and getting a squirt gun instead.
Wide-eyed, she turned and ran out of the bank. Not knowing what else to do at the time, like, oh, calling the cops, I chased after her.

Vertigo

         The white rope’s fibers were stained with sweat and blood as it cut into my hands. The rope was the drawstring from an old, sack-like, forest green bag my grandfather had owned, well-worn from use. Its use now was to hold a massive amount of twenty dollar bills. Now, before you ask “Why not get one hundred dollar bills when robbing a bank?” I’ll clarify: not all stores will accept hundred dollar bills. In fact, it would only raise suspicion and then I’d have to deal with the worker doubting me or calling the cops or something. Twenty dollar bills are just so much more convenient.
         As I was walking down the busy street the bag was hitting the backs of my knees in rhythm with my steps. This meant that every time it hit my knees I was knocked off balance and hobbled, so I looked like I was incapable of walking correctly. Add this to the fact that money was spilling from the top of my bag and I was wearing a black, long-sleeved unitard despite the ninety-some degree heat, I was about as inconspicuous as a giant, neon yellow elephant turd. I also couldn’t find my regular mask so I was wearing the mask belonging to my Halloween costume, a masquerade ball gown. It was rainbow, feathered, and sparkly.
         I really should have found a less crowded street and put on my normal clothes, but so far the two times I had tried to go down an alley someone attempted to mug me. I have many bumps and bruises from escaping the muggers. Why in the world did I lose that bet?
         Last week Phanta, Nessa, and I were playing poker together and the penalty for losing was to rob a bank without any aid aside from our own clothes, a gun, and a bag. To top it all off, if I was in a real emergency and required a quick getaway, I wouldn’t be able to since Nessa has the getaway car. She had been going out with this bookish guy for a while and it was beyond annoying on days like today, which happened more often than you’d think. We technically should have learned by now that these penalty games were a terrible, terrible idea, but it was just too satisfying to see the loser struggling along. Until it was you.
         “Hey, you thief! Stop right there!” a manly voice shouted from behind me. I turned around and saw it was the clerk from whom I had taken the bank money. Smiling, I winked, spun back around, and ran. So far I’d managed to get away from situations without using my power and I didn’t want to start now. Whenever something bad happened, like muggers or the cops, I’d just darted away and thrown money at them until they left me alone, but this clerk just kept catching up.
         If I could either make it to Nessa’s date or hold out another hour until it ended then she’d come pick me up, but until then I was on my own and as much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t have the sex appeal to convince that clerk to let me off easy. I spotted an empty alley with a fire escape I could climb up and sprinted towards it, adjusting the bag in my arms so it wouldn’t hit me. When I reached the ladder I realized there was no way I’d be able to climb it with this heavy bag.
         Footsteps sounded in the entrance to the alley and I turned to face the clerk. He had to be one of the wimpiest guys I’d ever seen, all skinny and pale, so I had no clue as to how he had held out long enough to chase me so far unless I’d really been that slow. His previously neat, chestnut hair was now half way covering his left eye.
         Cursing my luck, I made eye contact with him. Dizziness washed over me and I steadied myself on the cool brick building to my left. The clerk frowned, the area between his eyebrows wrinkling, and swayed. He tried to take a step forward and found himself incapable, falling down.
         My dizziness started to fade away and I hoped no one was monitoring me today or I’d be in big trouble. Using our powers outside of a mission is a big no-no with the consequence of a week-long isolation, which is a lot worse than it sounds. It’s a barren room that’s very easy to escape from, however if you do escape they hunt you down and rip you apart piece by piece.
         Poor Sleep Ninja in the winter of ’99. We will never forget you.
         The pounding of my feet on concrete echoed around me as I continued down the alley, heading away from the crowded street. If I could make it to the street on the other side of this alley, turn right and go another eight blocks I’d make it to Brown’s Café and Nessa. So I did just that.
         Nessa and Blaine, her boyfriend, looked up at my panting, sweaty self and flinched.
         “Nessa, why a water gun? Do you hate me that much? Well, now I hate you! However, I will make an exception and love you from the depths of my soul if you drive me home right now.”
         She glanced around the café. There was just a college student with a laptop in the corner. Deeming it safe to associate with me, she stood.
         “It was Phanta!”
         “Oh, well, that’s okay then I guess,” I replied. “But still, could you drive me home please?”
         Nessa said goodbye to Blaine before leaving the store. Once we were in the car I shed my mask and cranked up the air.
         Nessa frowned and turned it down before pulling out to head towards our home, the S.H.O.V.E.L. headquarters. We arrived in a half an hour at the hundred foot tall shovel monument for Californian gold diggers that appeared as though a giant had stuck it in the ground and left it, tilted at a slight angle. Home sweet home.