“The hell is going on in here,” said a deep, foreboding voice from overhead. 'That doesn't even make any sense,' shouted the man in the expensive, brown coat. He'd never been very good at on-the-spot retorts. 'You've got no head,' Chuck screamed back. He turned back toward the headless corpse and removed his jacket-now aware he no longer wanted it-and placed it over the body, pretending to tuck it in. Now all he had was a dead body and an embarrassingly lackluster coat, which left him no closer to paying off his long-standing parking ticket. If he could have started the day over, he would gladly have just robbed this man, rather than following-through with this week’s plot. It looked expensive-definitely worth more than his own. “He’s not fine,” shouted a man in a long, brown coat. 'So-uh-anyone catch the Jets game last night? Exciting stuff, right?' he said in a desperate attempt to change the topic. “I’m telling you,” Chuck said, “he’s fine, just super tired.” He coughed. Today, however, had turned out a bit different. Unfortunately, his plan ultimately failed after the arms neglected to dump their buckets, alongside the fact that he’d accidentally overlooked the whole “live, electrified wire” portion. The tellers greeted him when they entered, explained how excited they were for today’s misguided attempt at getting money for his parking ticket, and nodded admiringly at his work. A wire was to fall from the ceiling at that second, electrifying everyone in the area and allowing him to waltz in afterwards to steal some cash-just $15 or $20 to pay some overdue parking tickets, that’s all he’d ever wanted.Ĭhuck had spent the whole week prior reading up on robotics so he could build the devices needed, only to finish setting them up mere minutes before the bank opened. Last week’s attempt, for example, had been an incredibly elaborate scheme in which he’d set up several buckets of water throughout the bank that were automated to spill at the exact same moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to be deadly, it was just that he never succeeded. They never were when it came to his crimes-mainly because his tended to be less of the “violent” kind and more of the “elaborate yet inept” variety. It was only a matter of time until the police arrived-or worse-although he knew no one would be in a rush. They were staring at him, half of them with jaws dropped open, the other half covering their mouths with their palms. The bank had emptied out, save for maybe ten people that remained huddled by the teller’s counter. “Did not,” Chuck said, turning toward the voices. “You cut it off with some sort of incredibly elaborate pendulum.” “He’s got no head, you asshole,” shouted a third voice.

He and I are good pals, we were out partying last night. His head was laying several inches away from his torso, expressionless eyes staring up at Chuck. “No,” Chuck said, staring down at the clearly-dead body.

He had a doctor’s appointment in 45 minutes, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Hush now.” He shifted slightly so his body blocked as much of the corpse as he could. “What the fuck,” shouted a voice from across the room. He carefully lifted his right foot and slowly began pushing the corpse away, like a housewife nonchalantly brushing dirt under a table. This was absolutely not how he’d expected the morning to turn out he’d grown so accustomed to failure in his criminal attempts that any sort of success was simply unthinkable. Chuck stared at the crumpled body on the floor, a pool of blood collecting beneath it and blending into its wrinkled yellow cape.

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