"This is a robbery," he announces meekly.

"Excuse me?" A woman at the counter looks up, fixes her glasses and blinks at him with polite interest. "I'm sorry, dear, you have to speak louder."

He's sweating under a thick scarf and wondering how the hell he's ended up in this position. That's not what his mom would have wanted for him. He was supposed to become a veterinarian, take up photography, buy a station wagon and move to the countryside. He wasn't supposed to let some morons convince him to get into a far-fetched business with them and in result get threatened with having his fingers cut off and his teeth pulled out by douchebags who think they're mobsters. If he's at least made a fortune on it then maybe it would be worth it. But he still can't even afford a car, he just ended up back to square one with the additional bonus of being here in this delightful company.

But this is it, just one last folly and he will get even and free to do whatever he wishes. Which is to sleep this whole escapade off and never  mention it again.

Something pokes him hard in the back to urge him on. It's Mikrus' finger. Why does he even have to be the one to do the talking? He's hopeless at this whole intimidation thing.

He takes a deep breath and pulls a gun on the charming but hard of hearing teller. People in the line look up curiously, either not realizing yet that they are in danger or just sensing that he has no idea what he's doing and thus not being very concerned.

"This is a robbery!" he shouts.

•~💰~•

"You watched the game with her?" she asks, sounding devastated.

He raises his eyebrows incredulously. "That's your biggest worry?"

"But we always watch it together," she starts before recalling that he'd also just admitted to cheating on her multiple times, including right after the game they should have watched together when, if she remembers correctly, he happened to be on the phone with her. Maybe the game indeed isn't the biggest of their problems.

She quickly gets over this unnecessary sentimental setback and resumes packing. She tosses her make-up bag into her suitcase and stops by the jewelry box.

"Come on, babe, don't be..."

"You filthy, lying piece of shit!" she blows up, grabbing one of the pillows and throwing it at him. "I feel sick when I look at you!"

She casts around for something heavier. Her eyes fall on the ugly blue vase they've gotten from his mother and narrow with glee at first, but then she pauses. No, wait, he hates it as much as she does. What will he miss most? She goes for his vinyl collection.

"Can we talk about this...?" He follows her, having the nerve to use this infuriatingly patient voice of his.

"We're not going to talk about anything! We're over! And!" She points a finger at him, enraged. "It might be your place, but don't forget it's not just yours! Who paid for these tiles? I want them back!"

"How am I supposed to do that, tear them off the wall?" he scoffs like she's the unreasonable one here. "That's what you want?"

A vinyl record flies over his head.

"I want my money back!" she screeches, reaching for another one with little remorse.

"No, not Bowie!" His voice gets frantic and he barely ducks this time. "Well I don't have any!" he finally exclaims, cringing.

She stops destroying his possessions and blinks, so at least he's achieved his goal. "What do you mean you don't have any?" she hisses dangerously.

"I'm... kind of between projects right now," he explains reluctantly.

She gapes at him, digesting what he's just said. It was all lies, his love declarations, his living situation. What else? Did he ever uttered a truthful word to her? All these years down the drain. What is she supposed to do now? Has she even made any plan B or has she been so blinded that she's just assumed everything is going to work out?

How does a developer even run out of money?

"Could you," he starts sheepishly. "Could you give me the ring back?"

For a minute she just stands there and breathes. She's endured his mother. She's gone to his every game. She's worn skimpy, uncomfortable underwear for him. Not to mention, she's an actual catch! And this is what she gets?

She grabs the whole jewelry box, hurls it into her suitcase without care, zips it up and walks out.

"Where are you even going...?"

"To my sister, you fucking asshole!" she yells before slamming the door.

Now would be a good time for some plan B to fall from the sky.

•~💰~•

The back of his neck is unpleasantly sweaty. He checks again if everything is in its place; his meds, his lucky boxer briefs, his passport—what even for? He's not going to bloody Asia—his inhaler. He stands up, walks up to the mirror by the wardrobe and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I know I might not be what you were expecting... I didn't mean to lie to you, I was just scared that you wouldn't like me the way I am. As you can see, I'm nothing special. That's the only reason I was delaying meeting in person, because I couldn't stand the thought of you being disappointed after seeing... this. But I wasn't lying about my feelings, so if you..." he breaks off, grimacing at the sound of his own voice. It's so high-pitched and feeble, it's become increasingly difficult to constantly keep it low while talking on the phone.

Well, he won't be posing for someone else for long now. Soon it will all be out in the open, his voice and his face that is even worse and looks completely different here in the mirror than it does in overly artistic pictures he'd spent hours editing before he even dared to send them. His eyes roam his reflection, pale and scrawny, with pimply skin and a tragic haircut. A walking disaster.

He turns away from the mirror and takes out his phone. A slim, tall girl in a tight dress is standing beneath a palm tree next to a well built, tanned man in sunglasses. They're both smiling brightly at the camera. He sighs longingly, then clenches his teeth with resolve, goes to the messages and types while heading out, dragging his suitcase behind him.

I'll be at ZOB around 6pm tonight. (Sent, 9:11am)

"I'm going away," he announces solemnly from the living room doorway. His mother raises one thick eyebrow and puts her teacup on the soucer.

"Oh? When will you be back?"

"Saturday, most likely."

She stares at him for a long moment. "What do you mean? Don't be silly," she scoffs before dismissing him and going back to her crossword.

"Goodbye, mother," he says gravely.

"Wait, where are you actually going?" she calls after him, this time sounding truly alarmed, but he's already turned around and marched out.

He pauses outside the door and tries to lift his suitcase to carry it down the stairs. It's not that big, but he still winces under its weight and instead heads towards the elevator.

Here he comes to face his worst fears.

•~💰~•

Carpooling. Awful business, but a man needs to save whenever he can. He looks around the bustling street, cursing that they've had to request a meeting point downtown. At this rate it's going to take ages just to get out of Warsaw. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, irritated by the sound of gum chewing.

"Could you stop?" he barks and is immediately pinned by a disdainful gaze.

"Should I stop breathing as well?" his daughter scorns.

Shit, no. His... kid. He glances at them from the corner of his eye. They look just like always, sprawled in the passenger seat in a crumpled t-shirt and baggy jeans, skimming through the pages of their manga with little interest. They've been a handful lately and he feels like being mad is becoming his default mode. He's been trying to tell himself that it's just that kind of age, but haven't they both had enough problems without teenage rebellion?

Though now he notices they also seem quite miserable and suddenly he can't tell if that's how they usually look or is it just for this occasion.

"You're already getting rid of me. Might be easier to just kill me," they add, shrugging.

"Jesus, do you have to be so overdramatic?" he bristles. "I'm not trying to get rid of you. I've been busting my guts to give you a decent life. You wanted to go, you were the one who said you would be happier there. That you could be... you, whatever that means. And it's not forever. Say a word and I'll come get you back, I'll—"

He flinches when a loud knock on the window cuts him off.

"Are you going to Berlin?" a haughty blonde with a huge red suitcase asks when he opens the door. "I'm Sylwia Holc and I'm your passenger," she informs him, raising her phone with an open app and giving him a dubious look that indicates she doesn't really expect him to be able to get her there. "The app says a white Volvo. This one is not white, it's gray," she points out unhelpfully.

"Trust me, it's white," he mutters before introducing himself, "Marcin." He gets out of the car, thanking every power above that his car has a big trunk. He sees a short kid walking up to them and raising his hand like a schoolboy. "Berlin?" he asks curtly.

The kid nods, although he doesn't look very certain that's where he's actually going. At least this one has packed more reasonably.

"This is my daughter, Maja," Marcin says after getting their stuff into the car, pointing to his offspring who has just gotten out and slipped into the backseat next to the nervous kid. Marcin shrugs and indicates the passenger door to the blonde in a way he hopes is welcoming.

"It's Mai, actually," he hears after getting inside.

"Niko," the kid also introduces himself, but his quiet voice is drowned out by the engine.

"So, what are you going to Berlin for?" Sylwia asks casually when Marcin is trying to maneuver out of the parking lot. Looks like she's a small talk person. He sighs internally. She continues, undeterred, when she doesn't get an answer right away. "I'm visiting my sister."

"We're going to see her mother," he mutters, glancing into the rearview mirror. Mai looks disgruntled.

"Oh that's nice," Sylwia chirps, not reading the room, or rather the car, very well. "What about you, Niko, are you also visiting family?"

The kid in the mirror looks trapped and eventually decides to pretend he hasn't heard her.

"...and here's some breaking news, a bank robbery took place earlier today in one of the local branches in Sochaczew in Masovian Voivodeship. The police do not specify how much money has been stolen, only reveal that around 9:30 this morning an armed assailant walked into the bank and threatened the employees into handing him the money before fleeing. The police have apprehended the local gang leader suspected of organizing the heist, but neither the actual perpetrator nor the money have been traced yet. According to witnesses, the culprit was wearing a gray jacket and a checked black and red scarf over his face. The police have published the description of the perpetrator and are appealing for anyone who has any information that might help establish their identity to either call 112 or contact the District Police Department in Sochaczew directly by calling the following number..." After a string of digits a news woman's voice is replaced by the host's. "Who robs a bank on Monday morning? You'd think the crime should let people get rolling a bit first. And to do just that, a music break now..."

The silence that falls upon them while they listen to the trashy song on the radio is only a little awkward and Marcin is glad he can focus on driving. Then Mai opens their mouth.

"So, Niko, what does it stand for? Nikolas? Nikodem?" He must nod, because otherwise they wouldn't stop digging. "Is it him or her that you're staring at?" Marcin glances into the mirror and sees them peeking over his shoulder.

"What?" Nico anxiously hides his phone.

"Maja, you can't ask people that," Marcin admonishes them before cursing himself for forgetting to use that stupid name again.

Mai rolls their eyes, but changes the subject. "So, do you often travel like this?"

"No, this is my first time." The kid finally decides to engage in the conversation, but not before taking an inhaler out of his pocket and puffing twice.

"Oh, mine too," Sylwia chips in, not wanting to be left out.

"I see." Mai nods to themselves in an overly serious manner. "More and more people are using this app, not even thinking of the possible consequences," they remark. Marcin rubs his face. When he needs something, he has to squeeze every word out of them, but when they get on a roll, they're impossible to shut up. "Do you think anyone actually checks the drivers? Especially women should be careful," they suddenly address Sylwia. "Even women your age."

"Maja!" Marcin snaps in warning, but they ignore him. The kid next to Mai is getting paler with every word.

"You never know who the driver is and what's their intention. They might want to rob you. Or... they might just want to hurt someone and who's easier than a person who willingly gets into their car?" Mai says in an innocent voice, leaning against Sylwia's headrest so their lips are right next to her ear. She shifts uneasily.

"Maja, that's enough!"

"Can we take a break?" Nikodem asks weakly, pointing his head at the approaching gas station.

"I'm sorry about her, I don't know what she..." Marcin starts apologetically, glancing into the mirror where Mai looks straight at him in cold satisfaction.

"Can't you see he's not well?" Sylwia barks shrilly. "Just pull over!"

•~💰~•

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pulls into a gas station, looking around wildly, but he doesn't see Mikrus and Borys following. He parks with difficulty, leans back and takes a few calming breaths before finally checking his hand. It's bleeding a lot, the whole left side of the steering wheel is sticky with it. He opens the glovebox and finds some rags. He grabs the gun he's tossed between the seats and wraps it in one of them before putting it into the door pocket, then uses the other one to wrap his hand in. He's going to need a first-aid kit so it won't get infected.

He can't believe they have just left him there, fucking cowardly assholes, and after he's actually managed to do what they've come for, they've tried to piggyback his success. Now he thinks it might not have been the best idea to just headbutt Borys, nick his car keys and split. But on the radio they've said the big idiot has been caught, so who are they even supposed to pay back now? He doesn't know the rest, Mikrus has been the one to deal with those people. He's only met the scary one once, late at night on the freaking playground, and only for long enough for the guy to threaten him with doing bad things to his fingers and teeth. The asshole might not even remember him. He might not even know his name.

He might not even know his name.

He sits there, stupefied, before getting out of the car in a trance. Only now he has enough awareness to register he's been driving an old white Volvo, though Borys must not have washed it in ages, it's so dirty it could be mistaken for gray. Before he mostly focused on the engine making a rattling noise on higher gears and wishing he's stolen a better car.

He opens the trunk and gets a little dizzy at the sight, so he slams it shut and goes to the store.

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