May 18th, 1993
San Francisco Museum of Archaeology 3:27 PM
The truck transporting explosives was wary as usual. The military base was just three miles away, but the driver was still thinking the sleek black limousine was following him on purpose. Inside the limo, a man pushed a button on a laptop computer, and the streetlight went red. The truck stopped, but the limo didn’t. It rear-ended the truck, knocking the back doors open. A man in a mask and a red suit came out of the car holding a tommy gun. He had a burlap sack over his shoulder. He went inside the truck and dumped ¾ of all the explosives in the sack. He climbed into the front seat, looked at the driver, and took off his mask.
The driver gasped. “What—”
“Don’t ask. Just. Drive,” said the man in the red suit. He shot four rounds of bullets into the windshield, shattering it. He placed his explosives on the hood of the truck and turned on the detonator.
“Turn to the right, please,” said the man.
“Toward the museum?” gulped the driver.
“Is there any other building to the right?”
“Alright then. Right into the wall, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, sir,” said the driver.
The man cursed and pushed the man out the truck. “Do I have to do everything myself?”
He swerved the truck into the wall, giggling madly. He opened the door and dove out seconds before the it crashed, and set off the explosives. Still laughing, he dashed into the museum and took all manner of things. He dumped them in his burlap sack and went back into his limo. The man in the passenger seat looked at the man in the red suit.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Oh, I think we’ll make a thousand dollars or so off the Black Market,” he cackled.