2010-07-01: A Night At The Museum

Starring:

Emily_V5icon.pngJanet_V5icon.pngMorgan_V5icon.pngStanford_V5icon.pngVasha_V5icon.png

Guest Starring:

Thin Man and Thick Man

Date: July 1, 2010

Summary:

It's not walk in the park for this group of hostages Heroes.


"A Night at the Museum"

The Museum of Modern Art

It's a regular night at the museum, 7:45pm and all is well. The lone security guard at the podium near the entrance is lazily watching people pass in and out through the main door. He's an older gentleman, portly, balding, and past the age of retirement. This is a job to keep the income in, presumably so the wife doesn't have to take a position at McDonalds to supplement their retirement fund.

The place itself is sparsely populated, a few people milling here and there, most of them touring the main room with its large and garish statues of things barely recognizable as people in various lewd positions. It's a genre all in itself. One woman in jeans and a blouse meanders through the great hall, her hazel eyes scanning the room for something that most people might assume to be the art itself. She carries a large purse that's slung from one shoulder, heavy by the looks of it. As she passes by a couple in their thirties, she gives them a wane smile and shoves between them and the display they are looking at. No apologies offered, only a solitary grunt that yes, she knows they were there first.

Unfortunately for everyone at the museum this is where Janet McCarty, ultra-chatterbox, goes for some quiet. She's dressed casually in a pair of dark wash jeans, and a button up long sleeved blouse. Her face is still reddish from the airbags at the crash site thanks to some bruising. Standing near one of the paintings she slides towards one of the other patrons. "What do think of that one— I think it's kind of vulgar and grotesque, but almost beautiful if I look at it upside-down or sideways it kind of looks like a tree or a flower maybe a lead box? Definitely a lead box, don't you think?! There was this one time I totally painted something like that— " she raises a hand somewhat flippantly "— not that I'm an artist! I'm totally not, just a medical type… one of those medicinal type people with a love of art— how about you, are you an artist— "

One Hundred Things To Do in NYC reads the book in Morgan Gale's hands — a typical tourist guide to the city, with the highlights of each site to see laid out. MoMA of course is on this list, and so Morgan is here, tilting her head with a confused look on her face as she tries to decipher what in the world the two lumpy figures are doing in that particular sculpture. Why does what she assumes is the female have three legs and five eyes? Why does the male seem to be standing on his head, and is that even possible?

Her head tips until its almost upside down, as if the sculpture will make more sense that way, and then she straightens and shrugs, turning around and noticing Janet — who she hasn't met in this body. Morgan frowns, running a hand through her blonde hair and considering introducing herself — but what do you say? She knows Erin's probably invited Janet over to meet her properly — she also knows Janet must have declined. She takes a couple of uncertain steps in Janet's direction.

Twenty bucks to see some of the most important pieces of modern art in the whole world. Seems a little steep since…this sort of stuff is what they're trying to call art. Emily had been there a while, since finishing a dinner at a nearby eatery (hell no, she's not checking out that five-star here in the restaurant!). For the most part, she'd been the very model of a 'good patron,' reading every card and trying to understand them.

Problem is, she's starting to think about it just like Janet…who she can hear from at least one gallery room away. It makes her chuckle in the quiet of that room, and she excuses herself from there with a smile, touching another couple on the shoulder as she passes by, excusing herself. Heck, she might even pass that woman with a large purse! Either way, she flashes a momentary little frown as the touch reminds her that no, she has no tricks anymore…not since that strange carnival!

"Watch out dere now, gurl!"

That's right. There's a no Janitor on the Floor and his name is Otis Jacksonville! You can tell that by the big ol' 'Otis' on his jumpsuit. He's got the whole outfit on like there's nobody's business, looks and smells quite bad and even is pushing one of those carts. The tall, lanky, black man just tries to bob and weave his way through whatever crowd is there, without even thinking about NOT causing a ruckus. It is, after all, the best way to make an entrance.

WHAM!

Bumping into the security guard is also the best way to pilfer his ID card. "Whoa! Sorry dere! Din't mean to be bumpin' into yer! Haha! Crazy evenin'!" He works on trying to steady the old guard with one hand, whilst the other tucks away said ID card without so much as a piece of hesitation.

Within the next moment, Otis is back at his cart and pushing it again. Smirk Included.

Janet receives a narrow eyed glance and a haughty sniff at her evaluation of the piece that she's looking at. "Yes, I suppose it does look much like a lead box," Vasha answers slowly as she tries to remove herself from the loud woman's presence. Unfortunately it doesn't work so well because with acknowledgment comes a passing familiarity and the fear that Vasha has soon comes to pass. She now has a museum buddy. Try as the tall woman might, the tiny brunette will be impossible to shake.

The guard at the entrance was almost asleep, almost. When Otis runs him over, there's a snort and the guard jerks up to attention and gives the lanky man a rather weak smile. "Yeah.. crazy.. Same ol' same ol'.. Heh heh.." He doesn't even notice the missing badge, he's too busy wiping the sweat off his forehead. He was almost caught.

A couple of young men, perhaps in their late teens to early twenties saunter through the doors and smile at the old man. Well, one of them smiles, the other stares straight ahead. Since the both of them have wrist bands, the guard doesn't seem to take much notice of them. They seem to be joined at the hip, walking to a timed cadence and only parting to weave around the janitor and toward the two blond art aficionados.

"It's true right?! I mean, I know it's art, but seriously!!! Who would paint a lead box? I wouldn't just kind of boring and stuff, but still must be awesome on some level or they wouldn't call it art, right?" Janet raises both eyebrows and issues Vasha a small shrug. "So, you come here often?" And then snickering she shakes her head, "I just heard that the way you did and for the record I'm so not hitting on you! Seriously! I don't bat for that team, although you are a very pretty woman— if I was— I mean, I like men." Her cheeks flush a bright red colour as she clears her throat. "I'm Janet, by the way."

Unaware of the various movements of young men, janitors, and security guard, Morgan is trying to catch Janet's eye — but she's too busy not hitting on Vasha to notice the blonde, so finally Morgan clears her throat. "Janet?" she says tentatively, though it's unfortunately right after the woman introduced herself to Vasha, so now it looks like she could be some crazy con woman, probably. "I… you probably don't remember me, it's been a while since you've seen me, and I think I've… I've gone blonde since the last time you saw me," she prologues as a way to forewarn Janet for the shock. "It's me — Morgan?"

The new room is…definitely the room filled with the vaguely sexual images. Or are they? It's open to interpretation. Between Janet and Morgan it's pretty much been summed up. When Janet open mouth, inserts foot, Emily can't help but crack a little grin and a chuckle at her, even though she's striding in from that side room. There's a click of heels, combined with some tight jeans and a plain white tanktop - her definition of casual - as she crosses this room to get closer to this suddenly-large crowd as the museum gets on toward closing time.

That's right. Nobody pay attention to Otis. He's just a janitor. All he's doing is pulling his cart in front of a door that nobody's supposed to be looking at because it leads to somewhere that only high clearance people are allowed to go and that cart is parked in front of it shows that it's about to be cleaned out. Right? Right.

With a swipe of the ID card, the door clicks and a light flashes green, before Otis backs his way into the room. The cart doesn't move, but a small duffle bag is carried with him. The door closes just as quickly as it was opened. Skills.

"Nicely done." Stanford tells himself, flinging the ID off to the side and stepping around a desk, to get to the chair on the other side. His bag is dropped down on the floor and he proceeds to unzip himself out of the (now) useless jumpsuit. Revealing a stylish suit, he's already dressed for his exit, as he sits down at the computer. "Let's make a deal, baby." He must be talking to himself, because already he's pulling stuff out of his bag and hooking it up to the computer, whilst keeping one eye on the monitors hooked up to the security system. Just in case.

Through the monitor, Otis can make out the two young men circling the room and while one makes his way to the guard, the other saunters toward the last of the straggling patrons. Namely the four women in the sculpture room. From the inside of his jacket, two guns are drawn and waved toward the women. In another monitor, the other young man pulls two guns and points one toward the head of the guard.

"May I have your attention please!" The thinner of the two young men announces clearly into the room. He has a smile on his face, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Looking between the four women, he waves one of his guns toward a door at the opposite end of the room. "If you will direct your attention to the door over there, I would like you to make your way toward it in a calm and orderly fashion. If there are no surprises, then no one needs to get hurt."

Vasha's attention had previously been focused on the blonde and brunette (Morgan and Janet) near her. It is only when the young man points out another that she actually spies the other blonde. Her eyes dart toward the closest camera and then to the gunman. Surely the scene is being recorded, it's a museum after all.

Following her gaze, the young man turns toward the camera and smiles before …

One of the monitors goes blank.

The thicker of the two men aims one of his pistols at a spot on the guard's forehead. "You don't want me to pull the trigger," he says calmly and very coldly. "Go lock the door and then join the others over there. If you do anything… you won't ever go home again."

Unfortunately for the patrons of the art, the guard is no hero.

The sound of her name causes Janet to snap around and face Morgan. Her head tilts as she glances up at the ceiling and tries to place Morgan, "Morgan, Morgan… Morgan… I don't think I've ever met… I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered you— " until it clicks. Her mouth gapes open and her eyes widen as she takes a step backwards, towards the art and then is distracted by the two young men in the room.

"What the hey?! Does he have a gun— seriously? Who brings a gun to the museum!? Why is this stuff always happening around me… first the whole weirdness with the— and then like the car accident with the Chlorine and now some random robbery in my thinking place— " she murmurs as she puts her hands on her head and begins shuffling towards the directed door.

Not the warm welcome that she would have liked, but she didn't expect much warmth anyway, Morgan frowns a little, nodding once it's clear that Janet knows who she is — but then there's a man waving a gun at her and the other women nearby. Her lips part — apparently this kin of stuff always happens to her in this life, too, though in this life she isn't equipped to handle it.

"Don't shoot," she says, her voice surprisingly steady as she lifts both hands to show she has no weapons, taking a step backward. Her eyes skim the room, looking for someone who might be able to help — or maybe a weapon.

On the far end of the room to start, Emily is the nearest to the indicated door. So, she can really milk turning and making for said door. There's shock, of course, eyes going wide at the sight of the gun. It's like a sense of deja vu - she can't remember having a gun pointed at her specifically, but the feeling is almost familiar.

"Just be cool, alright? Don't shoot. None of us have a gun on anything." At least, she doesn't, lacking a big purse. The little thing she carries definitely couldn't fit a gun inside. There is a cell phone though. "Just let us get out."

On the computer screen, files are being transferred with the epic quickness that can only happen in the world of fictional reality. But that's not where the attention is lying. Oh no. The attention is lying on the monitors… and the one that just went black.

"Oh no. Oh no no no no no no. No no no. No no. NO!"

Stanford is already minimizing certain data theft in favor of typing his way into the security system of this museum. "This cannot be happening to me right now. This was cake. With chocolate icing. And now I got a couple of sprinkles messin' everything up." Eyes skim and scan to see what kind of security system this museum has and what he'll be able to have at his disposal.

"God. I swear, if you weren't black, I'd blame this on race right now. Straight up." More finger mashing has the hacker leaving the computer to run two different programs while he digs around in his own bag for his own laptop.

"Damn thieves."

The guard hurries over to the door and locks it as directed by the man with the gun trained on him. Then followed by that same young man, he enters the room with the women. His hands are on his head with his fingers laced together.

"You see how the guard's got his hands? That's how I want each and every one of you lookin' in about two seconds." The thinner of the two announces then his dark brown eyes fix on Emily and he widens his smile. "Like I said, blondie, you cooperate, you get out alive. You don't— Well there's no guarantees."

The thicker of the two seems a little nervous and he jabs the guard in the back with one of his pistols. "Get over to that room and open the door."

Ever so slowly, as to not spook either of the gentlemen, Vasha laces her fingers together and puts her hands on the top of her head. Then she turns her head to whisper to Janet, "Do as they say… do not argue."

"Hey Legs! Did anyone tell you to make a noise? No! They didn't!!" The thin man races into the crowd and strikes the butt of the pistol into the woman's face. Unsurprisingly, she crumples like a bit of paper on Christmas morning. Falling to the floor with no ceremony. The clunk of her purse echoes throughout the room though its contents stay intact. "You two!" The thin man barks at Janet and Morgan, "Carry her to the room… NOW!"

Janet does as she's told murmuring indiscernibly all the while. "Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh— " she keeps murmuring even as she laces her fingers on her head. "This is so not the visit I had in mind…"

She glances at Morgan however and walks over to the woman crumpled on the ground. But, behind Janet, she has to ask, "Can I… take my hands off my head to do it? I'm sorry but I'm not strong enough to devise another way— I'm just tryin' to follow instructions here, sorry if it's not that clear— "

"Oh, my God," Morgan gasps as the man pistol whips Vasha and the woman falls. "She was just telling us to follow what you said!" she says, dark green eyes flashing angrily as she drops to her knees to help the woman. She reaches to grab the woman's heavy purse, pulling it over her shoulder, not asking for permission like Janet. Then she gathers Vasha's legs, and nods to Janet. "Get her arms - we can't do it with our hands on our head, obviously," she says, glancing at the purse and wondering why it's so damn heavy.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Emily's heels are the only sounds over the questions of the girls, the deep breaths and the grunts of the two women trying to help drag Vasha away. They look like they have more than a handful trying to carry her off. As she crosses the room, her hands are laced on the back of her head, and she stares at the gunmen. Better get their appearances filed away for police reports.

"Did I mention how much this sucks, yet?"

Not that he's talking to anyone at the moment but himself, Stanford just kind of pays more attention to the laptop that he's got booted up and hooking up to the security system so that he can do some kind of quick recon. "First rule of Hack Club. Know who the frak you're dealing with." Stanford eyes the monitor and tries to get a couple of good shots of the gunmen, so that his facial recognition software can spin through and see if anything comes up on these foolios.

Setting the laptop down to do its thing, Stanford's back focused on the computer and popping out the jump drive that now has everything he needs on it and pockets it. "Okay. Now I gotta' find an exit. That doesn't involve gettin' holes in my ass." Glancing back up to the monitor while he pulls up the building's blueprints, Stanford frowns. Why the frown? Why is it not being turned upside down? Why can't he just stay focused on getting himself out of dodge?

There's Blondes In The Building.

"… Always with the damsels in distress. Figures." Stanford slumps back in his seat and looks back at his laptop, waiting impatiently. He needs information.

The lights go dim in the main part of the museum. Apparently the lone guard at the door wasn't the only guard in the building because in another monitor a younger man swaggers through swinging a night stick in his hand. He rounds the corner and immediately falls to the ground.

Someone is whistling Dixie.

"Who the fuck?!" The thinman barks and races toward the sound. He stops at the corner and peeks around it before letting off two shots.

BLAM BLAM

His thicker companion balks suddenly and just stares in the direction of his thinner cohort. "Josiah, we weren't suppo— "

"Did you just say my name?! Are you stupid?!" A glare is shot in the direction of all the hostages and he points them toward the room. "Get in there, sit on the floor, keep your hands on your heads where I can see them. If anyone moves a tiny muscle, I swear to Christ I'll blow your head off. Capiche?!"

Janet does as Morgan instructs and takes Vasha's arms. And the pair drag Vasha to the room as directed. Once inside she does as she's told although, she's not exactly quiet. Ever. "So… what's going on? Stealing something or something? I bet the good people here would appreciate the guns out their faces…" her hands remain on her lap and she sits as still as possible, but she can't help but chat. It's a nervous habit. "I mean, we know they're there, you know? And maybe someone here can help you get whatever you want and then we'd all be better for wear, right?" She issues them a twitchy nervous smile. Not confident, but at the same time not lacking warmth.

Holy Cow, that purse is heavy. Vasha isn't that heavy, but neither she or Erin are very muscular, so all in all, it's a bit difficult for Morgan to get the unconscious woman to the room. She's also wheezing a little. As she puts her hands back on her head like a good little girl, she glances down into the purse that isn't hers — she's not actually carrying one of her own, so at least she's only weighed down by Vasha's. Using her elbow she tries to make the opening big enough with slow, gradual motions so she can see inside — maybe there is something useful in there.

"You know…there are cameras all over this place. Best security systems in New York. It's going to be really, really hard for you take anything you know." Polite dissent, or something like that? Whatever it is, Emily's throwing little barbs at the two crooks even as she follows their marching orders to the letter. "Josiah, huh? That's not a very common name around here that I've heard." She puts her back against the wall, and her heels squeak on the floor as she slides down to a seated position. The gunshots make her jump a little, eyes widening. "Oh, that's definitely going to get someone's attention."

"Oh lawd Jesus! They shootin'!"

Stanford can't figure out what in the hell he's going to do about this. Not right now, anyway. People are getting shot and then there's… it's just not pretty. Not pretty at all. "Seriously. This is the last time I pull a job like this alone. Last time!"

With the self pep talk all done, Stanford figures that his best bet would be to see if he can't… do something about… lightbulb! Stanford smiles. "Oooh. Stanford, you genius, you."

With a smirk attached to his face, Stanford gets back to the main terminal and pulls up the building information once more. With some well placed fingers on the keyboard and the image of the building on the screen, activating the fire alarm system isn't even close to being a problem for the Hacker Guru.

"These guys need to cool off." Cue loud annoying alarms? Flashing lights? Sprinkler systems?

Poor Priceless Works of Art?

"What the fuck?! Blondie you jus— " The thicker of the two raises one of his guns at Emily's head just before his companion smashes the butt of his pistol into the woman's temple, very hard. Should she not go down easily, he will hit her again until she does.

"That, my friends, is how we tell bitches to shut the fuck up in my neck of the woods," the thin man informs the rest fo the hostages before closing the door and locking it behind them. "If anyone else wants to pipe up, feel free, there's enough pain to go around!" He's a showman, that's for certain. He's smiling at the two remaining women and the guard as though he's the holiest of hosts and they're his honored guests for the evening. Which, in essence, they are.

When Morgan slides open the zipper of the purse, the first thing she sees is a harness. Then the butt of a pistol, still in its own holster. Rolling around the bottom of the bag are some silver colored canisters with red tops. That's not all of the goodies inside of the large purse, but those are the ones that are the most noticeable.

When the sprinkler system and alarms flare on both men look toward the ceiling and the thin man lets out a groan of discontent. "Get a cell phone from one of these two lovely ladies and get the curator on the phone. Tell him we have hostages that are going to die unless he deals. It's his fault the painting's gone."

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh," Janet murmurs again still staying as still as possible although the comment about the cellphone is met with all-too-much-cooperation from the doctor. "I have a phone! Just— " she lowers her hands from her head slowly, holding them out for the captors to see. "— don't hurt anyone— " she continues to lower her hands until they're at her pocket. Slowly she pulls out her small pink cellphone which she holds out for the larger of the men and issues him a small quirk of a smile almost apologetic and at least a little fearful, but still containing a hint of warmth. A small hint.

Morgan's eyes widen as the man pistol whips another woman, then narrows them angrily. Her breathing whistles, and she uses the request for a cell phone to allow her to rummage in her purse.

Peter, Paul and Mary, is that a gun? "I have a phone," she murmurs, acting as if she can't hear Janet claim she has one. She curls her fingers around the gun in the purse, trying to choose her course of action. She could probably pull the gun on the closest man, but the other could shoot her — or Janet, or all of them. The canisters are peered at — some sort of gas? She glances over at Janet nervously, then down to Emily.

With a deep, wheezy breath, she pulls out the gun and aims it at the closest man's head. "Keep your phone, Janet, and call 9-1-1 and tell them we have a standoff…"

Is that…a little smirk on her lips? Yes, it is. Emily's got that little smirk on her lips that means she knows she just under their skin. Thickman's actions aren't coming from out of left field. It's pretty obvious when he steps over and lifts that gun up to show the butt of the pistol that she's gonna get cracked in the head, so she's lowering her arms and takes her lumps like a man. There's a hard crack, a grunt, and then her eyes are rolling back in her head and she's rolling her torso toward the floor. If not out cold, she's certainly seeing stars, and birdies, hearts, raindows, and red balloons. When the spray comes on, it's cold, but she's kind of out of it.

"God damnit, someone shut those damn sprinklers and that freaking alarm off!" The thin man takes his aggression out on the poor prone blonde woman and delivers a swift kick to her gut with his steel toed boots. "That's for the smile," he adds with a smirk before turning to see a gun pointed right at him. He balks and takes a deep breath, staring Morgan right in the eye.

Though the thin man is calm, the thick one isn't. At the sight of Janet pulling something out of her pocket and the gun in Morgan's hand, he turns and fires off a round into the brunette before blanching and throwing both of his guns to the floor. "I— Oh god I'm sorry!!" He cries out, skidding down to his knees beside the woman that was only pulling out a cell phone. "Oh my god… I was… We just wanted to get our painting back…" He's in obvious mental stress.

"Shut up!!" Shrieks the thin man, "Jesus Christ! You're going to blow everything!!" Indeed, there is a standoff between him and Morgan, he doesn't let his eyes up off of her for a second, not even when her smaller friend is fired on. "Drop the gun blondie," he warns, "I already killed a guy… I'm going to jail no matter what. You don't want me adding more bodies to that count."

As the bullet is shot, the doctor's reflexes are tested and she moves. But not quick enough to be missed.

The phone falls to the floor. As does Janet's body. Fortunately, Janet is still chattering, a very very good sign for someone who has been shot, except, what comes out of her lips isn't particularly Janet-ty in nature, in fact, it might be the first time she's actually sworn, "Holy fucking shit mother Mary— Jes— Oh MY FUCKING GOSH… YOU FUCK… Ow…." The bullet managed to graze her spine. In and out. Nothing too important (other than her spine, which is important in its own right) has been hit. No internal organs. No places for massive bleeds. She tries to remain as still as possible. "Someone apply some pressure!" unable to look at her own wound, the doctor has to grit her teeth and bare it.

When the gun goes off, Morgan jumps; she manages not to shoot the gun though her hand begins to tremble and the gun waves as a result. "If you're going to jail no matter what, leave us alone! Whatever this is about, it's not worth it!" Morgan manages, though her breathing grows more and more labored, with less and less room for the air to make it all the way to her lungs. Not again.

The weight of the purse gives her an idea. She glances down at the thicker-set man, stomping on his gun hand with one of her size-ten boots, while at the same time she swings that heavy, heavy purse full of canisters at the thinner man's head.

All these gunshots! It's making it hard for Emily to slip into total unconsciousness. That, and the boot in the gut that's causing her to slowly curl up into a little ball. She's not going anywhere anytime soon though, as that crack on the temple is starting to bleed out from a skin in the skin, and her brain is all fuzzy and sluggish. A few wheezes later, and she tries to talk. "Jus…shot…ullll trigger…thin fuck…" she manages to slur out in a manner that could be concussed or drunken. Morgan's already in action, though.

"Oh, now see, that's just wrong. I gotta' do something. Now."

There's a click and the door opens up that leads to the room where someone else has been watching everything at this moment. Some weird accent that's sounds genuine but hard to place comes out of the door.

"'Allo then! Don't shoot!" A hand extends out of the door, holding a white hanky. Just making sure that the image is all too surrendery. He is not trying to get shot for these blondes. Even if they are fine as hell.

Oh and Janet too. Kind of.

Crunch

The thick man's hand snaps under the weight of the size ten and he lets out a bellow that could rival that of a bull in a ring. He recoils as soon as the pressure is let up and scoots backward against the wall, nursing his comparatively minor injury. He's not especially worried about the waking Emily next to him, he's more concerned about the fact he might die at the hands of the psycho blonde with the bag and the gun.

Morgan is quite true in her aim and not only does she manage to hit the thin man in the head with the heavy purse, effectively causing the two guns to drop from his possession. One of them goes off, sending a bullet whizzing past the hand holding the hankie and embedding in the wall. There's a small hiss from the purse just as the thin man wavers and then falls with a heavy thud onto the floor and smoke begins to pour from the open zipper straight up at Morgan.

Thanks to the sprinkler, and the alarm, and the noise in the room, Vasha slowly comes to consciousness. Blinking her eyes rather rapidly, the first thing she sees is a bloody Janet lying next to her. "Mother have mercy…" she groans before pulling herself to a seated position. Her sharp eyes quickly flutter over the other brunette's body as she assesses the situation and immediately clamps her hands onto the wound.

"Ah!" Janet virtually chokes under the pressure before murmuring raggedly, "Thank you." She winces as the smoke fills the air and she attempts to breathe around it and the sprinkler system. Nothing like being wet, bloody, and full of smoke. Quiet time has definitely taken an unfortunate turn.

"Janet," Morgan says, kicking away all the guns that her feet can reach before dropping to her knees, the one gun still in her hand aiming between the two men to make sure they don't do anything. "Oh, God. Lady, what's in those cans, are we gonna blow up?" she asks, taking short, wheezing breaths and padding down her pockets to search for her newly prescribed inhaler and coming up short. She picks up the fallen cell phone and dials 9-1-1, babbling something about MoMa, robbers, smoke to the dispatcher when the phone is answered. "I'm so sorry, Janet, oh, my God, he shot you…"

Emily groans groggily, blinking heavily, taking deep, deep breaths through her nose. Likely concussed, she starts the long and arduous process of righting herself and getting back to a sitting position. Her eyes are having trouble focusing but there's clearly a change in the atmosphere…smoke included.

The bullet causes Stanford's eyes to go wide and he shakes his head. "That's it. I"m outta' here." Spotting the smoke, he's ducking back into the main room and back out with his bag on his shoulder in record time. "Excellent work, Miss." comes from Stanford as he rushes towards the females, flashing an FBI badge. "Special Agent Nathan Ford. We've been after these two for weeks now." He waves a big hand to get the attention of the others. "If you all could exit out of the building in a timely fashion… like fast as hell… I'll finish up here. Go!" Yes. That should get the females out of harm's way whilst he… does whatever it is he's about to try and do.

The sprinklers put a damper on the smoke, which is lucky for both asthmatics in the room. In the excitement, the thin man began a little labored breathing of his own. The FBI man is here and he's been beaten. A relatively anti-climactic ending for his rather perfect plan. Foiled by a blonde with a gun, purse, and smoke bomb.

As the two men are wrestled out to a squad car, all four girls are loaded onto stretchers and taken away in their own ambulances, Janet's is (of course) going the fastest.

The South African woman is quite vehement in her protests and goes as far to shout at her paramedics that she will sue if they take any action toward her. This is regarded as post traumatic hysterics and she's loaded in despite her protests. Her purse is thankfully without identification of any kind and the only fingerprints on the gun belong to Morgan. It's an easy pin.

When the police arrive to do their own investigation, they find absolutely no evidence that Stanford was even in the building. Not even a camera sweep has caught the man on digital video. Amazing.

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