“They Call Me Blast”

I had a name, they called me “Blast,” and just a few moments ago, I was an explosive expert. So here I lay, a severed head detached, my body a mangled mess of bone and flesh lying just a few feet from me. I watched as the blood pooled out onto the cold, white tile floor. The world before me twisted and swirled as an abstract painting of violence and despair. My comrades in crime continued with their desperate struggle against time and fate.

A grizzled Jack yelled across the room at Dom, “Open the damn vault door.” Dom was a gruff ex-soldier, he used all his strength, to pry the vault open. Sweat was streaming down his face and his muscles were betraying his mounting desperation. The hinges of the vault groaned, and the door creaked, revealing a paradise of untold riches.

My severed head rolled across the floor as Dom’s boot kicked me aside. My head has now become just another mere obstacle to their fortune. I watched as my fellow mates stepped over me without a second thought, my once former partners-in-crime blinded by greed. In their minds, I had already been forgotten, just a footnote in their criminal history.

My detached perspective allowed me to see the world in a different light, even in the flashes of my demise. It was as if the universe had granted me a final chance to witness the irony of my situation.

It was then, that the world outside the bank exploded into chaos as the law descended upon us. Blue and red lights danced across the walls, and the voices of determined officers grew louder. I watched on as my former allies, cornered and desperate, made their last stand. Guns blazed, and bullets whizzed through the air, as the harsh sirens competed with the deafening echo of gunfire.

The tide of fate had turned, my comrades had fallen, their lifeless bodies crumpling like discarded puppets. The dream of wealth and fortunes that had driven us to this point was extinguished by a blaze of justice.

As the smoke cleared and the echoes of violence subsided, Only the figures in blue were left standing, they had risen from the shadows of the street to protect the city's peace, and I had the front-row seat. I watched it all from my immobile vantage point, my head lying beside a pile of riches. Riches that could never be mine. I had once been an expert in explosives, and now I was a mere spectator of the end of a criminal folly.

In the end, the bank's fortune remained untouched, and my fate, sealed by my hand, was a grim reminder of the price one pays for dancing with the explosive forces of the world.