Jordan closed his refrigerator after finding it empty, which wasn't a surprise since he was the one who ate everything, but knowing that still didn't put food in it.
He went into his bedroom and dug through the dirty pants on his floor looking for anything, a five, a single, whatever had survived the week, and found a crumpled fifty buried in one of the pockets. He had no memory of putting it there. Saving money was not something he did and everybody who'd ever met him would back that up without being asked, but he pocketed it before anything could go wrong and grabbed his hoodie off the bed and pulled the hood up before he touched the door. Some days the universe just handed you something and the correct move was to shut up and take it.
Five minute walk to the corner store. He kept his eyes on the ground the whole way because the last time he looked up a woman had completely lost her mind screaming that he looked like an escaped alien and called the cops on him for making her baby cry. He wasn't winning any beauty contests and he'd known that his whole life, but he thought that was a little fucking much. Hood up, eyes down, five minutes, nobody's problem.
The electronic chime went off when he walked in and the cashier gave him a nod before he even looked up. That had taken months. First time Jordan walked in here the guy's hands went straight to the counter, eyes locked on, the whole thing, and Jordan had stood there and bought his food and left without saying anything and came back the next time because it was close and cheap and he didn't have anywhere better to be. Eventually the nod just started happening one day with no conversation about it from either of them. He didn't need it to mean anything. It was just one less thing he had to brace for walking through a door, and he'd take that every time.
He went straight for the chips aisle and grabbed the hottest flavor they had, one snack with dinner was the rule he'd made for himself and he was sticking to it, so he tucked the bag under his arm and turned toward the frozen section.
Screaming erupted from the front of the store.
"Shut the fuck up and just give me the money!"
Jordan went still. The bag crinkled against his palm.
BANG.
His hands were shaking before he'd decided anything. The bag hit the floor and he dropped into a crouch and moved toward the front, the aisles running diagonal and cutting him a clean line to the glass doors.
He could make it if he ran now. Guy probably wouldn't even see him.
"Psst. Hey, kid."
A man crouched in the next aisle behind a wall of cereal boxes, military uniform, buzz cut, hands wrapped around his phone like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
"I know what you're thinking. Don't do it. Someone already called the police and they should be here any second. Just sit back and wait."
Jordan looked at the uniform. Looked at the hands shaking around the phone. Wait for the cops, wait for negotiations, wait to find out who panicked first and hope it wasn't the guy with the gun.
He turned and kept crawling.
"What an idiot," the man muttered behind him.
You called the cops to a robbery you're hiding inside.
He made it to the end of the aisle with the door a few feet away, the robber and cashier both out of sight, probably in the back where the safe was. Jordan pushed off the floor and ran.
BANG.
He stopped. Not because of the sound. His ear was just gone, heat spreading down his neck, everything collapsing into a high-pitched whine and blood soaking into his collar.
He turned his head.
The man in the military uniform stood at the end of the aisle with the gun up, mouth moving, whatever he was saying completely eaten by the ringing.
Of course it was you.
Jordan dragged himself toward the door and the man fired again, close enough that he felt the air move past his face. His vision narrowed to a point and then there was nothing.
He woke up to someone kicking his leg.
He sat up fast and the world tilted, hands flat on the floor until it stopped. Still inside the store. Three men stood near the checkout counter with rifles, the military guy and two others in black masks and tactical gear. The uniform had been a costume the whole time, which meant Jordan had crawled past a man with a gun while thinking he was crawling past a man without one, which was a strange thing to find out after the fact. He said nothing and touched the side of his head, finding bandages where his ear used to be, fingers coming away sticky.
Ten people sat against the far wall, mouths taped, hands zip-tied. The cashier who'd started giving him the nod was in there, pressed against the wall with everyone else who had done exactly what they were told.
Hadn't helped any of them.
"Nice of you to join us, fatass."
"Now that you're up, you can be useful."
One of the masked men hauled Jordan to his feet and they dragged him toward the front, full dark outside now, the street strobing red and blue through the glass in slow steady pulses.
"Are you sure this is gonna work, boss?" one of the masked men asked. "All this for a thousand?"
"I didn't think they'd send this many," the military man said. "Now I'm improvising."
Three lives on a few thousand dollars and the man was building the whole thing as he went. Jordan clocked that and said nothing, because there was nothing useful to say to someone building a plan that fast.
They stepped outside. At least thirty officers crouched behind cars and barricades with rifles up, snipers on the roof across the street, spotlights turning the whole block white. All of it for three people and a thousand dollars and a man who'd just now figured out he had no plan.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your backs!"
The military man shoved Jordan forward, one hand clamped on his shoulder. "Put the person in charge on the mic!"
A few seconds and a different voice came through, a woman, calm in the specific way people trained themselves to be calm when everything was going sideways.
"What are your demands?"
"We have a hostage right here and forty more inside. This one needs a doctor, he was shot in the ear. Without proper medical attention, he'll die." The grip on Jordan's shoulder tightened. "We want an unmarked vehicle, safe passage, one million dollars, fuel, and a news anchor."
Silence.
"Deal. But we need that hostage treated first. Give us him and five more and you have a deal."
One of the masked men turned sharply. The military man didn't look at him.
"Deal."
He grabbed Jordan's arm, shoved him forward, and leaned in close before letting go. "It was nice knowing you, fatty."
Jordan's jaw tightened. He kept walking.
He ran the numbers before he made it ten steps. The robbers had just handed over their only leverage, which meant nothing was stopping either side from opening fire, and he was standing directly between both of them with nowhere to go.
BANG.
One of the masked men behind him went down. Jordan ran, pavement under his feet and air tearing through his lungs, the hood slipping back and cold hitting his face, and he kept going because stopping was never going to be the thing he chose.
"Hey, fatty!"
Faster.
BANG.
The bullet entered the back of his head and came out the front, and Jordan's body hit the pavement, and his last thought before everything went dark was that he never got the chips.