As I teeter on the beam, the city sprawls below me, a maze of lights and life. Well, it is mostly shadows considering the morning sun. My mind races, trying to make sense of this surreal moment.
"Okay, okay... deep breaths," I mutter to myself, the words lost in the gusts of wind. "How did I even get here?" The memory of falling asleep beside Rachel feels like a distant echo, drowned out by the sheer absurdity of my current situation.
I reach up to touch my face, the realization hitting me like a wave crashing against the shore. "A bonnet mask? Seriously?" It feels strange, foreign, but oddly comforting in this precarious situation. And then there's the weight on my shoulders, an unexpected burden adding to the vertigo-inducing height. "Seven bags... heavy," I murmur, shifting slightly to balance the load. They're black, almost blending into the slight shade that casts over me, each one a reminder of the mystery unfolding before my eyes.
"Okay, focus. Step by step," I tell myself, squinting against the gusts of wind. "But seriously, how on earth do I get down from here?"
I glance around, disoriented, trying to make sense of the situation that has thrust me into the spotlight of confusion. The morning sun, usually a comforting presence, now feels accusatory as I grapple with the dissonance between my expectations and reality. Instead of sharing a sweet breakfast with Rachel, I find myself standing here, questioning my very existence.
The wind cuts through my clothes, a constant reminder of the starkness of the moment. Suddenly, the air is filled with the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades slicing through the atmosphere. I look up to see a helicopter hovering just above me. Panic sets in as I realize the gravity of the situation.
A cop peers out from the helicopter, armed with a megaphone. "You are surrounded! Surrender now!" The words echo around me, bouncing off the skeletal structure of the unfinished building. I stand frozen, my mind struggling to comprehend the abrupt turn of events. "Surrounded? What the fuck is happening?" I mutter to myself, the surreal nature of the scene intensifying with each passing second.
The cop's voice booms through the megaphone, a stern warning slicing through the tense air. "You have no escape! Don’t think of doing anything funny! You better not jump! It is better if you face the law than just die now! I know people can have difficult times, and that’s why they resort to robbery, but surely, there are better ways to do things!"
I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, my confusion evident in my voice. "Jump? Why will I jump? Fuck… Robbery? Who robbed who? Damn it! I don’t even know how I got here!" The words spill out, a mix of frustration and bewilderment. I feel the weight of the bags on my shoulders, the wind biting through my clothes, and the situation spiraling beyond my understanding. “I am honestly and superbly flabbergasted by my current situation. Where the F am I!?”
The cop's patience wears thin, evident in the sharp retort. "There is no use in playing dumb! You fool!" The accusation hangs in the air, and I find myself caught in a web of uncertainty and accusations, desperately trying to unravel the mystery surrounding me.
As more helicopters swarm the scene, the noise and chaos escalate. A couple and some more, identifiable by the logos of different media outlets, hover overhead like vultures eager for a sensational story. I recognize the urgency in their pursuit of a big scoop. Normally, I enjoy attention, even if it's for the wrong reasons, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined. "What the hell?" I mutter to myself, incredulous at the absurdity of the situation. "It's not like I sleepwalk and go to banks to rob them of their money, right?"
The cop's berating continues, the megaphone amplifying his authoritative tone. I decide to throw in a quip or two, attempting to lighten the tension and buy some time for my brain to process the ridiculous turn of events. "Hey, Officer, I'm just trying out a new form of urban hiking. You know, it's all the rage these days," I call out, a smirk playing on my lips. The absurdity of my own comment hangs in the air, a feeble attempt to inject humor into a situation that grows more surreal by the second.
I carefully lay the black bags on the narrow beam, the weight of the money within them adding an extra layer of gravity to the situation. Hesitant fingers pull open the zippers, revealing stacks of cash tightly packed inside each one. "What the fuck?" I breathe out, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. It really is money as I suspect at the back of my brain!
Before I slept, a whimsical thought crossed my mind – wouldn't it be nice to just rob a bank? But in the light of reality, with limited resources and no special powers, such a feat seemed impossible. Yet here I am, surrounded by bags brimming with money. Did I just fucking rob a bank? The irony isn't lost on me.
As I glance around, the magnitude of the spectacle becomes evident. People have gathered below the building, their faces a mix of shock and curiosity. The building's unfinished state serves as a stage for this impromptu drama. Above, the helicopters circle like birds of prey, capturing the surreal scene from every angle. "Well, I got attention alright," I mumble to myself, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. The dream of robbing a bank has materialized into a reality I never anticipated.
Suddenly, a new helicopter descends onto the chaotic scene, its sleek exterior marking it as private. From the hatch, a man in a luxurious business suit and a balding head emerges, shouting at me with a tone that matches his opulent attire. "Return my money!" he screams at the top of his lungs, his words cutting through the tumult below.
I squint against the wind, sizing up the wealthy intruder. "What’s seven bags to you?!" I retort defiantly, my voice carrying over the whir of the helicopter blades. "Fuck off!" The words escape my lips, a brash response to the unexpected demand. The absurdity of the situation intensifies as I find myself in a verbal spat with a man who clearly has a stake in the contents of the bags.
A chilling click pierces the air behind me, and I instinctively turn around to find a police officer pointing a gun directly at me. “You! Stop right there!!” The tension escalates as I lock eyes with the officer, realizing the severity of the situation unfolding.
Meanwhile, the bald man's voice echoes with a disturbing sense of joy as he praises the officer, urging him to catch me so that he can receive a special bonus. “Take that bastard down! I will give you money, officer!”
The officer, however, frowns in irritation at the bald man's unwarranted enthusiasm. “Shut up, you baldy!”
I shift my gaze toward the bald man's vehicle, hovering ominously nearby. Caught between the threat of the gun and the machinations of the wealthy onlooker, I try to assess the best course of action in this surreal and precarious moment.
I realize that while the money could be a lifeline for me and Rachel to return home, my survival takes precedence. I quickly formulate a plan. First, I decide to create a distraction. "Officer, I'm going to remove my bonnet," I announce, hoping to divert his attention momentarily. The police officer, sweating nervously, stands on a more stable foothold, yet fear is etched across his face. It seems to be a fear of heights more than anything else.
With slow, deliberate movements, I reach for my bonnet with one hand, ensuring the officer's gaze is fixed on that action. Meanwhile, my other hand stealthily reaches for a wad of cash. The bills crinkle softly as I grip them, ready to use the unexpected diversion to my advantage.
Before fully removing my bonnet, I seize the opportune moment and hurl the wad of cash directly at the sweating police officer. The unexpected missile momentarily obscures his vision, and in the ensuing chaos, I swiftly grab a bag and fling its contents into the air. Bills flutter like confetti as I continue the impromptu show, kicking the remaining six bags into the air, sending a cascade of money raining down on the mesmerized spectators below.
The police officer, now faced with a dilemma, can't blindly shoot in my direction. The risk of hitting an innocent bystander amidst the flurry of falling cash is too great. The chaotic scene unfolds like a surreal spectacle, the wind carrying the bills in unpredictable patterns. I take advantage of the diversion, contemplating my next move on the narrow beam high above the ground.
I might not be in tiptop shape, but I've retained enough agility to make my escape through a display of parkour prowess. With a series of swift movements, I leap from one beam to another, seamlessly transitioning through the skeletal structure. Swinging to another beam, I use its momentum to jump to a concrete post and propel myself onto a nearby metal bar.
The wind rushes past as I navigate the improvised obstacle course, my movements fueled by a mix of instinct and muscle memory. In a daring finale, I leap towards the nearest helicopter, the one with the bald man on board. The helicopter becomes a temporary platform as I land on it, my escape now reaching new heights both figuratively and literally. The surreal ballet on the unfinished high-rise continues, and I cling to the hope that my unexpected skills will be enough to outmaneuver the chaos below.
Baldy's initial surprise transforms into fear, but determination replaces it as he pulls out a gun. “You! You! Back away!! I will shoot…” With courage in his hand, he takes aim, attempting to shoot me. The situation escalates, and I realize the danger not just to me but also to the pilot and those nearby. Swiftly, I disarm him, taking control of the situation and pointing the gun back at him.
Meanwhile, a helicopter from a nearby news station hovers at a safe distance, observing the unfolding drama. A brave reporter seizes the opportunity, grabbing a megaphone. "What are your demands?" the reporter calls out, his voice amplified over the whirring of the helicopter blades. "And what's the reason for taking this person hostage?"
I am like… what the fuck? Do you not value your life? Do you want me to shoot you?
I'm appalled by the reporter's bravery, and the irony isn't lost on me. But the truth is, I don't even know how I got into this mess in the first place. How can I make demands when the entire situation seems like a bizarre dream? And a reason for taking Baldy hostage? Does the fact that he pointed a gun at me qualify as a valid reason? It's a conundrum, and I find myself caught between the chaos of the moment and the expectation of a coherent motive.
"I don't even know why I'm here!" I shout, my voice carried by the wind. "How am I supposed to have demands when I don't understand what's happening?"
As I teeter on the beam, the city sprawls below me, a maze of lights and life. Well, it is mostly shadows considering the morning sun. My mind races, trying to make sense of this surreal moment.
"Okay, okay... deep breaths," I mutter to myself, the words lost in the gusts of wind. "How did I even get here?" The memory of falling asleep beside Rachel feels like a distant echo, drowned out by the sheer absurdity of my current situation.
I reach up to touch my face, the realization hitting me like a wave crashing against the shore. "A bonnet mask? Seriously?" It feels strange, foreign, but oddly comforting in this precarious situation. And then there's the weight on my shoulders, an unexpected burden adding to the vertigo-inducing height. "Seven bags... heavy," I murmur, shifting slightly to balance the load. They're black, almost blending into the slight shade that casts over me, each one a reminder of the mystery unfolding before my eyes.
"Okay, focus. Step by step," I tell myself, squinting against the gusts of wind. "But seriously, how on earth do I get down from here?"
I glance around, disoriented, trying to make sense of the situation that has thrust me into the spotlight of confusion. The morning sun, usually a comforting presence, now feels accusatory as I grapple with the dissonance between my expectations and reality. Instead of sharing a sweet breakfast with Rachel, I find myself standing here, questioning my very existence.
The wind cuts through my clothes, a constant reminder of the starkness of the moment. Suddenly, the air is filled with the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades slicing through the atmosphere. I look up to see a helicopter hovering just above me. Panic sets in as I realize the gravity of the situation.
A cop peers out from the helicopter, armed with a megaphone. "You are surrounded! Surrender now!" The words echo around me, bouncing off the skeletal structure of the unfinished building. I stand frozen, my mind struggling to comprehend the abrupt turn of events. "Surrounded? What the fuck is happening?" I mutter to myself, the surreal nature of the scene intensifying with each passing second.
The cop's voice booms through the megaphone, a stern warning slicing through the tense air. "You have no escape! Don’t think of doing anything funny! You better not jump! It is better if you face the law than just die now! I know people can have difficult times, and that’s why they resort to robbery, but surely, there are better ways to do things!"
I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, my confusion evident in my voice. "Jump? Why will I jump? Fuck… Robbery? Who robbed who? Damn it! I don’t even know how I got here!" The words spill out, a mix of frustration and bewilderment. I feel the weight of the bags on my shoulders, the wind biting through my clothes, and the situation spiraling beyond my understanding. “I am honestly and superbly flabbergasted by my current situation. Where the F am I!?”
The cop's patience wears thin, evident in the sharp retort. "There is no use in playing dumb! You fool!" The accusation hangs in the air, and I find myself caught in a web of uncertainty and accusations, desperately trying to unravel the mystery surrounding me.
As more helicopters swarm the scene, the noise and chaos escalate. A couple and some more, identifiable by the logos of different media outlets, hover overhead like vultures eager for a sensational story. I recognize the urgency in their pursuit of a big scoop. Normally, I enjoy attention, even if it's for the wrong reasons, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined. "What the hell?" I mutter to myself, incredulous at the absurdity of the situation. "It's not like I sleepwalk and go to banks to rob them of their money, right?"
The cop's berating continues, the megaphone amplifying his authoritative tone. I decide to throw in a quip or two, attempting to lighten the tension and buy some time for my brain to process the ridiculous turn of events. "Hey, Officer, I'm just trying out a new form of urban hiking. You know, it's all the rage these days," I call out, a smirk playing on my lips. The absurdity of my own comment hangs in the air, a feeble attempt to inject humor into a situation that grows more surreal by the second.
I carefully lay the black bags on the narrow beam, the weight of the money within them adding an extra layer of gravity to the situation. Hesitant fingers pull open the zippers, revealing stacks of cash tightly packed inside each one. "What the fuck?" I breathe out, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. It really is money as I suspect at the back of my brain!
Before I slept, a whimsical thought crossed my mind – wouldn't it be nice to just rob a bank? But in the light of reality, with limited resources and no special powers, such a feat seemed impossible. Yet here I am, surrounded by bags brimming with money. Did I just fucking rob a bank? The irony isn't lost on me.
As I glance around, the magnitude of the spectacle becomes evident. People have gathered below the building, their faces a mix of shock and curiosity. The building's unfinished state serves as a stage for this impromptu drama. Above, the helicopters circle like birds of prey, capturing the surreal scene from every angle. "Well, I got attention alright," I mumble to myself, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. The dream of robbing a bank has materialized into a reality I never anticipated.
Suddenly, a new helicopter descends onto the chaotic scene, its sleek exterior marking it as private. From the hatch, a man in a luxurious business suit and a balding head emerges, shouting at me with a tone that matches his opulent attire. "Return my money!" he screams at the top of his lungs, his words cutting through the tumult below.
I squint against the wind, sizing up the wealthy intruder. "What’s seven bags to you?!" I retort defiantly, my voice carrying over the whir of the helicopter blades. "Fuck off!" The words escape my lips, a brash response to the unexpected demand. The absurdity of the situation intensifies as I find myself in a verbal spat with a man who clearly has a stake in the contents of the bags.
A chilling click pierces the air behind me, and I instinctively turn around to find a police officer pointing a gun directly at me. “You! Stop right there!!” The tension escalates as I lock eyes with the officer, realizing the severity of the situation unfolding.
Meanwhile, the bald man's voice echoes with a disturbing sense of joy as he praises the officer, urging him to catch me so that he can receive a special bonus. “Take that bastard down! I will give you money, officer!”
The officer, however, frowns in irritation at the bald man's unwarranted enthusiasm. “Shut up, you baldy!”
I shift my gaze toward the bald man's vehicle, hovering ominously nearby. Caught between the threat of the gun and the machinations of the wealthy onlooker, I try to assess the best course of action in this surreal and precarious moment.
I realize that while the money could be a lifeline for me and Rachel to return home, my survival takes precedence. I quickly formulate a plan. First, I decide to create a distraction. "Officer, I'm going to remove my bonnet," I announce, hoping to divert his attention momentarily. The police officer, sweating nervously, stands on a more stable foothold, yet fear is etched across his face. It seems to be a fear of heights more than anything else.
With slow, deliberate movements, I reach for my bonnet with one hand, ensuring the officer's gaze is fixed on that action. Meanwhile, my other hand stealthily reaches for a wad of cash. The bills crinkle softly as I grip them, ready to use the unexpected diversion to my advantage.
Before fully removing my bonnet, I seize the opportune moment and hurl the wad of cash directly at the sweating police officer. The unexpected missile momentarily obscures his vision, and in the ensuing chaos, I swiftly grab a bag and fling its contents into the air. Bills flutter like confetti as I continue the impromptu show, kicking the remaining six bags into the air, sending a cascade of money raining down on the mesmerized spectators below.
The police officer, now faced with a dilemma, can't blindly shoot in my direction. The risk of hitting an innocent bystander amidst the flurry of falling cash is too great. The chaotic scene unfolds like a surreal spectacle, the wind carrying the bills in unpredictable patterns. I take advantage of the diversion, contemplating my next move on the narrow beam high above the ground.
I might not be in tiptop shape, but I've retained enough agility to make my escape through a display of parkour prowess. With a series of swift movements, I leap from one beam to another, seamlessly transitioning through the skeletal structure. Swinging to another beam, I use its momentum to jump to a concrete post and propel myself onto a nearby metal bar.
The wind rushes past as I navigate the improvised obstacle course, my movements fueled by a mix of instinct and muscle memory. In a daring finale, I leap towards the nearest helicopter, the one with the bald man on board. The helicopter becomes a temporary platform as I land on it, my escape now reaching new heights both figuratively and literally. The surreal ballet on the unfinished high-rise continues, and I cling to the hope that my unexpected skills will be enough to outmaneuver the chaos below.
Baldy's initial surprise transforms into fear, but determination replaces it as he pulls out a gun. “You! You! Back away!! I will shoot…” With courage in his hand, he takes aim, attempting to shoot me. The situation escalates, and I realize the danger not just to me but also to the pilot and those nearby. Swiftly, I disarm him, taking control of the situation and pointing the gun back at him.
Meanwhile, a helicopter from a nearby news station hovers at a safe distance, observing the unfolding drama. A brave reporter seizes the opportunity, grabbing a megaphone. "What are your demands?" the reporter calls out, his voice amplified over the whirring of the helicopter blades. "And what's the reason for taking this person hostage?"
I am like… what the fuck? Do you not value your life? Do you want me to shoot you?
I'm appalled by the reporter's bravery, and the irony isn't lost on me. But the truth is, I don't even know how I got into this mess in the first place. How can I make demands when the entire situation seems like a bizarre dream? And a reason for taking Baldy hostage? Does the fact that he pointed a gun at me qualify as a valid reason? It's a conundrum, and I find myself caught between the chaos of the moment and the expectation of a coherent motive.
"I don't even know why I'm here!" I shout, my voice carried by the wind. "How am I supposed to have demands when I don't understand what's happening?"
