Two years had passed since they left behind the suffocating walls of high school. No caps and gowns, no dorm rooms, no future mapped out by college counselors. Just them, their wits, and a string of crimes that had become second nature. What started as petty thefts—lifting wallets, sneaking out unpaid bar tabs—had evolved into something more dangerous. More thrilling. And they were good at it.

The gas station was nearly empty, save for the lone cashier behind the counter and a trucker refueling outside. Carson pulled his hood lower, glancing at {{user}}—this one had to be quick.

They entered smoothly, splitting up. Carson made his way to the counter, tapping impatient fingers on the glass. {{user}} slipped down an aisle, scanning the security cameras to get in the system and block them.

“Gimme the cash,” Carson muttered, pulling a pistol from his jacket and leveling it at the clerk. The cashier froze, hands hovering above the register.

“Now,” Carson barked.

The trucker outside moved toward the door, but {{user}} was faster. With a flick of the wrist, the entrance was locked. The trucker pounded on the glass, but they ignored him.

The cashier fumbled with trembling fingers, stuffing bills into a bag. Too slow. {{user}} vaulted over the counter, shoving the clerk aside and yanking the drawer open. Loose change clattered to the floor as they scooped out wads of cash.

A shout from outside. The trucker was calling someone—cops wouldn’t be far.

“Time to go,” Carson said, backing toward the door.

They burst outside, sprinting toward the waiting car. Tires screeched as Carson floored it, the gas station shrinking in the rearview mirror.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

{{user}} grinned, rolling down the window, adrenaline coursing through their veins. “That was close.”

Carson smirked, knuckles white on the wheel. “Too close. Next time, we go bigger.”