The morning had started much as every morning did. She woke up, she got changed, she jogged, she got undressed, she had a shower, and she fell asleep again. If it wasn’t for the obnoxious ringing of her phone, Bethany, or Inks, would have probably stayed in bed for another hour. At first, she thought it would be one of the many schmucks who she’d blown off recently: clingy people or stupid people or annoying people or people who just didn’t know when the fuck to get off her back. Instead, it was the only man that wasn’t her dad she didn’t mind hearing from. 

It was Mr Payday himself.

She had a job, apparently. New York based, which made a nice change from having to leave the city, a two man heist of a bank or some shit. Apparently, there was some juicy loot and the heroes were all distracted or something. Maybe they were in Asgard or some shit, who knows. The cock-sucking goody-squad could all go piss off someone else.

Except Stark: If he felt like sweeping her off her feet, she wouldn’t complain too heavily. Same story for the hot-chick who ran the X-men after Xavier croaked. What was her name again?

Getting back on track, she got the name from Mr Payday of the guy she’d be cracking the bank with. Someone called ‘Fists’ or something. Didn’t matter to her, she’d be rid of him soon enough. Get job, get paid, and maybe get laid. It was a good plan really, time to see if the new guy would screw it all up.

A few hours later, Beth was dressed up in a bland looking pair of loose jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt with the slogan ‘Fuck you’ written on it: again, loose as she could get it. She didn’t want people guessing her weight or her height, as it gave people info they could use: fuck that. She’d seen a guy get busted because he wore his favourite watch on a job. She was way too smart to fall for something like that. She burned any clothes she wore on a job, after the job. 

Sitting in the black SUV, next to the guy she was working with, she couldn’t help but try and size him up a little. She didn’t know how to start a conversation with a guy who called himself ‘Fists’ and who robbed banks for a living. “So uh…How’d’ya get the name ‘Fists’? I hope that ain’t a trademark or some shit. ‘The fister strikes again, leaves a gaping hole in the bank [i]and[/i] the bank clerk.’” She laughed at her own joke, but when he didn’t really laugh along with her, she just put her headphones over her ears and ignored the grumpy fucker. Fuck him and his prissy hair!

She pulled up outside the bank, and the pretty-looking Fist-fucker decided to speak up. Asking if she was ready. “Shit man, I was born ready. I’m a professional, we go in, we make noise: you break the vault and we get to waltz on out of there, richer and without any blood spilled.” She reached into a glove box and pulled out a mask for herself and him, as well as her handy-dandy P9 pistol. She pointed the gun at Chris half-hazard, not having even turned the safety off yet. “Just don’t fuck up. K?”

Pulling the mask on, Bethany stepped outside of the car and strolled up the steps of the bank without a care in the world. She pushed open the door and, to the surprise of a security guard, planted her shoe into his temple, knocking him the fuck out in one hit. After that, she shot her gun in the air twice, hearing a few screams before she began shouting. “Everyone sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up! We are robbing this place. Clerk-ee, get the fuck away from the counter right now before I blow your motherfucking head off: you great dopey whore.”