Chapter 1: In the Middle of Our Street

"The mistake we make is thinking that there is an antidote to uncertainty."

-David Levithan

My name is Hank Frost.

I'm in my early twenties.

I'm your typical kind of guy. I've always been pretty confident in life. I have my romantic side, and I have my geeky side. Also, I'm not half bad looking.

I was born into just the average middle-class. No physical disabilities, no mental disabilities, my parents are still together and happily married, I have a little sister,

You might consider me a pretty lucky guy.

But I'm not.

See, when I grew up, everybody around got to complain about something. They had something sad they could boast and grab attention about. But nuh-uh, not me. I had to stay behind and give them the sympathy. It sucked.

Still, I had just passed high school, and since I had such a bland life, nobody gave me any special attention, and as such, I had nobody looking out for me. I had my girlfriend here or there, a couple friends who flew by me, but nobody really stayed, so I just kind of drifted. I moved out of my parent's home, bordered myself up in a shoddy apartment downtown, and invested whatever I had in my cousin's guitar store, which flopped, and set me to the bank to close my account and leave everything behind.

The bank, however, was abruptly robbed, and one of the civilians in the bank had a peanut-sized handheld device that had neutralised the electric safety measures that the bank had installed. The device was taken by one of the robbers on the way out, leaving one of us as a suspect in one of the greatest heists of our city. Of course, a public outrage was met, meaning that whoever was guilty of this crime, is going to jail for a long long time.

The other bankers all got away, except for one guy, a guy who had snuck in through the back somehow, and was forced to be left behind. Investigators are not getting through to him, as he keeps saying that "He didn't even know the guy's names, nonetheless, seen their faces." The only accurate description was that "The real orchestrator was supposed to be in the crowd at 2:00 sharp".

And that's how I was apprehended at the scene of the crime. Innocent, mind you, but still arrested, nonetheless. Luckily for me, I wasn't the only guy there. 7 other mindless citizens just so happened to be there that day, and 1 of them was the true crook. Only by finding out who it was will the rest of us prove our innocence.

The only problem:

We've never met each other before.

So, we were taken under protective custody. Our names weren't released, and we would not be going to jail. Instead, we would all be spending the next however long together in a Victorian Mansion.

Wait, what?!

That's right, the law was in possession of a beautiful victorian mansion that had belonged to a Lord when the land was first discovered back in who knows when. The reasoning behind this was only given as to avoid the harsh conditions of prison that the other 7 could bring as a lawsuit against the government.

Each of us were allowed to bring our clothes, say goodbye to our families, and leave our house, which would be excused of it's rent for the time-being, at no penalty. This merely consisted of me going to my house, calling my parents and sister, and just walking out with a cop. That's it.

And soon, paradise. Our jobs were all also excused, with similar conditions, and they issued replacements to spot for us. I was unemployed, so, no problem. I met with the other 7 on a bus, as it appeared as if my apartment was the first stop. The whole occurrence cost me a day of sleep, so, I got some shuteye on the bus.

Waking up, I saw we were just leaving the 8th's house, some fancy modern day home kind of thing. Soon, we were driven to the outskirts of town, and to our awe, was greeted with the most majestic building we have ever seen.

It was a massive mansion indeed, complete with a fresh garden, jaw-droppingly gorgeous swimming pool, outdoor gym area, mysterious old shed, masterful hedges, and that was just the outside.

The inside was a parlour of delights, including a full scale living room complete with a churned fireplace, walls that would make a castle cry, golden staircase, and so much more room to expand. The downstairs I could not even fit into words, with it's chandeliered dining room, the worthy kitchen, the interscope bathroom, and the Victorian porch that you kind of just wanted to sit and watch the sunset from. Everything was just so perfect.

And the best part was, we didn't have to pay a penny. It was all fully paid for by the government.

We were discouraged from leaving, but when we did, we were under the tightest security. So tight, that you might as well just stay at home, so people rarely left. Visitors were unwelcomed, but mail was allowed, so long as the government read through it first.

And through this weird acrobatic technique of comfort,

I met my first friend in a long time.

Prologue: 8 Angry Suspects

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." 

-Seneca

I stood outside of the bank. This was it.

I was officially about to declare myself bankrupt.

I cringed to the thought of that rancid word. "Bankrupt". Such a devilish word. A word filled with both deceit and hatred. A word that meant a background of a diverse open ended story of both shame and indignity. It meant stupid decisions. Bad luck. For me, I had done both.

I bit more than I could chew when I invested a shitton of money into my cousin's guitar store. It was supposed to sell out. It would be a hit. I would be a massive part of bringing talent back into the world of music.

I stepped into the air conditioned bank, feeling each of my disgusted hairs on my skin elate to the gravitation of the cool air compared to the scorching sun outside. There was only a few people in the bank, and each was a weird character that I didn't want to talk to. I just wanted to walk up to that teller, close my account before any further damage gets done,-

But then what?

I pondered about what would happen in the next few hours. I checked the wall to see the clock pointed to roughly 2:00 PM. I would have enough time to write down my final words, and then maybe I would leave this cruel-"

"Next in line, please."

The voice of the teller kick-started my heart. As I approached her, I saw she was a strawberry blonde, and looked rather stern behind her half-circle glasses. Decrypting the teller's face brought me an overwhelming feeling of anxiety, and my last chance to slip away waded around the corner.

"I-"

But before another word got around, 4 masked gunmen kicked through the door, displacing the glass and steel doors on edge. This couldn't be happening.

"Ground, robbery, wallets, now!" Boldly shouted one of the robbers, waving a massive gun around.

I obeyed his orders, lying against the cemented tiled floor, the smell of fear stinging the air. I turned back at the teller to see another man got behind her, gun to head. This wasn't a nightmare. This was for real.

"Alarms have been rerouted, boss." Shouted the one behind the teller glass, as he waved the other bankers out of their hiding spots and into the lobby with the rest of us.

I felt the breath of a one of the hostages, the bank manager, skimmer down my neck. It took me a minute, but I realised that the poor bastard was praying. I lay against the floor, and felt one of the masked men pretend to take something from my hand, and he did this to each person that was hear before, excluding the staff. "Why did he just do that?" I asked myself. I was about to make a quick irrationally brave move to wrestle for the gun in his hands, but-" 

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience and cooperation, good luck in your new lives, and I bid you all, adieu." Declared the leader, as they danced back out into the open streets.

"We're alive...Praise the skies!" Announced a financial advisor in the back.

We heard sirens back in the distance, pulling closer and closer to us.

Boy, could I smell that freedom.