Call of the (Future) WestbyHibbidyhai©
Syn stood in the bank tellers line, waiting. Though the air was hot and dusty, two great metal fans were making an attempt to keep the dust at bay. One rotated slowly within a wall and the other in the low ceiling. The lighting was also dim, an attempt, perhaps, to hide just how filthy the floor was.
Syn stood on he tippy toes, attempting to peer over the shoulder of the large man standing in front of her. The line didn't seem to be moving.
Having just turned 18, Syn was now allowed to help her Uncle with the financial aspect of the family business. Although she was at first excited by the prospect of getting to travel all over the planet, she had soon realized that the rest of the planet was as big of a dust ball as the desert around her Uncle's home was. There was that, and he was giving her the drudge work.
Brushing her long, auburn hair across her forehead Syn glanced at her wristwatch. It was almost noon. At this rate she wouldn't get lunch until one o'clock.
Suddenly the door behind her was kicked open. Bright sunlight flooded the inside of the bank, nearly blinding her.
"Everyone down on the floor, this is a robbery!" shouted the silhouettes cast in the door way.
There was a great shouting ruckus as the all the people waiting through out the bank lobby hit the floor. Syn, in her surprise at what was taking place, was a bit late getting down. A tall woman with long shoulder length hair and a bright blue bandana grabbed by the collar of her shirt and tossed Syn to the floor.
"I said get down!" the woman shouted. The woman had twin laser pistols in each hand, both of them pointing at the tellers. "Don't even move," she called menacingly.
Syn glanced up towards the tellers; one was standing wide eyed with his arms raised while the other removed her hand from under the desk where it had been working frantically. "The silent alarm," Syn thought to herself.
A man then stepped into Syn's view. He wasn't as tall as the bandana wearing woman, and was clearly her foil. Whereas the woman was cold and menacing, he was laid back and calm, as if this was as routine as tying his shoes.
His shotgun resting casually over his shoulder, he approached the teller's desk. "You can stop pressing your alarm button now," he said to the tellers. "My, it does appear if you're having some technical difficulties." The tellers glanced at each other nervously. "Now, if you could be so kind as to unlock your vault," he said coolly.
"We can't, the manager is at lunch," one of the tellers said.
"Hmm, what a shame," the man said, almost unconcernedly. He raised his shotgun and pointed it at a plainclothes security officer that was hunkering on the floor with the others, albeit not as fearfully. "You there, throw out your pistol."
The man obeyed. "Delilah, if you could be so kind." The woman strode over and picked up the man's pistol and then hefted the security guard to his feet. She steered him over to the man with the shotgun. "Call your manager, tell him to arrive in five minutes or I blow this man's head off," he demanded. One of the tellers nodded and dialed a number on his cell phone.
As Syn watched this scene unfold she began to stir a bit and consider her situation. She had come to this bank to withdraw some money for her uncle's business, which would be used to pay off some debts. If this pair of robbers made off with the bank's supply of hard cash, she wouldn't be able to withdraw any credits. Her uncle would be furious. He wouldn't care if there was a robbery. He might even think that she was lying.
A few minutes went by until the manager arrived. The woman robber had stood next to the door and grabbed the chubby little man by the scruff of his neck as soon as he arrived, throwing him to the ground. Before the heavy doors of the bank shut the sounds of sirens could be heard. The bank manager had alerted the police of the situation.
The two robbers consulted amongst their selves while the manager and the tellers unlocked the vault and began stuffing gold and other precious metals into heavy suitcase-like bags. As the woman supervised this, the man began appraising the each of the people laying in fear the dusty bank floor. Soon his fell eyes on Syn.
The robber strode through the masses huddled on the floor and hauled Syn to her feet.
"Do you feel like being a hostage today?" the robber asked her.
At a loss of what she was supposed to say, she said the first thing that came out, "Never too late to try something new."
The man steered her to the vault, where the manager was filling the last of the bags. "Good, you can start by grabbing a couple of those," he said pointing her in the direction of the currency filled bags. The bags were incredibly heavy, but Syn managed to lift one off the ground and get it over her shoulder.
"Could you have gotten one any smaller?" groaned Delilah.
"Sympathy factor," the male robber responded. "Cops won't be as apt to shoot at us if there is a kid involved, will they?" The woman didn't give a response; instead he just hefted one of the bags. The shotgun wielding man directed the manager to heft the third and final bag. Together the moved back into the lobby.
"Thank you all for participating in this drill," the man announced. "If you'll just keep your bellies glued to floor we'll be out of your way shortly. The group approached the front door and the man through them open.
Blinding light filled the room and again, Syn found herself squinting.
"Drop the bags and get down on the ground!" came many shouting voices. As soon as her vision cleared Syn realize that cops had surrounded the bank, arrayed in a semi-circle throughout the dust covered street. An array of shotguns, rifles, and pistols were aimed at them. Syn was inclined to obey but the lead thief interrupted.
"I don't think so," he called back, sticking the double barrels of his shotgun against the bank manager's head. Syn felt a stabbing pain as a pistol barrel was shoved into her ribs by the woman. "Clear off or we will kill the both of them!"
The cops glanced at each other nervously. But they didn't budge. Delilah raised her other pistol and pointed her other pistol at the bank manager.
"You've got five seconds!" she shouted. The cops looked to their sheriff, who appeared frozen. After a moment Delilah pulled the trigger. The shot ripped through one of the manager's leg.
He fell to the ground, screaming and writhing. The cops appeared as if they were about to open fire, but Delilah pressed the still smoking barrel to Syn's temple. Nearly paralyzed in fear, Syn couldn't help but close her eyes tight.