The Scanton National Bank.
One of the few good things about Scanton was directly located in the middle of the city. It was a large building that took up a whole block. Stairs lead up to the main doors and large columns were evenly spaced. Inside it was like a typical bank. There were the tellers at the front who dealt with customers. There were the customary long lines full of impatient people.
All around the room there were chairs with brochures on tables next to them. In the right hand corner of the room there was a door. That door lead to a corridor with five other doors. The door on the left wall led to a security room. Next to it was an elevator. There were two other doors on the right wall. One led to a storage closet the other to the vault.
At the end of the hall was an emergency exit.
The second floor had rows of cubicles that had been unused for quite a while and a bathroom. It was rarely used.
All in all, the bank was quite normal except for two things. Firstly, it had terrible security. In total, there were only two security guards. One was Mr. Hall, an elderly man with a hunch who mostly stared at the one of five security cameras all day long.
The other security man was a man in his mid-thirties that always referred to himself in third person. His name was Spike. This wasn't his real name- It was Paul Dudley- but he thought Spike was more tough and imposing. He was a large man who liked to work out a lot and had a mean face. He was completely bald and loved his job, though he wasn't good at it. He would go around badgering others as if they were bank robbers. "What do you have in that purse, miss? Spike thinks it's something he wants to see!!"
He was like that.
The bank used to have a competent security guard. He would show up on time, was nice to the customers, and generally provided a nice calm setting for the bank. But for some unexplainable reason the bank let him go.
With him gone and security like this one might wonder why the bank hadn't been robbed every month. The reason was simple.
The vault.
The vault was completely secure without the passcodes, which only the manager had access. And most of the time the manager was not at the bank.
The vault was basically a giant slab of metal. It was seven feet high and eight feet wide. It was three feet thick and nothing short of a tank literally blowing it apart could penetrate it.
To open it, the manager had to press in a series of codes. Fifteen minutes was the fastest time the vault had ever been opened before. Because of this the vault was rarely opened and when it was it was for only special occasions.
Dozens of attempts had been made to penetrate it and failed. People thought that nothing could penetrate it and it had somewhat become an attraction. Common belief was that nothing could get by it so a large portion of money that the bank had was put behind the vault.
But they were wrong.
Unknown to many, there was something that could get past it. A bomb so powerful that it could easily blow the hinges off of the vault.
And it was in the hands of a maniac.
XXXX
A black van with tinted windows drives in front of the bank. Inside were five men. They all wore ski masks and were carrying shotguns. All except one, a man who looked to be in his forties and had jet black hair. His nose was crooked and he wore dark sunglasses that shielded his eyes. He wore a dark suit with the top two buttons open. A white undershirt could be seen underneath.
One of the men in masks turns to him and says: "Don't you want a mask? We got another one."
The man turns and stares at him, his eyes boring into the man's head.
"With all the money that we are about to obtain there will be no need for me to conceal my identity." With that he grabs a shotgun and boldly walks out. The others fall in behind silently.