Deputies glowered and scoffed as Justine sprinted toward the bank’s entrance. Outfitted in borrowed body armor and a loose-fitting tactical uniform, she hunched down as far as she could while still maintaining a quick pace. By the time she cleared the last squad car, Foster and Hoover were both still chirping in her ear.

  “There’s still time to back out,” Foster said. “I’m not sure what you’re going to find in there.”

  “Please,” Hoover played a piece of bravado music over the tiny speaker in her ear. “This is the most fun she’s had all day.”

  Justine cleared the last fifteen feet and took up a defensive position at the bank’s entrance. The tinted glass doors were ablaze with the lights of the squad cars positioned just a few meters to her rear. A glance back toward the salon showed Saunders and Meadows huddled inside its doorway, each with a pair of binoculars glued to their faces. On the roof above them, a questionable sniper and his volunteer spotter stood ready to take an open shot.

  Given the circumstances, there was no other choice. But God how she hated using untrained people.

  “Hoover,” Foster poured over the hologram intently. “I don’t see anything moving, at least with my eyes. Can you run a motion detection algorithm? I want to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

  “No,” Hoover had been running the algorithm on the bank’s cameras from the very beginning. “There’s no movement on any of the feeds.”

  Justine cautiously tugged on the door’s handle, and it swung backwards freely. Beneath the aluminum frame, she noticed a newly installed pneumatic tube partially buried in the concrete floor. It was part of a locking mechanism that activated automatically when the bank’s panic button was pushed. Procedure for most secure locations would have them fitted to every door in the building. The fact the front door was open wasn’t a good sign.

  A quick scan revealed that the lobby was about 35 feet wide and 30 feet long. Littered with shadows, the room mirrored the most recent set of blueprints in that it had a series of small, problematic glass partitioned offices straight ahead on the far wall. Directly to her right, a waist-high teller counter offered other multiple hiding places.

  Justine slowly pulled back on the door. Then waited a moment to see if the killer was stupid enough to pop his head out. When this proved fruitless, she leaned inside far enough to get a better look at the island and the two bodies. Justine couldn’t help but notice the only difference between the surveillance video and reality was the color of the blood.

  “Has this thing ever been test fired?” She asked, only slightly apprehensively.

  “Not by me,” Foster sounded uneasy at the thought. “But I’ve been told that the engineers at Fort Meade played around with my electric slingshot quite a bit.”

  “Records indicate two other prototypes were also constructed but didn’t ship with the satchel. Someone must have liked what they saw.”

  Justine brushed her thumb up against the tiny LED touchscreen. The display responded instantly by displaying one hundred percent ammo and a charge level set at four.

  “Two more?” She sounded disappointed that her ray gun wasn’t one of a kind. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t jam on me when I really need it.”

  “It won’t,” Hoover said emphatically. “There’s nothing to get jammed.”

  With another forceful tug on the door, Justine flung herself inside behind an ugly set of beige sofas. Half expecting Foster’s and Hoover’s assessment of the situation to be wrong given their lack of experience in tactical situations, she paused a moment before resigning herself to the idea that the coast was clear.

  The victim’s lifeless forms lay about 15 feet apart from each other. From the time stamp on the video, Justine knew there was little chance either could be alive, but she needed to make sure. With a dash of speed, she was beneath the banking island and practically on top of the woman.

  Even though from the amount of damage wrought to her back, such an attempt seemed futile. Her first instinct was to check for a pulse “The woman is confirmed,” she whispered.

  Then, without pausing for a response, Justine pulled herself along the bloody floor toward the security guards slumped over body. Soaked from the waist down in dark crimson blood, she pressed her fingers up against his neck and prayed that maybe, somehow, this poor son of a bitch might have gotten lucky.

  “Confirm the guard.” As a spark of anger grew inside her, she searched his belt and was surprised to find two spare magazines. “The suspect didn’t take the guards extra ammo, so he’s only got the one mag.”

  “Agent Saunders wants me to remind you one more time to be careful,” Foster relayed.

  “Tell dad not to worry,” Justine searched the offices for any sign of movement. “I’ve got more time breaching rooms than he’s got drinking coffee.”

  Foster didn’t reply right away. When he did, “Agent Saunders would also like me to remind you that he drinks coffee even when you’re not around.”

  “Of course he does.” Justine brushed off Jeff’s sad attempt at humor. “Moving to clear the rest of the lobby.”

  With the Slinger at the ready, Justine rushed toward the row of offices. Nothing more than small boxes of cheap glass, each one contained a small desk, two metal chairs, and an ugly throw rug. Needing to be sure, the skilled operator looked under every desk and behind every chair before she moved onto the teller windows.

  Constructed like a standard bank layout, the teller area consisted of an oak countertop which supported a string of stations equipped with cash drawers for the odd customer who still preferred carrying real money. Justine leapt over the obstacle without difficulty. Though upon landing, her ribs gently reminded her that two weeks wasn’t enough time to entirely heal.

  “Damn it,” a muffled grunt escaped her twisted mouth.

  Foster became concerned by the irregularity of her voice. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes,” she admitted bitterly. “I’m just not as young as I used to be.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Young enough to still think I’m going to live forever but old enough to find that question insulting.”

  The first station’s computer monitor had an active deposit screen displayed.

  “Looks like they didn’t even have time to close out any of their programs, all the computers are still on.” The last screen in a row of four had a familiar looking web page brought up. “Someone was even on Facebook.”

  Justine wondered what the first thing whoever sat here did when the bullets started flying. Hit the alarm? No, they probably just changed their Facebook status to “Being Robbed”.

  “Moving to the back hallway.” Directly behind the tellers was a rather large security door that led to the back hall. She pressed her ear up against it. “You’re pretty smart, Foster. I thought everyone knew it wasn’t polite to ask a girl her age.”

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve been hanging around nothing but men for the past eight years. My understanding of the codes of chivalry is rusty.”

  “No problem,” she grabbed the knob and twisted on it. “You could make it up to me by finding a way past this security door.” She wrenched on it again, this time with a little more strength and the same unsatisfying result occurred. Designed to keep people out, the only way through was a small keypad just to the right of the doorknob. “There’s a security keypad attached to the door. Is there a way to bypass it?”

  “Hoover,” Foster called out. “I need a key.”

  “Checking.” The program was upset that he hadn’t checked the interior doors before she entered the bank. “Wait for the buzz,” a second later, the door’s internal locking system began to make a loud noise, and a steel bolt slid freely away. She seized her moment to open the door just enough to keep it from locking again.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Now, I’ll let the age thing pass.”

  The door was barely open when an unknown cry came echoing down the darkened hallway. Instinctively, her body tensed up as she pressed herself against the wall to minimize her silhouette. “I’ve got signs that someone is still alive in here.”

  Justine hugged the wall and maneuvered the entire length of the corridor in one graceful move. Holding at the corner, she could make out two distinct voices in the distance. Then, just before she could poke her head around the corner, a woman’s voice screamed out.

  “Please, God, don’t let that happen to us!”

  The young agent’s hardwired decision switch immediately flipped into the on position.

  “Foster,” Justine whispered louder and more hurried than before. “I saw on the way in that this bank is equipped with an emergency lockdown function. Is it on every door?”

  “Yes, records show the system was installed last year.”

  “Good,” Justine took the corner quicker than her instructors at Langley would have liked. Up ahead, three consecutive doors appeared ominously to her right. She would have to clear them one by one. The first room was nothing more than a utility closet filled with cleaning supplies. The second one was the bank’s main vault. Though it didn’t need any inspection because it was still shut tighter than a snare drum.

  Before moving on, Justine looked down at Lonnie’s blood smearing across the floor. It formed a sort of macabre crimson trail down the hallway. The very sight of it made every fiber of her body want to lash out in anger. In the distance, more faint cries echoed down the hall.

  “Do you have me on one of the cameras, Foster?”

  “You’re right in front of the vault.”

  “Everything behind me is clear.” She readied herself. “I’m moving on to the last room. I think that’s where the suspect is holed up. If he gets past me, I want to know where he’s headed immediately.”

  “Check,” Foster said nervously.

  For a second, she couldn’t help but wonder if his nervousness was caused by her being in danger or him possibly being so close to having his questions answered.

  “The building plans list the room as the break room.” Foster continued. “It’s pretty big, about half the size of the lobby.”

  “Understood,” Justine crept past the massive vault and reached the break room door in an instant. To her horror, she heard more pitiful sobs and saw small rivulets of blood spilling out from beneath the crack. “I’m in position, going in three.”

  “Agent Rushing,” Hoover uncharacteristically said. “Please, be careful.”

  “I’m touched, Hoover. I didn’t realize that an artificial intelligence could worry about someone’s well-being.”

  Hoover did his best imitation of a cackle. “I’m not worried about your well-being. I’m worried about whoever is beyond that door. We need that guy alive. So, as I was saying, PLEASE BE CAREFUL not to kill him. I’ve read your incident reports.”

  “Foster,” her voice was barely audible to the earpiece’s microphone. “When I get through with whatever this turns out to be, you and I are going to have a little discussion about boundaries.”

  A gulp was all the ex-mental patient could get out before Justine kicked at the break room door with all her strength. Designed to guard little more than leftover lunches, the cheap plywood door crashed inward before coming to rest five feet from her foot. Inside the room, she saw three women huddled together near a drink machine — each one holding onto the other with bruised hands and battered arms.

  Their low sobs turned to exclamations of joyful terror as Justine slid behind an upturned table for cover. “He’s killed them,” a single, frightened voice rose above the sobs. “He’s killed them all!”

  Unable to see who the voice was referring to, Justine held up a firm hand to quiet them down. Although this gesture only seemed to increase the rate at which their tears flowed. Through their sobs, a woman in her early twenties held up a trembling finger, and with undeniable courage, pointed toward something just out of her line of sight.

  “Where?” She asked, inching toward the corner of the upturned table.

  The woman rebuffed her question, having used what little strength she had to give the ominous warning. Beaten and drained, she rejoined the others in singing their siren’s song of despair.

  “Damn it,” Justine cursed under her breath as her eyes trained along the wall directly behind the hostages. Following a trail of cheap oak cabinets, her gaze fell upon an electric stove whose door had been wedged open by the mangled torso of a man. From the jagged gouges along his neckline, she made the gruesome conclusion that someone had used the oven door as a weapon.

  Her blood boiling, Justine forced herself to look further into the room. A few feet past that bloody mess were piles of more blood-stained figures. Stacked like an ancient funeral pyre, the mountains of carnage peaked near the refrigerator where a shadow with the mannerisms of an animal stood hunched over three freshly mutilated bodies.

  “Freeze!” Justine screamed, training her weapon on a young man dressed in a blood-soaked military jacket. In his hand rested the security guard’s gun covered in bits of bone and skin. Click. Click. Click. The sounds of an empty weapon echoed off the walls as her target continually wrenched on the trigger.

  From the blood on the handle, it was evident that once its ammo had been expended, the stranger decided to use the gun as a primitive hammer to bludgeon everyone in sight except for the women behind her in a near catatonic state.

  “I won’t tell you again!” Justine quickly scanned the break room and counted a total of three people alive, while seven were not. After some disturbing arithmetic, everyone within the bank was now tragically accounted for. By the time her focus returned to the stranger, all she could do was glower. “I want your ass on the ground now!”

  Dead eyes greeted her words as the human monster swung down against raw meat. The impact caused a fresh spray of blood to rise from the victim’s body. He stared at his handiwork, and menacingly said, “Breathe.” The words dripped from his gritted teeth like pure evil. He swung again. “Breathe and be judged.”

  Judged? What the hell was this psycho talking about?

  Like in the coffee shop, Justine quickly decided that people’s lives once again hung in the balance. And even though her choice of catchphrase would later come under scrutiny from Hoover, she felt wholly justified in saying, “Judge this!”

  She tapped the Slinger’s trigger.

  For a second, Justine expected… no fantasized that a long stream of phaser fire would pour forth from the barrel and consume this asshole in a shower of fire. Instead, the weapon merely ejected a gumball-sized orb of white light.

  In fact, if it weren’t for the gun’s awkward pull/push action, she never would have known it fired at all.

  Still, a split second later, the man staggered back against the wall clutching his right shoulder. The eyes, which had been dead, were now alive with fear and anger. Not in the habit of taking chances, Justine pulled the trigger again with the same results. Only this time, the stranger silently shrugged off the hit and hurled his empty gun in her direction.

  “No one can say I am wrong.” His twisted mouth screamed at the top of his lungs. “No one!”

  With a gun flying at her head, Justine ducked down out of instinct to try and shield the women with her body. Behind her, the women had crawled within a few feet of her and were now clutching haphazardly at her legs for protection. She quickly tore free from their grasp and tried to reacquire her target. But by the time she found him, the stranger was in midair trying to execute what looked like a flying tackle.

  With no time to react, her best defense was to tense her body and absorb the hit. Now, if the killer had put his shoulder in the left side of her stomach, she might not have dropped the gun instantly. But sometimes luck favors the insane, and the brunt of his blow landed on her right side.

  Instantly, pain coursed through her cracked ribs like a bolt of lightning. So much pain, her body convulsed instinctively and her grip on the gun loosened enough that in the ensuing struggle that it still fell haplessly to the floor.

  “Son of a bitch!” She screamed as he wrapped his arms around her waist like a possessed MMA fighter.

  Panic setting in, Justine knew if he succeeded in getting the dominant position, the fight would be over. So, she reverted to her academy training, wrapped her forearm around his neck and squeezed with everything she had.

  At first, the submission tactic yielded little results. The stranger just spat his warm disgusting breath all over her face. Luckily, her move had shifted his grip slightly, so he wasn’t squeezing directly on her bruised ribs. Though, it was still close enough to make her want to cry out. Instead, Justine stifled her pain like she had done all her life and channeled that agony toward hurting someone who deserved it.

  With a deft twist of her wrist, she reached a pressure point just below the left ear. Instantly, his body reacted to the new pain, and his grip wavered. Justine seized on this lull to push down on the man’s head with everything she had while at the same time raising her knee. The two collided in a magnificently violent way.

  Stunned and bleeding, the killer crawled off Justine and disappeared out of sight.

  Ignoring a fresh batch of screams, she scanned the blood-soaked floor for her weapon. After a tense couple of seconds, she spotted it wedged up against one of the crying women’s knees. As she grabbed it, they once again tried to reach out to her.

  “Foster,” Justine hastily pushed the women away then looked around the room for the stranger. “Did he head down the hallway?”

  “Something did. Whatever it was, it was too fast for me to see it clearly.”

  “Lock it down!” Justine pressed the touchscreen. The display said that the power level was still set at four. Needing more stopping power, she adjusted the gun to seven. “This gun of yours slowed him down, but I’m going to have to dial it up to put him down.”

  “Are you alright?” Concern wrapped itself around Foster’s voice. “Can you move?”

  “Now’s not the time for sentiment, Foster. I said… lock it down!”

  For the first time since meeting the pretty FBI agent, Foster lied. “Securing the building now.”

  The program for sealing the building was a simple two-step procedure that took only two clicks of a mouse to accomplish. Factor in the tablet’s holographic interface and the process was even more straightforward. But neither was required to comply with Justine’s command. Why?

  Because Hoover had sealed the building the minute she walked over the bank’s threshold.