The sun beat down over the city like a watchful eye, the kind of heat that melted the top layer off your popsicle before you even got out of the bodega. It was 3:27 p.m. and most people were either clocking out or halfway asleep at their desks waiting for the day to end. Not this place though. The New Liberty First Federal Bank was wide awake.
The queue snaked along the polished tile floor, silent and slow. The soft hiss of AC competed with the quiet murmurs of finance. Somewhere near the back, a little kid clicked buttons on his mom's phone, legs kicking wildly, while a teller with acrylic nails tapped at her keyboard.
At the far end of the room, a tall man stood at the counter, filling out a deposit slip with all the urgency of someone who had nowhere better to be. Grey beard trimmed, sunglasses tucked in his shirt pocket. His brown leather jacket hung open over a black tee. He leaned casually on the counter, charming the teller with a story about a vending machine that once swallowed his five-dollar bill and gave him nothing but air in return.
She laughed politely, scanning the check he'd slid under the plexiglass.
That's when the first guard hit the ground.
The sound wasn't loud, more of a dull thud, but it was enough to break the rhythm of the room.
Then the second guard fell, clutching his neck, knocked out cold by the butt of a rifle
Then it happened.
Three men storming through in black jeans, hoodies, and face masks. Two of the men carried assault rifles. The third, in the middle, wore a high-tech wrist brace that glowed with a dull red pulse. His face was covered by a custom helmet with a red visor.He raised the gun and popped the first shot.
CRACK!
The bullet missed everyone on purpose. It hit the ceiling, raining down plaster. The entire bank dropped to the floor in synchronized panic. Screams erupted. Phones hit the ground. Somewhere, a baby wailed.
The man at the counter brought out a black mouth and nose mask from his pocket and put it on, concealing his identity.
"Press the button" he said calmly to the cashier and she did so without hesitation.
"Everybody on the FUCKING ground!" yelled the second man.
Panic exploded like a popped balloon. People screamed and dove for cover. Mothers grabbed their children. Cell phones hit the ground, sliding across the polished floor.
The leader barked orders while the second man stood at the doors, locking them behind them. The third, the jittery one, moved forward quickly—his hands shaky on the grip of his pistol. He climbed over the low divider and approached the counter, stepping right up to the man in the cap.
"Hands up. On your knees," he snapped, pressing the barrel of the rifle to the back of the man's head.
The man didn't move.
"I said on your knees old man!"
Still nothing.
"You boys are in over your heads, I'll give you one chance to put your guns on the ground and surrender quietly" the man said calmly.
"Shut the fuck up or I'll paint this lady's face with your brains!" the robber barked.
That was all it took.
In a motion too fast to track, the man twisted his body, grabbing the gun by the barrel and yanking it free. He popped the magazine loose with a flick of his thumb, then disassembled the slide with his other hand and scattered the parts on the floor.
The robber's eyes widened.
"What the hell—?!"
Then without warning the man sent a backhand to the jaw so heavy and forceful it sent the robber head first into a wall, his body hung there limp, he was out cold
From across the room, the leader shouted, "Take em out!"
The gunman at the door raised his weapon, aiming at the nearest group of civilians.
But before he could fire—
THWUMM.
A blue, semi-transparent shield materialized in midair, blocking the shot. The bullets hit the barrier and flattened uselessly against it with a sizzling crackle. Screams erupted as more people ducked behind chairs and tables.
"Shit! It's a fuckin cape!" shouted the other gunman to his leader.
The man stood tall now, calm and collected, stepping away from the counter. He rolled his shoulders, and a set of shimmering, floating energy shields appeared beside him, hexagonal, glowing faintly with kinetic light.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
"Don't just stand there you idiot, fuckin shoot his ass!!" the leader ordered his man.
The gunman at the door took aim at him. Bullets flew. More shields sprang into place, intercepting each shot with perfect timing, hovering like loyal guards.
The attacker screamed in frustration and charged at the man.
Bad idea.
The man side-stepped smoothly and brought up his elbow, catching the attacker in the jaw. A crack sounded as teeth scattered. The attacker hit the ground hard, unconscious before he even landed.
The leader activated his gauntlet.
A pulse of red light blasted from the bracer on his wrist, tearing up the tile floor as it barreled toward the man, wrapping around one of his kinetic barriers and pulling it apart.
But the man didn't flinch. He braced one foot behind him and raised both arms. A dome-shaped barrier erupted in front of him and absorbed the blast like it was nothing more than a breeze.
The leader charged up again. The gauntlet pulsed brighter this time with enough energy to blast a hole in a tank, and the robber knew it, he raised it with a sneer and fired, a spiraling bolt of pure force hurtling straight toward the man.
He threw up another shield, but the bolt broke through, shattering the barrier and throwing him backward through the divider at the counter and through the far wall that led to the vault in the back.
Rubble fell and dust subsided.
Then out of the dust and smoke, a hand grabbed onto the what was left of the wall, then he came into view, slowly staggering back to his feet, blood at the edge of his mouth, eyes narrowed.
"Alright," he muttered. "You wanna play rough? Let's play rough."
Instead of forming another shield, he created two, one at his arm, one above him, then launched himself forward in a blur, bouncing off the counter and towards the upper shield, his feet planted on it perfectly then he pushed off like a springboard to gain momentum, spinning upside down to ready his next move. Mid-air, while upside down, he summoned a third shield beneath his boots, using it like a stepping stone, then came down hard, cracking the floor as he slammed the shield by his arm into the leader's wrist.
The gauntlet sparked and fizzled.
The leader roared in pain, as his body was shoved to the ground because of the momentum.
The man grabbed his arm and twisted, wrenching the device free and hurling it aside. It skidded across the tile and sparked until it died out in a faint flicker.
The robber tried to reach for a sidearm, but the man backhanded him with a kinetic push so strong it sent him spinning through the air.
He walked over, knelt beside the downed villain, and summoned a glowing pair of restraints, locking the man's wrists behind his back.
Silence.
Then,
"Is it over?" someone whispered.
People slowly emerged from their hiding spots. Mothers with children, elderly couples, a teen with his phone still recording.
"I think that's Shieldline," someone gasped.
"It's him!"
"We love you, Shieldline!" another voice called out.
Applause erupted, scattered at first, then growing louder and more unified. People clapped, cheered, some even cried.
The man gave s small nod, his expression calm, composed.
He checked on the guards first, both unconscious, but alive.
Then the hostages. He made sure no one was bleeding, injured, or in shock. One by one, he offered a steadying hand, or a quick word of reassurance.
The police sirens howled in the distance. Blue and red lights flashed outside the bank's windows.
Still, he stayed.
When the officers burst through the door, weapons raised, he calmly raised his hands and identified himself.
"Shieldline," the officer at point said, lowering his weapon. "Shit… we got lucky."
Shieldline only nodded.
He stayed behind for the statements. For the cleanup. For the comfort.
Because to him, it wasn't just another Thursday.
It was his job, and he did it well.