"Everybody on the ground—NOW!"
The deafening roar of the armed robber's voice echoed through the bank, shaking everyone to their core.
Before anyone could even think of resisting, he pulled the trigger—BANG! BANG! BANG!—firing several warning shots into the ceiling.
The sharp crack of gunfire sent people screaming and scrambling, their hands instinctively shooting into the air.
Fear took hold instantly.
The bank, once filled with quiet chatter and the rustling of paperwork, now drowned in panicked gasps and terrified whimpers.
On the floor, the two security guards lay bleeding, their bodies twitching weakly as they gasped for breath.
Blood pooled beneath them, staining the pristine marble floor. But at this moment, no one cared about dying men—survival came first.
There were seven of them, masked and armed, moving with deadly precision.
One of them, carrying a large black duffel bag, began making his way through the trembling crowd.
"Valuables! In the bag! Now!"
His voice was laced with authority, and no one dared to hesitate.
Watches, wallets, jewelry, and phones were dropped in hurriedly, hands trembling as they complied.
Then, the bag reached a young man—early twenties, black hair, golden eyes.
His hands clenched tightly as he hesitated, his gaze flickering between his belongings and the masked robber.
With a deep breath, he dropped his smartwatch, AirPods, and his brand-new iPhone 16 into the bag.
His heart ached as he let go of his phone, the screen briefly flashing his name on the wallpaper—Ethan Cross.
Damn it… he thought bitterly. He had come here for one simple task—paying his school fees.
Who would've thought that today of all days, a bank robbery would occur?
As the masked men continued their looting, a sudden commotion erupted from the front counter.
"WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO FOOLISH?!"
a robber screamed in pure rage, his gun aimed at the trembling female banker behind the counter.
Ethan and the other captives snapped their heads toward the source of the commotion.
The banker, a young woman in her late twenties, had tears streaming down her face, her entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"I-I'm sorry! It was a mistake! Please don't kill me!" she sobbed.
Another robber rushed over. "What happened?!"
"This idiot pressed the alarm!" the first one growled.
There was a long, chilling pause. Then—without warning—the second robber's face twisted in fury, and he sent a brutal kick into the woman's stomach.
She hunched over, gasping as she crumpled to the ground, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
"Why'd you have to be stupid, huh?!" The man kicked her again. "Before, nobody had to die! But now—because of you—"
His hand reached into his belt.
Everyone froze.
"Everybody's gonna die."
He pulled out his pistol and aimed it directly at the kneeling woman's head.
As the robber's chilling words echoed through the bank, the rest of his crew raised their guns, pointing them at the terrified hostages.
Gasps and sobs filled the air as people shrank back, their hands trembling.
Some shut their eyes tight, praying for a miracle. Others simply froze, paralyzed by fear.
Then, suddenly—
"WAIT!"
The robbers all snapped their heads toward the voice.
It was Ethan.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
The robbers, already frustrated beyond belief, gritted their teeth.
"Why the hell are there so many damn wannabe heroes in one bank?!" one of them growled.
But before anyone could pull the trigger—
Ethan opened his mouth and began to sing.
"I still see your shadows in my room…"
His voice rang out, clear and confident.
"Can't take back the love that I gave you…"
The robbers blinked.
"It's to the point where I love and I hate you…"
They stared at him in pure bafflement.
Had this guy lost his mind?!
Was he… singing Juice WRLD?!
Their fingers hovered over their triggers, but none of them pulled.
A single thought ran through their heads:
Has the fear broken him?
Is this some kind of twisted last-ditch survival instinct?
Their hesitation lasted only a few seconds.
But that was all the time Ethan needed.
From outside, the unmistakable wail of police sirens shattered the air.
WEEEOOO! WEEEOOO! WEEEOOO!
The sound grew louder—closer.
A voice boomed through a megaphone.
"CRIMINALS INSIDE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! YOU ARE SURROUNDED!"
Ethan let out a shaky breath of relief.
He had stalled just long enough.
Thank God for the new initiative to improve police response time.
The robbers, now cornered, had one way out—hostages. That meant, ironically, everyone was technically safe.
But then—
BANG!
A bullet pierced Ethan's chest.
Then another.
Then another.
Three bullets slammed into his body, his golden eyes widening in shock.
Blood bloomed across his shirt like crimson flowers, staining the fabric.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed backward, his body hitting the cold, hard floor. Blood spilled from his mouth, warm and metallic, pooling beneath him.
Above him, the gunman muttered under his breath.
"Fucking bastard."
One of the other robbers whipped around, eyes wide.
"Boss, why the hell did you do that?!"
"If no hostages died, we might've found a way out of this! Now our chances are even lower!"
The leader merely scoffed, lowering his smoking gun.
"I hate people who act like heroes the most."
Then he said.
"Get ready to fight."
Ethan, barely hanging onto consciousness, heard the explosion of gunfire.
Bullets tore through the air.
Screams.
Shouts.
Chaos.
Then, after what felt like an eternity—
Silence.
Heavy footsteps approached.
A firm, authoritative voice rang out.
"Secure the area! Make sure the hostages are alright!"
More footsteps were heard.
Then one of the officers reported.
"Chief! We have a wounded civilian!"
A pause.
Followed by a sharp, commanding reply.
"What the hell are you waiting for?! Get the medics on him—NOW!"
Ethan's lips curled into a weak smile.
The police had handled the situation.
The moment the order was given, the medics rushed in, their boots slapping against the cold marble floor of the bank.
"We've got a critical! Three gunshot wounds to the chest! We need to stabilize him—NOW!" one of them barked, kneeling beside Ethan.
"He's losing too much blood! Start an IV—get me a pressure bandage!" another medic shouted, pulling a sterile gauze pad from his trauma kit.
With practiced hands, they ripped open Ethan's blood-soaked shirt, exposing the bullet wounds.
"Damn it, the bullets are still inside! We can't remove them here!"
"We just need to keep him alive until we reach the hospital!"
One medic pressed hard on Ethan's chest, trying to slow the bleeding. Another hooked up an oxygen mask, his voice urgent.
"Stay with us, buddy! Keep breathing!"
But Ethan could barely hear them.
His body felt cold—so cold.
A strange numbness crawled through his limbs, like his very essence was slipping away.
Then—
His mind unraveled.
Like a dam breaking, his life flashed before his eyes.
—Laughter at the dinner table, his mother's warm smile as she placed his favorite dish in front of him.
—His father's strong arms, lifting him up when he was little, telling him, "One day, you'll be a good man, Ethan."
And then—
The worst memory of all.
That night.
The night his entire world shattered.
They had just left the cinema, his small hand clasped tightly in his mother's.
His father was laughing, joking about how Ethan had gotten scared at a jump scare in the movie.
Then—a shadow stepped out from the alley.
A man.
A gun.
"Wallets, jewelry, now!"
His father had tried to talk the man down.
But the robber—panicked.
A flash.
A gunshot.
His father crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his chest.
"NO!" his mother had screamed.
Then another gunshot.
His mother fell next to his father, her eyes wide in shock—then empty.
The man ran.
And Ethan was left alone.
A boy, kneeling in his parents' blood, screaming until his voice broke.
—
Back in the present, Ethan felt his lungs failing.
His vision was blurring, but he forced himself to speak.
"Mom… Dad…" he whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the frantic shouts of the medics.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
"Looks like… I'll be joining you guys…"
The beeping of the portable heart monitor stuttered.
Then—
A flatline.
The medics froze.
"We're losing him! Charge the defibrillator—NOW!"
One of them grabbed the paddles, pressing them to Ethan's chest.
"CLEAR!"
A jolt.
His body jerked.
Nothing.
"Again! CLEAR!"
Another jolt.
The flatline continued.
Then—
Silence.
One of the medics lowered his head, his hands trembling.
"Time of death… 3:47 PM."
Ethan Cross was dead.