You were in a bank nearby your apartment, waiting in line. You weren’t in your best shape and form; bags under your eyes, your scars on your face displayed, because who would wear a balaclava to a bank? You suddenly saw a couple masked men in gear enter the bank.

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!” One of them shouted. He was without a mask, yet you didn’t dare to glance at his features. Maybe your PTSD was kicking in?

The men made sure everyone was laying, but you heard his footsteps approaching you.