American Suitehearts

One

The storm has been going on for a few days already, most streets are flooded and there's broken glass and branches everywhere. Downtown Chicago was practically deserted and yet, a lone figure was walking down the road, with a determination in his gait, as if he had to be somewhere soon.

The man pushed open the door of the bank and stepped inside, relieved to be out of the rain. He took a number and sat down in the waiting area. It wasn't long before he took out his phone from his pocket, like most people nowadays when they feel bored. As he scrolled, he frowned at an news article titled: 'More victims of the Youngbloods.' Seems like the mafia gang struck again a few days ago, in the town hall one city over, resulting in 5 casualties.

'Number 0407, Mr. Patrick Stump!'

An announcer exclaimed, startling him. Patrick rubbed his eyes, as he nearly fell asleep, then stood up to go to the counter. He must not miss his turn, since today's the last day to take a loan for him, and he's already behind on paying his rent for his apartment.

As Patrick approached the counter, where a woman was sorting through some documents, he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, near the doors. At the same time he heard gunshots.

Trying not to panic, he half jumped, half fell under the row of chairs in the foyer, attempting to hide from the assault. Patrick was sure of the fact that he was seen by the robbers, although at that moment, it didn't really seem to matter to him.

Suddenly, after what seems like an eternity of gunshots and screams, a body thumped down next to him: a woman in her 40's. Patrick recognized her as the lady he was walking towards before this ordeal started.

Then there was silence.

'It's gonna be fine, it's gonna be fine,' he thought, over and over again, in an attempt to keep calm. A weird way, some might argue, but if it works, it works.

Then, a few armed men stepped over the body. Patrick looked up, trying to see their faces. Instead he stared directly into the barrel of a gun.

'What should we do with this one, boss?' One of the robbers asked the other, who looked he was in charge, as he was the only one with a mask on. 'Leave him alone, I know him, Donnie's put this guy on a no-harm list,' was the reply.

Patrick couldn't believe his ears, or his luck. Him? On a no-harm list of some random bank robbers? But how?

The leader took the gun from the other robber and spoke to him, while still keeping aim at Patrick: 'Though he's on the list, it doesn't mean he's allowed to call the cops on us too soon.'

With that, he flipped the gun around in his hand, so that now the handle was pointed to Patrick. The masked man lifted the gun.

The last thing what Patrick remembers seeing was the beautiful, yet terrifying painting of water buffaloes on the ceiling.

*A/N*

This the first I've actually tried to write something, e.a. a fanfic, besides some weird ass story and a weird journal-ish thing. My english isn't as good as it seems from my schoolwork, so don't judge me lol. I hope you enjoyed this tho. Bye!