(Not my idea)
The opulent, massive stained glass window overlooking the majestic lobby of Merit City First Financial Bank has a long and storied history, full of romance, dust, and a great deal of banking. But most stained-glass enthusiasts agree that, while many honorable and worthwhile adjectives could be applied to that noble old warhorse (austere, beautiful, large, red, and many others), "exciting" would not be one of them. At least, not until 2:37 p.m. Thursday afternoon, when the window exploded, showering the crowds below with rubble and broken glass.
The window did this with its normal dedication to a job well and thoroughly done, aided in its performance by the high-intensity directed plasma charges that had, until only moments before, been lining its frame. The force of their detonation transformed the handiwork of the artisan (Josef Brahamson, 1881-1937) from a stately statement on the majesty of wealth into a vibrant rainbow of tiny, very sharp fragments of glass. From the right perspective (that is, not cowering on the floor of a bank, deafened by a massive explosion, or watching from the outside, detonator in hand and earplugs in ear), the shards looked quite pretty as they rained down through the afternoon sunlight onto the heads of the hapless customers.
And what of that detonator-clutching hand? What dastardly villain would so forcefully desecrate one of Merit City's greatest artistic treasures? Who would startle so many of Merit City's stalwart birds, nesting on nearby roofs? Who would be vile enough to so terrify so many law-abiding, checkbook-having citizens?
Oh, right. Me.
It was me.
The bank's youngest, fittest security guard struggles to her feet as her co-workers continue to lie, stunned, on the bank's cold marble floor. Smoke and sunlight pour upon them through the hole where the bank's window used to be. My shadow falls across the guard, and her eyes widen.
Little wonder, since she sees a ruthless military attack
A pair of dangerous-looking soldiers, each carrying high-powered firearms, storms the smoking entrance ahead of me. They spread to the side, allowing me to stride forward in my combat armor.
The soldiers move with practiced, hard-drilled efficiency, disabling the stunned guards with high-tech shock rifles. The sole guard on her feet scrambles behind a desk overturned in the explosion.
This is going remarkably well,I think as the last of the bank's guards falls before my powerful assault. Obviously, I had been expecting success. Today's attack on the bank was the culmination of months of meticulous planning. Alarm companies broken into, weapons manufacturers raided, costume shops plundered. I had left no detail untouched by my nefarious intellect. And yet, if I'm being honest, I was expecting at least a little more of a challenge.
I take a moment to adjust the camera attached to my costume's lapel. The green light on the tiny device's chassis indicates that my exploits are being successfully uploaded to Darkspace, the Internet's number-one database for malignant misdeeds, vile victories, and general blow-stuff-up supervillainy. "After all," I think, "what's the point of robbing a stupid bank if nobody important hears about it?"
In fact, it's probably time to do something to make an impression on the wider supervillain community. Considering that more and more rookies have been getting into the game in the last few years, inspired by the likes of the murderous Doctor Arachnus or the twisted, mysterious Nautilus, Im going to have to do something if I want to stand out so I choose to kill one of the gaurds
I nod to the nearest of my loyal shocktroopers, Private Ellerby or Ellison or something, I can never keep them straight. At my signal, he expressionlessly opens fire on the nearest guard.
