LogFAQs > #886871070

Your mind flashes once more. You see the backdoor has been caved inwards as it falls to ground with a loud thud. As you take a step into the bank, all the hostages turn to look at you. There's a sudden shout of, "The cops have breached!" and the hostages are promptly filled with bullets as they stare at you, their savior. You gasp and yank your arm back to your side.

You slump against the door and slide your ass down to the pavement. You're in way over your head. You have successfully done zero heroic things and through your incompetency, you've hurt several innocent people. You feel bad enough about the injuries at Sloan Harbor, but if you fuck this up people will die. You've never seen someone die before. You've seen a dead body, but you've never watched a person die in front of you because you were too stupid and reckless to save them. Christ, you're an awkward mess, you're not a hero. If you can't save them, could you live with that guilt? Rhetorical question, doesn't matter. You haven't found a way to die, you have to live with it. You can't help but think this unbridled power is wasted on a worthless sack of shit like you. Hell, it's more than wasted on you, it's dangerous inside you. You take a deep breath and hug your knees.

Sirens indicate more cruisers have arrived out front. You can hear them starting to shuffle around to the back to finally establish a perimeter. Your panic kicks into overdrive as you realize it's now or never. Once the police round the corner, you're going to have to leap away and once you do, there's no chance you'll get into the bank without being noticed. Of course if you don't leap away, that means you're going into the bank to try to save the hostages. Maybe you should let the police just do their job. Hell, maybe the gunmen are reasonable and they'll just let everyone go. But if they kill somebody and you could have done something to help them, that guilt will eat you alive too.

You suppose it comes down to who you trust more- yourself or other people? Well you're totally inexperienced in heroism and your confidence has plummeted through the floor... but you never gave yourself the nicknames Buttplay Mime and Pudding Man. Aw fuck it.

You look down at your shadow and snap your fingers. You face your palms to the ground and slowly move them forward as you watch your shadow creep under the door. You shadow continues to glide forward until its out of sight. You snap your fingers again and find yourself on the other side of the door.

You expect shouts and screams at the sudden appearance of a portly superhero in the middle of a nervous breakdown, but there's only silence. You're alone in the back office; it seems everyone was dragged out into the lobby. You crouch down and peer around a corner. The door between the back office and the lobby has been jarred open. You can see several hostages on the floor with their wrists and ankles taped together. You can't see the gunmen but you can hear one yelling.
"There wasn't supposed to be any fucking cops here, man!" the first voice shouts.
"There were only like two cruisers, we could have slipped them if Geno hadn't bitched out and driven away the second they showed up," a second voice responds.
"We shouldn't have had to slip anybody. No cops means no cops at all, not a few cops," the first argues.
"Geno's still a bitch though," the second remarks.
There's a slight pause before the first voice starts again. "Straight to voicemail again, this motherfucker better pick up his phone!"
"His phone's not off, man. It's destroyed," the second voice says. "He hung up the second you told him the cops showed up and it's been on voicemail ever since. That thing's in a million pieces."
"I swear to God, I'm going to blow his head off if I ever get out of here," the first voice promises. "First him, then Geno after that."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.