No Powers/No League/No Team AU
Cassie Sandsmark leaves the room as Tim Drake begins to type on the computer in the bank manager's office. "I see your problem," he says. Grabbing his walkie from his utility belt on his uniform he calls to Cassie, "Are you in position?" A yes interlaced with static sounds through the walkie. He turns to the bank manager. "I'm going to try to reboot the system and see if I can get the power to start working again. Does that sound good to you," he says.
"Reboot the system?" The older gentlemen asks. "Will that disable the vault?"
"For about four minutes, yes."
"Four minutes, or about four minutes?" The bank manager eyes the black haired man.
"Four minutes exactly." Tim flashes him a winning smile.
The bank manager turns to the security officer next to him. "You have eyes on the vault?"
"Our team is in place."
"And the cameras will stay on," the bank manager says.
Tim nods before explaining for the 9th time that yes, the cameras will stay on because they are a part of a different system, completely individual from the vault locking systems. "I am just here to fix the locking systems."
"Alright, do it."
Tim pushes the call button on his walkie.
While the reboot loads, the bank manager and security officer leave the room to deal with a disgruntled woman demanding to see her safety deposit box.
At exactly 4 minutes, Cassie comes back into the office with her duffle bags. Tim fixes the collar of his Gradas Integrated Security uniform and combs back his black hair with his fingers before picking up his two duffel bags. He walks out of the back offices and runs into the bank manager, still wringing his hands.
"Did you get it sorted out?" The stout man eyes the duo.
Tim's partner, Cassie, nods. "Just give us a call if your system goes out again."
"It shouldn't have happened in the first place," the bank manager says before he hurries off to his office.
Tim ignores the man's comment and begins filling out the paperwork listing the services he provided. He hands the bill off to the bank's security officer, grabs his bags and looks over at his partner. She is fixing her ponytail when she notices him staring. "Well," she says. "Are you finished?" She motions to the front entrance.
"All clear," Tim nods. They grab their bags and head for the front entrance. They make it about halfway across the main floor when three gunshots ring in the air and glass from the three story ceiling skylight shatters onto the marble flooring. Screams fill the air and it takes Tim an embarrassingly long couple of seconds before he can piece together what is happening.
After the immediate shock and yells die down the woman to his immediate left is still screaming bloody murder. A man in a ski mask is yelling: "everybody on the ground," he swings his semi-automatic rifle around wildly. "Now!"
The people who don't make it out of the main entrance of the bank find themselves huddled together on the floor.
Tim counts the remaining people. There are at least forty civilians in the main area of the bank all separated into three groups. The largest group in the middle, around twenty people; a group of seven crowded into the west corner nearest the building's main entrance; and Tim's group, twelve people cowering next to a teller desk towards the back of the bank - nearest the vault.
His phone vibrates in his pocket but he already knows what it is. A too late warning, telling him about the robbers. The men all have black duffle bags and while two of them watch the groups of hostages, the other two crowd the tellers.
Tim slides his bags behind him. He already knows where all of the exits are. He's studied this building, memorized it. He knows the ins and outs of this place better than the very architect who built it. His hours of meticulous study and careful planning prepared him for all outcomes - all outcomes except for this.
His phone vibrates in his pocket again and his knuckles turn white as his hand curls onto the strap of his duffle bags. He searches the other two groups before his eyes lock with Cassie's baby blues amongst the center group.
While one of the men with a duffle bag works on the registers, the second swings his gun towards the teller. "The vault," he growls. "I want to see the vault."
The man shrinks away, his voice shaking as he says in a small voice: "I don't have access to the vault."
He lets his machine gun hang on it's strap over his shoulder, grabs a pistol from his waistband, cocks it and presses it to the man's head, "take me to the fucking vault!"
The man's hands are in the air and he stammers, "I-I don't have access-"
"Then," the man in the ski mask seeths, "find me - someone - who does."
In the event of a robbery, armed or otherwise, bank employees are trained to do as instructed by the robbers: empty registers, open safety deposit boxes, and hand over anything that is asked of them; but your average teller can't just let you into a vault safe. Two of the robbers follow a manager out of sight and into the bank while another two stay behind to watch the rest of us.
Tim Drake sits next to a trembling woman, the woman who until recently was screaming her head off, blubbering about her family, but he can't look away from the girl in the center of the room, her clear blue eyes staring into his clouded ones. One of the robbers turns his gun on the woman next to Tim. "Lady, if you don't shut the fuck up!" He threatens.
Staring down the barrel of the gun, the woman begins to sob hysterically and the girl across from Tommy glances down at her phone, receiving the same message he is. Her gray Gradas Integrated Security bags are on either side of her, her hands tremble as they tighten on the straps.
Three of the masked men follow a bank employee to where the vault is located. Outside, red and blue lights flash. It is only a matter of hours before the SWAT team called to negotiate terms storms in and only a matter of minutes before the robbers get into the vault.
While the remaining two robbers are looking away, Tommy steals a glance at his phone.
Jaime Reyes
12:57
There's nothing we can do. Bart is waiting at the rendezvous point. If you're not there in fifteen, wipe your phones. You're on your own.
His phone reads 13:00.
Tim Drake and Cassandra Sandsmark have twelve minutes to get out of the bank and into Bart's car before they are stuck in the city alone.
A shot rings out from somewhere deeper in the bank and Tim and Cassie's eyes lock. He watches the different emotions flash over her face as the recognition sinks in and he knows they're thinking the same thing.
"Do you think this is a fucking joke?" One of the gunmen screams, pulling a bleeding bank manager to the main area of the bank and disposing him on the ground in front of Cassie. "Where the fuck is the money?"
"I don't - I don't know," he stammers and clutches his stomach, blood pours out onto the marble flooring. "I-it should be there."
The phone rings and one of the robbers shoots at it. "Well, it has to be somewhere," another one yells.
"The money isn't supposed to get moved until tomorrow!" The leader screams. He turns on the nearest gunman. "That's what you fucking said."
"That's what he said -"
"If that's true, then where is the money?"
The other man sputters uncontrollably, shrinking in size. "I don't - I have - Maybe someone else -"
"Maybe someone else what? Are you saying someone else already robbed the bank? Are you daft?" He takes his pistol and turns on the bank manager, pushing the barrel into his temple. "Someone else rob you today, old man?"
Tim sees Cassie slide the duffle bags further behind her and he follows suit. Someone else did rob the bank today, and their both sitting on the floor of the bank.
wrote this for a fiction workshop class then just changed the names because how fun is this with our fav season two teammates?