A quiet night, or so he thought...

The night had been quiet. Too quiet.

The Gotham pizza guy stood behind the counter, leaning on the register, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the surface. It was late, and the streets outside were dark, the neon sign in the window casting a soft red glow inside the small pizza joint.

Another night, another set of expectations.

'I wonder when she's coming—'

Then the door swung open—hard. The bell clanged violently.

He barely had a second to register the figure storming inside, face covered with a ski mask, a pistol flashing under the fluorescent lights.

"Cash. Now."

The pizza guy froze.

The gun pointed straight at him, and suddenly, his entire body felt like it had been dunked in ice water.

"Hey, you deaf? Open the register!" the robber barked, stepping closer and most importantly with the gun locked, loaded, and pointed.

He swallowed thickly. Okay, just stay calm. His fingers moved to the cash drawer, fumbling as he popped it open. The guy was impatient, waving the gun in agitation.

"Faster."

"Y-yeah, okay, man, just—just take it easy," he muttered, stuffing bills into a plastic bag the guy had tossed onto the counter.