Falchion

“Falchion you’re up” you say as he rises from his seat, He wears a set of golden armor, reminiscent to the armor worn by the spartans of old.

From what you know, Falchion very easily have become a vigilante; someone who kills their criminals instead of locking them up.

Once upon a time, he was a simple man, had a family, kids even, until one day, a calamity struck, during the dimensional rift that you had closed so many years ago, his family was slain in the chaos.

And so he became angry and vengeful, thankfully he learned to channel that rage before he did something he couldn’t take back.

By all rights he should have become the chief of a precinct, his hero career is only slightly shorter then your own, and he’s served you carefully in all the years he’s been under your command.

Those are the thoughts that run through your head as he steps out of the bullpen, no doubt stopping at the armory before heading out.

Things used to feel so simple back then, good was good and bad was bad, back then you didn’t feel the need to watch your colleagues out of the corner of your eye, you didn’t need to scrutinize their every word or action. But things have changed.

It isn’t long before he arrives on scene, a pair of surveillance drones in tow which fly upwards to provide a birds eye view of the building.

The civilians are lined up against the far wall of the bank near the tellers booth, untied, two men on guard, the other two presumably deeper within.

This bank was built in the 40s one of the few built in an art deco style with high vaulted ceilings, marble floors and pillars creating a sort of avenue from the front entrance to the tellers.

This place hasn’t gotten an update or remodel in years, you won’t need the drones to guide him through the bowels of the bank.

He takes a moment to survey the lobby before creeping inside, weapon drawn, today it seems he’s picked out a long range rifle, something to compensate from his typically lackluster range capabilities.

He holds his Falchion in hand; a sort of machete-style short sword from which he derives his name.

One of the two men turns, glancing out the windows as he begins to walk the perimeter of the bank, leaving the other man to watch over the hostages as they carry on conversation, Falchion closing in on the suspect watching the hostages.

“How long they gonna be..? Those jokers better not be rollin around in the money in there”

“The fuck..? Have they done that before..?”

“Well… no. But still, every time, they drag their feet when loading up the cash”

“C’mon man, take it easy, all that cash, it’s prolly heavy as fu-“ the suspect is never able to finish his sentence before Falchion is upon him.

He sends his boot into the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel as he puts him into a rear naked ****.

By the time the other man reaches the tellers booth Falchion has vanished.

“Holy shit… h.. hey man..? You ok…?” The suspect asks as he attempts to resuscitate his fallen ally, to no avail.

Just as he’s about to take off to regroup with his remaining crew he’s snatched up by Falchion, who first snaps the mans dominant arms like a chicken bone before slamming his face into the tiled floor.

“Lobby cleared, proceeding to the vault.” He states, taking no time to check hostages, thankfully, the takedowns were so quick and quiet it’s unlikely that the remaining suspects are aware of their present danger.

The civilians, seeing the opportunity, take off in a sprint towards the door, practically trampling over one another to escape.

The hallway is in an L shape, with rooms along the sides of it, including a break room, security room and ending at the vault which lies at the curve.

The door; a 3 and a half foot thick testament to this buildings age, is made from steel reinforced concrete and hangs open, revealing the chaos within; safety deposit boxes are pried open, what cash remains in the vault having been scattered across the floor, belying the hasty work that’s been done.

And in the center of it all are a pair of suspects, currently focused entirely on collecting as much as their duffle bags can carry.

“I’m gonna give you boys something your buddies didn’t get; a chance to walk out of this with your bodies intact”

The men stop in their tracks, turning to look at the man who blocks the door, sword in hand and clad in armor.

Then there’s a flurry of movement, the men reach for guns but their not fast enough to stop Falchion who rushes the man on the right, slamming his head onto the table that once held the bulk of the cash, knocking him out on the spot before throwing his body by the scruff of his neck across said table into his friend as he fumbles for his piece.

Once they’re in the ground it’s over, he slams his plated fists into his face again and again, throwing them into unconsciousness right along side his friend.

When he’s down he tenses his hands up, prompting a series of pops to trigger on the audio feed.

“I’m done here… returning to base.”

You end the feed, dispatching a pair of squad cars to pick up Falchions broken victims.

You expect to hear from the mayor about this, but the fact is that you stopped the suspects, recovered the loot and saved the hostages, you’ll get a slap on the wrist at most.

Falchion will be resting for the rest of the day, you suspect that his gauntlets aren’t made from cushioning his hands quite as much as their made for hurting his quarry that much more.