Richard pulled his coat around his neck to block out the rain which seemed to be blowing sideways today, even though he only had a 20 minutes' lunch break; he always took a walk around the park, which where near the bank. Even in snow; he remembered last year when the snow reached his knees; he still went for his daily walk.
             Officer Richard MacArthur, of the A-1 Omega Security Company, had worn his uniform proudly for almost five years now. He had been a proud member of the Chicago Police Force, until age had forced him behind a desk. He didn't mind, though. His wife was happy to have him home for dinner, and she didn't have to worry as much. The worst injury he'd had recently was a serious papercut. And in his new job, even the arthritis that plagued him was less of a nuisance, because A-1 Omega
             did not require its employees to carry a sidearm.
             His company had sent him to this small bank branch last year, when a noisy bar next door had been scaring away customers. They wanted their bank to seem a bastion of security. The bar had come and gone, but Richard had stayed. He knew the owner of the bank was just too good-hearted to let him go, and he was grateful for that, he liked having something to do every day. He knew he wasn't a real cop anymore, but he knew he had been once.
             In the span of his 20-year career on the force, he'd been a witness to many people leaving banks in handcuffs.
             Today was the first time he'd seen someone come into a bank wearing handcuffs.
             Miriam stumbled through the doorway, all that was holding her up was the need to feel safe.
             She felt herself slowly sliding, blacking out, couldn't stop it...
             Suddenly a graying, weathered face was in front of hers. "Miss! Miss! Are you all right?"
             Even in her condition, Miriam felt the answer to that question should be blatantly obvious.
             "Call Police," she sputtered, before her body crashed to the ground, t
             ...