The air inside the bank had turned thick with tension. The robbers were on edge, shouting demands, their fingers twitching over the triggers. Keith kept his hand protectively on Tommy's shoulder, his heart pounding so loudly he thought the robbers might hear it. His eyes darted around, looking for any possible way out, but there was nothing. The situation was spiraling, and he could feel it in his gut.
Suddenly, the doors of the bank opened again, and a wave of cold air swept in as a group of officers entered. The robbers snapped their heads back to discover a throng of police cars lined up outside.
The clatter of radios and the echo of boots on wet concrete buzzing the air.
Simon stood at the perimeter, watching as officers formed a barricade around the building, their movements sharp and coordinated. His features were sharp, with a clean-shaven face and a neatly cropped dark brown hair that barely showed signs of graying. His deep-set gray eyes, though intense and calculating, lacked the hardened look they would later acquire. He was lean, his build athletic.
The usual tension of a standoff was thick in the air, made heavier by the flashing lights of squad cars and the constant hum of helicopters overhead. This wasn't just a robbery. It had quickly turned into something much bigger—something more violent.
Simon's hand gripped his earpiece as he listened to the steady flow of updates from the officers inside. His mind raced, calculating every risk, every possible outcome. He was 29, not a rookie by age, but still green when it came to hostage negotiation. This was his first real test, the kind that could make or break a career.
He had asked for a full situational update before making his move into the bank. The officers were already stretched thin. Simon would.....no, he had to succeed, for the weight of that expectation was heavy.
A police sergeant approached him with a grim look on his face. "We've got three hostiles, all armed. The hostages are secure for now, but there's no telling how long that'll last. The robbers are heavily fortified inside, and their demands are all over the place. I'd say they're more agitated than desperate. They're in control for now, and we can't afford to rush in."
Simon nodded, his pulse steadying despite the gravity of the situation. "Are we in contact with them yet?"
"No," the sergeant replied, eyeing Simon warily. "We're waiting on you. We need a trained negotiator in there before it gets worse."
Simon's mind was already working. He wasn't going to rush in without a plan. He couldn't afford to. His team outside the perimeter was counting on him to de-escalate, to handle this the right way. He glanced over his shoulder at the officers standing behind him. "We'll go with the slow approach. I'll try to get them talking, buy us more time. I need a direct line to the robbers. And get the TAC team ready. If shit hits the fan, I'm calling for extraction."
One officer muttered to another, "You think he can handle it? They've mobilized every negotiator for that prison riot. Dude's got no backup."
Simon ignored the whispers. He was used to that—used to being underestimated. He had a reputation for being sharp, but this was different. Hostage situations were a different animal. But that wouldn't stop him. Not now.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the door of the bank. The cold air growling at him, and his body tensed with the weight of the situation. Stepping inside, the temperature seemed to drop even further, the stifling heat of fear hanging in the air.
The atmosphere there was chaos. The robbers were spread out in the bank like predators marking their territory, weapons at the ready. Hostages crouched behind desks, their faces pale with terror. The robbers were loud, angry, pacing around and looking for a reason to lash out. Their eyes flicked toward Simon, sizing him up, calculating what kind of threat he might be.
The lead robber, the one with the dark sunglasses that covered most of his face, turned at the sound of the police entering. His body stiffened for a second, and he eyed Simon with suspicion, as though trying to gauge whether he was a threat. There was a flash of something in Simon's eyes—something that betrayed an unspoken recognition. It was so fleeting that it could've been a trick of the light.
Simon approached with deliberate steps, raising his hands to show he wasn't armed. His voice was calm but firm as he addressed the robbers. "I'm Simon, the negotiator for the police. I'm here to talk, not to escalate things. We don't want this to get any worse, and I'm here to make sure we can resolve this peacefully."
The lead robber snorted, a look of disdain curling his lips as he glanced over at Simon. "You think you can talk us down? You think you're in control here?"
Simon kept his voice steady. "I'm not here to control you. I'm here to listen to your demands. The more we talk, the more options we have to resolve this peacefully. No one wants bloodshed. We don't need more casualties on the board."
The other robbers exchanged glances, their guns shifting nervously in their hands. They were on edge, but Simon knew that wasn't the real danger. The real threat was the lead robber, who was sharp, quick to anger. He was the one Simon needed to focus on.
Every strategy he'd been taught, flashed before his eyes. But nothing in his training had prepared him for this level of raw aggression. The robbers were pointing their guns at the hostages, the steel barrels gleaming ominously.
Simon swallowed hard, keeping his voice even. "I hear you. But let's take it slow. We'll work through this."
In his ear, the comms from outside buzzed, but Simon ignored them for the moment. This was his negotiation now. No distractions.
First Rule: Limit the time. He had to make them feel the pressure of a deadline, but not rush them too quickly. If he played it right, he could make them think they had control.
"We'll work this out in twenty minutes. It'll feel like plenty of time, trust me. We'll start with small steps. Your demands first, then I'll work with you." Simon said with a steady voice.
Second Rule: Make sure they don't feel like they're being interrogated. He'd learned that much from his training. No one wanted to feel cornered. He didn't want to be just another uniform barking commands. Instead, he needed to be calm, approachable, not their enemy.
"I get it," Simon continued, his voice smooth. "You're in a tough spot. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be. Just tell me exactly what you want."
The lead robber gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
"Listen up, Simon," he barked. "Either you get us the money, or we start making examples out of these people. You got it?"
The robbers were on edge, but Simon could see them—two of them, still tightly gripping their guns. The third, the one closest to the door, was pacing a little, his eyes darting around. His posture was more defensive, and that told Simon something important: this wasn't a group of noobs. They were organized, very hot-headed.
Third Rule: Observe the behavior. What did they really want? Not the money, not just the car—they wanted power. They wanted to feel in control. They needed to feel heard.
Simon's eyes flicked back to the lead robber—his body language was shifting. He was starting to relax, his posture slowly straightening as Simon spoke. The other robbers weren't as tense now, their weapons still raised but their fingers no longer twitching.
"Okay," Simon said, using the pause to his advantage, "What do you want to get out of this? Money's one thing, but I think we both know there's more to it than that. So let's talk."
The lead robber, staring at Simon, let out a long breath. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes weren't as wild as they'd been. The tension in the room—just a few moments ago razor-sharp—seemed to dissipate. He glanced at his partners, then back at Simon.
"We didn't want this," the lead robber muttered, his voice quieter, as though he was starting to come down from the edge. "Had no choice. Life's been a damn mess. Everything's fallen apart... ever since... you know."
Simon's mind worked fast, reading between the lines. The robber was opening up. For a split second, Simon thought he had him. The man was looking for understanding, maybe even a little sympathy, and Simon was ready to give it.
But that was when everything shifted.
The lead robber smiled, but it wasn't a comforting smile. It was a cruel, bitter one, like he was finally accepting something.
"You think you can talk me down, huh?" He tilted his head back slightly, as if reminiscing about something. "Funny thing is, I thought I was past all this... Until that little shit over there," he gestured at Tommy, "made me remember why I'm doing this."
Simon's heart skipped a beat. The man was unstable.
"Blame him!"