That’s My Wife | Tim Bradford · Y/n story by @BleakMidwinter

The afternoon sun streamed through the bank's glass doors, warm and golden. Cheap muzak played overhead. A toddler near the teller line was fussing, his mother rummaging through her purse for a distraction.

???

EVERYONE DOWN! NOW!

The first shot hit the ceiling. Plaster rained down. Glass shattered somewhere to the left. The muzak kept playing—some cheerful pop song—and the dissonance made it worse.

???

I SAID DOWN!

People dropped. The woman at the counter beside you let out a sound—high and keening—before she crumpled. A child started crying. A man near the far wall was already on his phone, trembling fingers barely holding it.

???

You. gestures with the barrel On your knees. Now.