Nightingale: The Vigilante || EDITING

Prolouge

The backdoor of the building swung open, slamming the outside of the bank. Three men in ski masks burst through the door, the sound of alarms becoming known to the outside. They ran down the alleyway, bags of cash in each hand. One of the men screamed at the others telling them to hurry. They turned a corner then froze in their tracks, dropping the stolen currency, and pulling out hand guns. The one in the middle pumped a Mossberg shotgun.

The lights in the alleyway cast a silhouette, long hair draped upon her shoulders. A katana sword was drawn, a violet ribbon laced the handle. She wore cargo pants cut off by sleek black combat boots. Black and violet military armor covered her body. Her bright blue eyes hid behind a violet domino mask. The top edges of her mask curved upward, spiking above her temples.

"Looks like we got ourselves a little Mexican showdown!" her deep voice spoke. "Drop the weapons, or this could end badly," she shook her sword to show the blade's reflection, "For you, obviously. I mean, I'm pretty sure that I will be the only one walking out of here unharmed." The man in the middle screamed, signaling the other men to open fire. A wave of bullets sped towards the figure. The woman sheathed her katana blade and ran towards the wall to her left, jumping off it, firing herself at the man on the left. He fell as her heel made contact with his cheekbone. The man with the shotgun pumped the stock and aimed for her head. The woman kicked it from his hands, sending him and the weapon to a wall. The last man charged at the woman from behind. The woman turned and punched the man square in the nose. His hands reached for his face, giving the woman the opportune moment to strike the man down. The knocked out man crashed into a dumpster, leaning against the old rusty metal.

"That was too easy," the woman sighed. She heard a stumble behind her. Whooshing around she saw the man with the shotgun, aiming the firearm near inches away from her face.

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked as he pumped the shotgun. The woman acted quickly, pushing the shotgun away from her face as a round struck a wall. She kicked the man's feet from under him, his weapon clattering out of his hands. He looked up to see the masked woman looming over him. Flashing lights could be seen, and police sirens could be heard. Two police cars pulled into the dark alley, their lights dancing across the brick walls. Officers got out of their vehicles, aiming their handguns at the woman and the bank robbers.

"Get down on the ground! Hands where I can see them!" The officers aimed the masked woman. "Get down, now!"

"Sorry!" the woman screamed, "I don't dance!" She pulled out a grappling gun and shot to the top of a nearby building. Several shots were fired, none hitting the masked woman as she fled to the rooftops.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The officers strolled into the chief's office, tucking their hats under their arms. The one on the left nudged the other, trying to get him to speak. Their chief stood by his office window watching the city come to life.

"Sir?" the one on the right spoke up, "We captured tonight's bank robbers. They were caught in an alleyway on Main Street." The chief didn't respond. He continued to stare out in the vast city. The sun was beginning to rise, lighting up the busy metropolis. "We lost the masked woman. She used a-"

"I don't care how she got away." The chief had not moved. "I honestly don't care if she had rockets attached to her feet and flew to the moon!" The chief turned to face the two officers. He returned to his cluttered desk, resting in his reclining swivel chair. He began to fiddle with a pen. Men and women in various masks were portrayed behind him. Red penmanship was found on all of these drawings, stating the criminals were either caught or deceased. All except one.

A picture of the masked woman hung dead center. The chief swiveled around, swiping the drawing off the cork board. He returned to face the officers, his eyes still fixed upon the picture.

"Um, sir?" one of the officers spoke up, "What should we do now?" The chief looked up from the picture, placing it delicately on his desk.

"Find her." The chief glared at the two officers. "Find the vigilante who calls herself 'Nightingale'."