Krypton, the home of thousands who lived their lives in peace and tranquility. Then came the rumours, the Council keeping secrets from their fellow Kryptonians. So one Dru-Zod decided to take up arms and form a military coup. He even makes sure his...
The London Bank stood as a symbol of prestige and opulence in the heart of the city. Its grand marble facade gleamed in the afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the narrow alleys that wound around it. Inside, the bank's polished floors and crystal chandeliers created an air of elegance that masked the tension brewing just beneath the surface.
In a dimly lit van, parked far from the bank, tucked away from the prying eyes of the bank's clientele, a group of imposing, malicious looking figures huddled together. Their faces were obscured by masks, their identities concealed by shadows. Among them was the tall and imposing leader, a man known as Bruno 'Ugly' Mannheim, distinguishable as he refused to wear mask like all of his underlings. He wanted people to know who he was.
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Portrayed by Benicio del Toro
Mannheim's voice dripped with malice as he addressed his accomplices. "Gentlemen, the time has come to put our plan into action. The London Bank's security has been our focus for months, and today, we'll reap the rewards of our efforts."
The others exchanged glances, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in their eyes. One, a wiry man with shifty eyes, fidgeted nervously with a small device in his hand.
"Is the alarm system disabled?" Mannheim inquired, his gaze sharp and demanding.
The wiry man nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, boss. I hacked into their system. The alarms won't trigger until we're long gone."
Mannheim's lips curled into a sinister grin. "Excellent. Remember, we want to make this swift and efficient. We take what we came for, and we leave no witnesses. Understood?"
The others nodded, their resolve solidifying in the face of their impending crime. They donned ski masks and gloves, concealing any trace of their identities. Mannheim led the way out of the van, their footsteps echoing down the cold corridor.
As they entered the main banking hall, the robbers fanned out, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble. Patrons bustled about, unaware of the impending danger. A sense of unease settled over the bank, as if the air itself held its breath.
Mannheim approached the bank manager's desk, his presence commanding attention. The manager, a portly man with thinning hair, looked up from his paperwork, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Good afternoon," Mannheim greeted with a forced smile. "We're here to conduct some business of our own."
The bank manager's confusion deepened, his unease growing palpable. "I'm sorry, but the bank is closing soon. You'll have to come back tomorrow."
Mannheim's smile never wavered, but his tone turned chilling. "I don't think you understand. We're not here for your banking services. We're here for something a bit more valuable."
With a swift motion, Mannheim produced a gun from his coat pocket, aiming it directly at the bank manager. Panic flashed in the manager's eyes as he realized the severity of the situation. He raised his hands in surrender, his voice trembling.
