Dollar Bill
It had been the first bank robbery in thirty eight years. It was an inside job, a team of three security guards had realized that they were the only ones with guns in the building and decided to take advantage of that. It had still gone badly, shots had been fired, a teller was hurt, and the three had turned to run out the antique revolving door. The door hadn't budged.
In rising panic as the alarms went off and the sirens grew closer, the three tried to force the door to turn. One of them looked up to see a tall figure in blue holding the door. He had thought it was a cop and opened fire. There had been blood on the stranger's face, the glass had cracked and splintered, the man had disappeared, but the door hadn't opened until the police did show up.
Most of the tellers had been taking cover, or trying to help their injured colleague and hadn't seen anything. The police thought they were the ones being shot at and fired back. One of the three was killed at the scene and the other two gave up quickly after that.
*
That same night, a man caught up with a wife who had left him at a cheap hotel near the docks. She ran from him, but he was faster. Restraining orders hadn't stopped him. Her screams certainly didn't. He was a big man and used to getting his own way in everything. Being defied had sent him into a fury and he unleashed it on the woman who had dared.
If anyone saw what was going on, they knew better than to intervene. No one came to help. He was bellowing that when he was done with her, he would find their kids. The alley stayed empty. He was hitting her with all the power he had. She was curling into a ball trying to shield her already-broken face with her hands. He caught a glimpse of her eye between her fingers and was pulling back to punch it all the way into her skull when a grip like cold iron fastened on his forearm.
He turned with a roar to confront whoever had the nerve to try to stop him. Nothing was there except for the force around his arm. He spun to jerk his arm free and take a wild swing with his other arm. That one was seized too. He was pinned. No matter how he wrenched and kicked to get loose, he was held tight.
Anger was fast becoming fear. As he struggled, the shadows in the dirty alley thickened and darkened. A shape formed out of it, huge, bigger even than him. The cold grip suddenly began to burn, searing the shape of strong fingers into his skin. He screamed and the roiling black shape seemed to solidify a little more, looming over him and dragging him off his feet.
He was no longer aware of his wife staggering away. The pain in his arms, the smell of his own flesh burning, and the relentless strength lifting him away from the ground had him screaming higher than she had. The looming darkness jerked him closer. It had eyes in it, he realized, empty slits in the darkness that narrowed at him.
Hurensohn, something hissed in his ear and then he was thrown, flung like a rag doll, like he weighed nothing. He smacked into a brick wall with the wet crunch of bones breaking and didn't get up again.