The robber knocked down the salesman who had been at the entrance, then whipped out a handgun. He aimed it at the other staff and customers. "Hands up, all of you! Anyone who dares move gets a bullet!"
The bank employees sprang to their feet and obediently raised their hands.
The scattered customers reacted the same way.
A certain Black Organization member and a certain FBI Agent mingling among the customers: "..."
Though neither thought an ordinary bank robber's aim could be all that accurate, the space was cramped and the shooting distance was short. Neither wanted to take a bullet for no reason.
Before long, the two adaptable outlaws raised their hands and blended perfectly into the crowd of customers.
The robber looked around, making sure everyone's hands were empty before leaving the entrance and moving to the counter.
He glanced down at the stacks of cash inside, clicked his tongue, and cursed, "This is all money your customers deposited here, huh? Hmph, the poor are poor and the rich are rich. This world is so damn unfair."
No one dared make a sound or respond.
The robber merely grumbled a few times and did not beat up these customers who were presumably rich. He casually pointed at the lobby manager. "You. Pack up that cash for me."
Then he looked at several female sales clerks. "You, stand against the wall. If you dare move, I'll blow your heads off!"
The lobby manager wiped away cold sweat as he stuffed money into bags.
By comparison, the customers were much calmer—the robber was stealing the bank's money, so what did that have to do with them? This was only a small branch. As long as Headquarters remained, their money would not go down the drain.
But Vermouth could not