Chapter 373 Accidental Luck

The night felt heavier the moment Vanessa appeared outside the bank. One second the steps were empty, the next she was there, black mask hiding half her face, blue eyes cutting sharp through the floodlights.

The police froze. Confusion flashed across their faces. They hadn’t seen her approach. They hadn’t seen her walk through the barricades. It was as if she had stepped out of the air itself.

One officer near the front raised his weapon, then hesitated. "What the—how the hell did she—"

Vanessa lifted a hand, calm, deliberate. "I’m here to help," she said clearly. "He’s with me." She pointed back at Dickson, who stood awkwardly near the cruisers, his white mask glowing faintly under the streetlights.

The cops shifted, uneasy. None of them lowered their weapons. Their eyes darted between her black mask and his, still trying to figure out if they were dealing with enemies or allies.

Then one of the older policemen, a grizzled man with a trimmed beard and a voice that carried, squinted at Vanessa. His brows furrowed. Something clicked in his head.

"Wait," he muttered. His eyes widened. "I know that mask."

Vanessa tilted her head, watching him carefully.

"I saw her with him," the cop continued, snapping his fingers as if chasing the memory. "That Liam guy. The one who helped stop that burning house last week. She was with him."

Murmurs rippled through the officers. Guns slowly started to dip.

The cop turned to his comrades and nodded firmly. "It’s okay. They’re here to help."

Reluctant, but trusting their colleague’s certainty, the line of policemen finally relaxed. Weapons lowered, though not completely.

Dickson exhaled hard, muttering, "Finally." He stepped closer to Vanessa, electricity still humming lightly around his hands.

Vanessa’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing. The mask wasn’t just to hide her face—it was a signal.

"Good," she said, businesslike. "Now catch us up. What’s the situation?"

The officer who recognized her cleared his throat. "Reports are messy. But we’ve confirmed at least ten hostages inside. Mostly securities who were caught when the robbers stormed in. They’re keeping them near the main lobby."

Another cop stepped forward, younger, sweat streaking his temple. He held a clipboard, notes scribbled all over. "The perps are armed, but... not just with guns. We got calls earlier, said two of them aren’t normal. One has hands that glow like molten steel. Burned straight through a barricade like it was nothing. The other... strong. Too strong. We saw him lift debris like it was paper."

Dickson grunted. "Great. Just what I fucking needed tonight. Super-criminals."

The younger cop ignored his tone and kept reading. "They’ve made demands. Cash. Vehicles. Safe passage. The usual crap. But their leader—whoever he is—he’s different. He hasn’t shown his face. He’s inside with the hostages."

Vanessa folded her arms. "Numbers?"

"Four confirmed with powers. Six others with automatic rifles. That’s what we’ve pieced together. Could be more."

Dickson tilted his head back, staring up at the looming bank, lights flashing across its tall glass front. "Ten with guns. Four with freak-show powers. Ten hostages. That’s... fucking perfect."

Vanessa ignored his sarcasm. Her voice was cold, precise. "Entry points?"

The older cop pointed at the main doors. "They’re barricaded. Same with the side entrances. Rear loading dock too. Windows are reinforced. SWAT is already running through breaching options, but if what you said is true about molten-hands, anything we do will tip them off. And we can’t risk them executing hostages."

Dickson cracked his neck. "So basically, we’re fucked unless we walk in quiet."

"Pretty much," the cop admitted.

Vanessa’s gaze narrowed. Her brain ticked through options. Her powers gave her an edge—she could teleport inside. But not without risk. One wrong move, and the hostages would be caught in the chaos. She needed Dickson’s lightning. She needed control.

She turned to him. "We’ll coordinate with them. Not against them. Understand?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Teamwork. My favorite thing."

"Try harder," she snapped quietly, then softened her tone before addressing the officers again. "Show us the layout."

The younger cop pulled out a tablet, swiping through building schematics. Vanessa leaned in, studying quickly. Her eyes tracked every hallway, every exit, every blind corner. Dickson leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the glowing screen.

"That’s the lobby," the officer explained, pointing to the highlighted section. "That’s where the hostages are corralled. They’ve stacked desks and counters to block the main doors. Security footage shows at least two of the powered ones near the group at all times."

Vanessa traced her finger along a side hallway. "Here?"

"Emergency stairwell. Locked. But again, if you break in, they’ll know."

Dickson scratched the back of his head, muttering, "Man, why do the bad guys never just rob a liquor store like normal people?"

Vanessa didn’t smile. Her focus was razor sharp.

Every detail mattered. Every mistake could end in dead civilians.

Finally, she stepped back, closing the tablet with a click. "We’ve heard enough."

The cops looked at her expectantly. "So? What’s the plan?"

Vanessa didn’t answer immediately. She looked at Dickson. His jaw was set, electricity snapping faintly at his knuckles. She knew he was hungry, tired, and pissed off, but he was reliable when it counted.

She nodded once. "We’ll handle it."

Dickson sighed like a man walking to the gallows. "Yeah, fine. Let’s get this shit over with. My beef can’t wait any longer"

Some of the officers blinked in confusion, not sure if he was joking or serious. He didn’t clarify.

Vanessa turned back toward the bank. The building loomed, its glass catching the flashing red and blue of police cruisers, its shadow stretching long across the street.

The night was loud with helicopters, sirens, and scattered shouts, but for a second, it all felt quiet. Still.

Vanessa’s hand brushed the black disk in her palm. The device pulsed faintly, ready.

She looked at Dickson. He nodded reluctantly.

Together, they stepped forward.

The officers stepped back, giving them room.

——-

The bank’s side entrance creaked open.

Vanessa slipped in first, her black mask making her look like she belonged in the shadows. Dickson followed, trying to mimic her stealth. The only problem — he didn’t know what stealth meant.

His footsteps slapped against the marble floor a little too loud. He winced, crouching like some bad movie thief, arms spread out wide. He thought he looked slick. He didn’t.

"Keep it quiet," Vanessa whispered without even turning.

"I am quiet," Dickson whispered back, way too loud.

Vanessa shot him a glare sharp enough to skin him alive. He shut up instantly, nodding like a guilty kid.

The bank was dim, lit only by emergency strips and faint desk lamps. The air carried that sterile, metallic smell mixed with the heavy stench of fear. From down the hall, muffled cries told them the hostages were still there.

Two men stood guard — one broad, veins bulging like steel cables, the other with molten-orange hands glowing in the dark. Both looked bored, talking in low voices.

Vanessa raised two fingers. The signal: wait.

She crouched low, preparing to teleport behind them.

Then it happened.

Dickson’s heel caught the corner of a tipped-over mop bucket.

"Shit—!" he hissed.

The bucket rattled, tipped, and clattered across the marble like a damn dinner bell. The sound echoed through the entire lobby.

Both guards snapped their heads around.

"Who’s there!?" one barked.

Vanessa froze mid-step, fury twisting across her face. She didn’t need to say anything — the look alone told Dickson he had just screwed them both.

"Uh... janitorial inspection?" Dickson blurted out, hands up.

The molten-handed guy charged.

Vanessa vanished in a blur, reappearing behind the man, trying to cut him off. Dickson, meanwhile, panicked. His body acted before his brain could. He stumbled backward, tripped over the same damn mop bucket, and landed flat on his ass.

The molten man swung at him — a glowing fist ready to smash through his skull.

Dickson threw up his hands instinctively.

ZAP!

Lightning crackled out like a reflex. The bolt caught the guy square in the chest. His body jerked violently and he collapsed, twitching on the floor.

Dickson blinked at his hands, jaw hanging. "Did I—did I just win?!"

Vanessa didn’t look impressed. "No. You almost got us killed."

Before Dickson could argue, the big muscle man roared, grabbed a desk, and hurled it like it was made of cardboard. Vanessa teleported, grabbing Dickson’s shirt just in time to yank him out of the way. The desk exploded against the wall, scattering splinters everywhere.

"Stay behind me," Vanessa snapped.

"Yes ma’am," Dickson muttered, heart hammering. He tried to shrink himself into the shadows, but he was a six-foot idiot in a white mask — not exactly invisible.

The muscle man charged next. Vanessa teleported again, slashing across his jaw with a brutal kick that made the man stumble.

Dickson, meanwhile, stumbled into the fight without meaning to. His foot hit a stray stapler on the ground. He slipped, arms flailing, and his knee slammed right into the muscle man’s groin.

The big guy howled in pain, clutching himself and staggering.

Dickson scrambled back up, wide-eyed. "Oh my god—I didn’t mean to—" He stopped when he realized Vanessa was staring at him like she couldn’t believe it.

"You lucky bastard," she muttered. How the hell did you get lucky twice.

"Strategy!" Dickson corrected quickly, trying to look cool. "That was all strategy."

Another figure appeared from the vault hallway — tall, wiry, with jagged claws for fingers. His mask covered half his face, but his grin was sharp. "More rats in the bank, huh? Let’s see how long you last."

He lunged straight at Dickson.

Dickson panicked again, ducking too late and fell flat. The claw swipe whooshed over his head and dug into the wall behind him. Sparks flew as the claws tore through wiring.

Dickson lay there blinking. "Holy shit... I dodged."

"You fell," Vanessa corrected while shoving the clawed man back with a kick.

The clawed man slashed wildly. Vanessa teleported in and out, dodging him with surgical precision. Dickson tried to crawl away. His hand landed on a loose cable sparking from the wall.

Electricity shot up his arm.

He screamed, flailed, and pointed forward.

A lightning bolt arced out, blasting the clawed man straight in the chest. The guy flew backward into a row of cubicles, collapsing in a heap.

The bank went quiet for a moment.

Dickson panted on the floor, hair standing straight up, smoke rising from his mask. "I meant to do that."

Vanessa rubbed her temple, muttering, "Why am I doing this with you..."

More footsteps echoed from deeper inside the bank. Reinforcements. Shouts. The real fight was only starting.

Vanessa grabbed Dickson by the arm and yanked him to his feet. "Stay close, don’t touch anything, and if you get lucky again—fine. But don’t push it."

Dickson nodded rapidly. "Got it. No touching. No fighting. Just... accidental heroics."

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed behind her mask. "Exactly."