The Muddiest Gray

  Three deep breathes, then its time. In. What if. Out. They know. In. What. Out. I am. In. Doing. The man held his breath, thinking of everything that might go wrong over the next hour. Of every bullet that the guards fired could hit him, every bullet of his that could hit the guard, of the lives he could ruin or of his sons life. Yes his son. He needs this. There is no other way. Out. Relax.
  The man jumped out of his pick up. He had short cropped brown hair and a three piece business suit and shined shoes that reflected as mirrors would. He appeared to be a business man just walking into the bank. As he came through the front door of the Greer Bank he stuck his hand in jacket, and rubbed the handle of his nine millimeter hand gun, less familiar than it had been in previous days. He turned left coming the door and pulled something out of his pocket placing it by his ear. He talked into his cellphone loudly and angrily while standing beside a small potted tree.
  The guard glanced at the fancy man then walked toward the counter leaving his back exposed. The fancy man dropped the phone into his pocket and one motion pulled out his nine millimeter Ruger and face mask bringing both up to bear in less than half a second. The fancy man fired two rounds into the guard facing slightly askew of him before he ever had a chance, then fired another two as the guard with his back to him tried to spin around. In one more movement he fired a single round into the camera covering the floor. The line at the teller were now all kneeling and crying in fear.
  "Ladies and Gentleman please remain calm. I will not hurt you and will be gone in" glances at his watch "exactly two minutes. I apologize for your trouble." In the time it took him to say that he had made his way to the counter and had the teller filling his bag with money. When she gave it to him he winked through his mask then spun around and bolted out the door. In all this had taken less than three minutes and judging by the weight of the bag he was making off with two thousand five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.
  Sirens blared in the background as his truck rounded the corner. The fancy man sighed a sigh of relief. His son would get the treatment. It would be ok.

Hero or Villain?