Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

August 15th, sunny. Tomorrow is Zhang Yang's birthday, but unexpectedly, I have a holiday today.

Zhang Yang hadn't slept like this in a long time. He slept until he naturally woke up. A ray of sunlight peeked through the curtains and fell on his pillow. Jiang Minghai's case was solved by a wedding car convoy, something no one expected. Chen Feng was released without charge after being reviewed by the procuratorate and is said to have returned to the labor market to find work again.

Zhang Yang rolled over, picked up his phone, and glanced at it. Wang Ye had sent a text message saying he had to work overtime today. Well, now he'd be alone. He lingered in bed for a while until his stomach started growling, then slowly got up to wash up.

Having nothing to do after wandering around the house, Zhang Yang decided to go to the nearby bank to withdraw some money. He'd finally gotten paid, so he figured he should treat himself to something good. He'd heard there was a new restaurant that had opened near Wangfujing, and the food was supposedly quite good.

Both ATMs at the bank entrance had "Under Maintenance" signs hanging on them, clearly written in black on a yellow background. Zhang Yang stood at the entrance, stunned for a moment, thinking how unlucky it was to be doing that—under maintenance on machines in the middle of the day. He put his hands in his pockets, pushed open the glass door, and entered the bank lobby.

Zhang Yang had only been inside for a few seconds when he felt something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but a chill ran down his spine. He pretended to tidy his wallet, his eyes scanning the people in the lobby.

A person stood against the wall on the left, wearing a dark hat and black pants, with their hands in their pockets. Next to the self-service form counter on the right was another person, also wearing a hat and a black shirt, pretending to look at a form in their hand. Neither of them seemed to be conducting business; they stood motionless, their weight steadily on their feet, neither in a hurry nor lazy.

Not right.

The person on the left is wearing a hat and black pants, and the person on the right is wearing a hat and black shirt. Both are standing in a tactical standby posture, with no natural slight movement of their necks following the direction of their gaze. Their eyes are continuously scanning the environment under the shadow of their hat brims, focusing on three locations: the counter, the security guard, and the entrance/exit passage.

The black top has an unnatural bulge at the hem, which correlates with the movement of the elbow joint, and a firearm is suspected to be concealed under the right armpit. The black trousers have asymmetrical sags at the ankles, and there is a noticeable pressure mark on the right trouser leg, which matches the marks left by the holster strap rubbing against the fabric. High danger level; immediate disengagement is recommended.

Zhang Yang's heart sank. He wanted to walk out, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone standing at the door, blocking the escape route. That person was also pretending to make a phone call.

Zhang Yang casually pulled out his phone, held it to his ear, and pretended to read a text message. His fingers flew across several keys as he sent a message to Yang Zhen. Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, the four people in the lobby moved simultaneously, their movements perfectly synchronized. They raised their hands, grabbed the mesh of their face masks attached to their hat brims, and pulled them down, instantly turning their four faces into four black silhouettes.

"Don't move! Don't move!"

"The money belongs to the government, but your life is your own; don't touch either!"

Bang bang bang.

The AK47's muzzle shot out three jets of fire at the ceiling, bullets blasting several holes in the ceiling, debris and dust falling down, the smell of gunpowder filling the lobby, screams erupting everywhere, some people crouching down with their heads in their hands, others collapsing to the ground in terror.

Zhang Yang squatted down, put his hands behind his head, and adopted the same posture as the people around him, but his eyes were not idle.

After firing the stun grenades, the number one gangster turned and fired more bullets at the bulletproof glass of the bank counter. The bullets struck the glass but didn't penetrate immediately; instead, the glass visibly began to wear down, cracks spreading outwards from the point of impact. The number two gangster then began to pull all the hostages crouching on the ground towards the center, shouting, "Everyone! Don't look up at us! Keep your heads down!"

Zhang Yang buried his face in his hands, glancing out of the corner of his eye at a thug collecting phones one by one with a black cloth bag. When it was his turn, he secretly turned off his phone screen, gently pressed the volume down to mute, and then let the phone be thrown into the bag.

The hostages were all forced to squat together. Zhang Yang kept his head in his hands, his mind racing.

[The number one robber, wielding an AK-47 assault rifle, exhibits wear and tear characteristics consistent with smuggling routes to Eastern Europe. His firing stance is standard military tactical, with the buttstock positioned accurately against the shoulder, a stable grip on the forend, and the index finger ready outside the trigger guard. After firing, the finger immediately returns to its pointing position, clearly indicating formal military training, not that of an ordinary gun handler.]

[Robber number two is currently manipulating the bank safe's lock. He's using a homemade lock-picking kit, and his method involves first damaging the external combination dial and then using an endoscope to probe the lock cylinder's springs. The smoothness of his movements suggests he's experienced in lock picking. He's wearing the same combat boots as robber number one, sizes 42 and 43 respectively. Their stride rhythm is highly coordinated, and their lateral positions remain fixed while moving, suggesting a possible spousal or close partnership.]

[The third hostage-taker, responsible for guarding the hostage. His gait is skewed; his right foot lands approximately 0.3 seconds less than his left, and the wear on his right shoe sole is significantly less than his left, indicating a noticeable limp. This characteristic is extremely easy to identify and is the most easily tracked of the four.]

[Robber number four, responsible for guarding the entrance. There are traces of light pink nail polish on the base of his left ring finger and the tip of his index finger; the brand is preliminarily identified as a domestic brand, and the color matches the preferences of a preschool girl. The wiping marks are uneven, with the edges showing the characteristic overflow of a child applying nail polish. It is presumed he has a daughter, aged six to nine.]

Zhang Yang mentally reviewed the information of the four people. They were professional; these people were definitely professional, with a clear division of labor and each person performing their duties: controlling the hostages, disrupting security, clearing the scene, and guarding the perimeter. Every step was monitored.

Bandit number one had already damaged most of the bulletproof glass. With the final shot, a large section of the glass shattered with a crash. Bandit number two jumped over the broken glass and into the safe, crouching down in front of it to pick the lock. In less than thirty seconds, he had the safe door open. Bandit number four pointed a replica Type 54 pistol at the hostage, while the other three began stuffing money into the bag in batches, their movements swift and organized.

Zhang Yang's sharp ears caught the faint sounds coming through the bank's glass doors. The sirens grew louder and louder as they approached. The gangster number one heard them too, glanced up at the door, and muffled his voice behind his mask: "Hurry up."

"Right away, right away," the second bandit replied, his hands still busy, tying up one money bag and then grabbing another.

"The cops are coming, let's get going." Gangster number one had already retreated to the doorway, his gun held level and sweeping back and forth.

"quick!"