It was your average opening time at Gotham National Bank. Those with business walked in and out, the tellers were actively working on their computers, and the security guards were at attention and in place.
In walked Joe Rodney, your average businessman in a suit and white gloves, a fedora covering his eyes, and carrying a briefcase into Gotham National. He walked up to the teller and said in a deep voice, "I'd like to make a deposit."
"Sure," the teller said, and began to take some of his banking information. After a while of typing, she said, "I'll be right back to collect your cash," noting his briefcase.
"Alright." As she left, he put the briefcase on the table and opened it. He looked at the pistol, and then pulled it out, raising it in the air.
"Everybody on the floor!" he cried out, firing a few shots into the ceiling, people screaming and the guards fumbling to get their own weapons out. The guards began to close in on him with the riot shields some had gotten, and he waved his gun at them in caution. As they got closer, he pulled out a smoke grenade, and popped it, filling the entire hall with smoke.
When it cleared, the guards stopped their coughing, and saw that the assailant was gone, nowhere to be found, and no evidence of his being there. In his place was a roll of paper.
The Sargent that was on duty in the Bank went up to the roll of paper and picked it up. Opening it, he read what was on the paper:
"What can you gamble away and never win back?"
