Brockton Bay, December 27th, 10:30 AM
Lars bounced in her seat as Vice's Japanese shitbox of a car took another corner too hard and ended up hitting the curb. Brad gave a quiet "Ow!" from the backseat. Apparently she was a teensy bit too large to sit up front, which meant Lars had the distinguished privilege of riding shotgun as they tore through the streets towards Brockton Central Bank. Shitty rap music blared from the speakers.
"Can. You. Drive. Slower." Lars asked through gritted teeth. "We are going to get arrested before we even make it to the bank."
"I thought-" Vice started, before abruptly changing lanes. "Wait, what's the speed limit on this road?"
Lars slumped down in her seat, put her face in her palms, and sighed, deeply. Her seatbelt yanked on one of her wings a little bit as Vice hit a pothole.
One of Vice's eyes glanced at her, the rest fixed firmly on the road. "Someone seems cranky. You sleep ok?"
Her teeth ground together. Why the fuck does he care? "You took my bed."
"You were perfectly welcome to use it as well. There was plenty of room."
An image came to her head unbidden, of Vice snuggling her like a plush toy on her own goddamn bed.
She placed her head in her hands and slumped forwards until she hit the glove compartment. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it. I am completely sane. I did not lose my mind last night, I just did a bunch of stupid shit under the influence of hormones.
If you were sane you wouldn't be in this car in the first place, she thought.
She had started to get warm again. Inside. She had been fine most of the night, after cooling off with some flying, but now she was trapped in a small, fast-moving metal box with the object of her frustration and now it felt like there was a smoldering campfire down below.
"You sleep with Brad on the couch or something?"
She only barely managed to stop any undue mental images from forming as a result of that question.
"No, I-" she stammered.
Brad finally spoke up. "No, she draped herself over the armchair."
God, she could feel herself start to blush again. "I mean yeah, I slept in the chair-"
"Not in the chair, on. Like your head was dangling over the edge of the armrest with your ass in the air-"
"Brad!" Lars screeched. She really had to figure out if others could see her blush or not. There was fur there, you shouldn't be able to tell.
The wolf-lady just raised an eyebrow and slumped back down in the backseat.
Honestly, it had been the most comfortable spot available to her. It took a lot to make her new body uncomfortable, it seemed. She didn't even wake up sore. Vice could probably drape her around his neck like a scarf and-
She slammed her head into the glove compartment again. From inside, she could hear a bunch of music CDs shifting around and clack-ing against each other. The shitty rap music continued to blare, some darkie dipshit rhyming over repetitive drums and sped-up vocal backing. Garbage music for trash people.
He plots shows like robberies:
"In and out, one, two, three—nobody's pleased!"
Fuck it. She slapped the power button on the stereo.
"Hey!" Vice shouted. "That was supervillain mood music!" He reached over to turn it back on.
Brad piped up from the backseat, interrupting him. "Uh, so Vice, do you have like, a plan? For this? Did you case the joint, or anything?"
Vice's hand pulled away from the radio as he waved it around dismissively. "We'll case it while we're robbing it." He tapped his finger against where his forehead would be under the mask. "It's called multitasking."
One of Lars' eyes twitched. "That's not multitasking! That's putting the cart before the horse and then throwing yourself underneath it!"
Vice threw the car into a right turn and Lars had to brace herself to avoid being thrown into his lap.
They were in the financial district, low-slung apartments beginning to give way to tall glass rectangles. Off in the distance, down a street on the right-hand side, through the driver's side window, Lars saw the Medhall building loom into view before being obscured by another skyscraper.
She looked at the space where it just was for a few silent seconds. Vice took another turn before it could move back into view.
Brad was looking in the same direction, before they both made eye-contact. Wait, was she wearing eye-shadow? No, that was just the color of the fur around her eyes. Huh. Lars didn't notice that before.
"So…" Brad ventured, "...How was your flight last night?" She began tapping on the spiked collar around her neck. Tack tack tack went her claws on the metal. Was she nervous or something? What the hell did she have to worry about?
"Oh yeah!" exclaimed Vice as he gunned it through a yellow light. "How were the wings? The current design is based on a hawk or vulture's passive soaring wings, since you can make your own air currents, but I thought maybe I could try elliptical ones instead, for maneuverability?"
Lars shifted in her seat. She really had no idea what he was talking about. Her wings…
They were fantastic. Getting to see the city from above like that, going into dives, gliding up against the sides of buildings, watching the windows race by. Being carried along by a jetstream of her own making.
Brad was still tapping on her own collar, slightly faster now. Tack-tack-tack-tack-tack.
"No. They were great." She said, and she meant it. She loved being able to fly. And it pained her to know that the only reason she could was that she was a featherweight winged little sexpet designed form the ground up to to be a fucking cock holster for Vice, to squeeze tight on his dick like a needy little-
Brad smacked her on the back, knocking her out of her heated squirming. She was still tapping her collar, faster now for some reason. Tacktacktacktacktack.
"What?" Lars ground out under her breath.
The she-wolf in the backseat just jabbed at her neck again and then pointed at Lars' own neck.
Idly, Lars reached up to where her collar was and grabbed at it.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth as something stabbed into the pads in her palm.
Vice continued to ramble. "Oh, great, good to hear. I also thought we could try a high-speed wing configuration, more like a racing kite, if you've ever seen one of those. See if you like that more. I might be able to create a set that could switch between different types, but that might introduce fragility and more weight, which I've also been working on new methods to reduce. I didn't want to do hollow bones, so…"
Lars tuned him out as she rolled over to face the inside of the car door. She was loyal to the Empire. She believed in it. They saved her after she had been on the run so long. Gave her something to be proud of.
Max had taken her in, set her up, paid for everything as long as she put her powers to work. Hell, this would be the first time setting foot in a bank in a long, long time.
The Empire took care of everything. Insurance. Taxes. Utilities. She didn't even know how much money she had on the credit card Max gave her, just that it was always enough for whatever she wanted.
She could still serve them. Even if she couldn't fight on the front line anymore, even if they shoved her out of the spotlight. She could be an assassin! Swoop in and take someone's head off and disappear into the night! Or a spy? Just plant herself on PRT headquarters and listen in, feeding it all back to the Empire. Or she could-
She could go back to using her powers to commit arson. Vaporized accelerant, compressed oxygen, dust explosions. Feeding the flames until they consumed everything.
But then there was the smell. Her stomach churned, and her fist clenched something sharp.
Now she understood what Brad had been trying to tell her.
The bell on her collar dug in her pawpads, the surface being covered in tiny little brass spikes.
Sleep deprived and obsessing over her own fuckups, she hadn't noticed at all.
If she had stayed a single second longer, Max would have killed her. Decapitated her in midair.
She was knocked out of her brooding by the car jerking to a halt.
"Fuck! Vice, seriously, do I need to drive?" she squawked indignantly.
Vice put the car into park. "One, I don't think you can reach the pedals."
She sneered. "Yeah, and who's fault-"
"Two, we're already here."
Lars' eyes widened as she turned to look out the passenger window. They were parked in an alleyway, and through the gap between buildings she could see the steps of Brockton Central Bank. Vice climbed out of the car and slammed the door, Brad following behind.
A sharp metal comb appeared in Vice's hand as he ran it through his hair. "How's my 'do?" he asked Brad.
Brad just shrugged. "I don't fucking know anything about hair, man."
Lars wondered who exactly did those braids of hers, then.
"Eh." Vice responded. The comb disappeared back into his hand. His hair looked exactly the same as before.
Lars scrambled out of the car, falling to the ground to follow. She saw them looking away, and in a split second decision, formed two small claws of air, and used them as scissors to cut the bell off her collar. She tossed it in a nearby trash can. Vice could get mad about that later.
Now all she was wearing was-
Nothing but her collar.
The absurdity of the situation hit her all at once. She froze, tail standing straight up, hackles raised. Her face locked into what an outside observer might describe as a horny grimace. She felt tears of panic form at the corner of her eyes.
What the fuck am I doing?! she thought.
I'm about to rob a bank. I'm about to rob a bank naked. Naked without a dick. I'm a little tiger girl thing with wings and I'm robbing a bank. I'm going to rob a bank with my pussy out! They're gonna send heroes and camera crews and they're going to put me on the nightly news and they're going to talk about how Vice, Junkyard Dog, and their pet robbed a bank and-
She became aware that she was making some kind of noise in her throat, a sick combination of hyperventilation and purring. Brad shot her a look of concern.
Vice walked up to the bank doors, forming three spheres of compressed air. He hissed and started to juggle them with his hands. "Ooh, hot! Shit!" He slid all three into one of his coat pockets.
That's what you get when you compress air, dumbass. Lars thought.
Vice shook his hand off and peered in through the glass on the doors. "Looks like a small crowd in there. You guys ready?"
Brad rolled her shoulders. "Again, a plan would be nice."
Vice nodded. "Shock and awe. Grab a teller or security guard as hostage, scare everyone else out. Crack open the safe. 'In and out, one, two, three, no bodies, please.'"
Brad quirked an eyebrow. "I thought the lyrics were-"
"He was saying both at the same time." He taps his finger against where his forehead would be under the mask. "Multitasking."
God, no. She couldn't do this.
Lars made a split second decision and scrambled up Vice's back, pressing herself against him to hide from onlookers. Her claws hooked into the back of his coat and she peered over his shoulder.
Vice brought his foot up and kicked into one of the bank's front doors. It did not budge.
"Vice, that's a 'pull' door," Brad finally said.
He tilted his head, foot pressed up against the frame. "So it is."
Vice's leg muscles bulged outwards, skin straining to contain them, and the 'pull' door became a 'push' door with a screech of metal.
A large vaulted bank lobby sat in front of them, black and white checkered marble floors, with light leaking in through a domed skylight above.
Vice stepped inwards, his eyes quickly racing around the room, taking in everything. He flicked the three balls of compressed air to various points of interest inside where they landed nigh-invisibly. His chest seemed to grow with the sounds of creaking ribs as he inhaled.
"LADIES!" his voice boomed. He punctuated the word by detonating one of his placed spheres with a 'Bang!' A potted plant sent dirt and ceramic everywhere.
"And!" A nearby vending machine ruptured, spilling soda and loose cans all over the floor.
"GENTLEMEN!" A detonation occurs behind them, shattering the glass on the other intact doors and letting the cold air inside. Vice performs a small movement with his hands and loose snowflakes form vortexes inside the bank.
A gaggle of early morning patrons, all silk scarves and fancy coats now blowing in the wind, turned to look at them with eyes wide.
"My name is Vice, and I'm here to make a withdrawal. By force."
Dauntless and Assault both stood outside thick blast doors of Armsmaster's lab. Dauntless gripped an envelope tightly in his hands. Assault pretended to scrape some dirt off his shoe.
Below them, the metal supports of the oil rig holding up the Protectorate Headquarters groaned slightly.
Neither of them particularly wanted to be here. Well, Assault might, out of a sense of vengeful schadenfreude.
"Do you want me to tell him? I can bear bad news with the best of 'em." Assault said.
Dauntless sighed. "No. I'll do it." He raised his hand to the intercom and pushed the button. "Armsmaster, it's Dauntless and Assault. May we come in?" He didn't have to do this, it was unlocked, and even if it wasn't, Dauntless could go anywhere on the rig besides the sleeping quarters. Although it wasn't like Colin ever used his room anyway.
Still, it helped to be polite. And they were going to need all the help they could get.
There was about 10 seconds of complete silence.
Assault leaned over to whisper. "Do you think he fell asleep at his desk again?"
He was about to push the button again when the doors slid open, revealing Colin sitting at his desk unmasked, illuminated by the glow of his many computer screens. He seemed alert and awake, but there were heavy bags under his eyes.
Dauntless moved inside, motion activated lights revealing the rest of Armsmaster's Lab/Office hybrid. He politely ignored the way Colin flinched and hissed when the lights turned on.
Assault did not. "Sorry to interrupt your beauty rest, Nosferatu, but we have some news."
Colin squinted angrily as his eyes adjusted. "I wasn't sleeping. I was investigating." He scanned his eyes over his desk as if surprised that it was there, and swept some paper and tools off it into a desk drawer.
Most people, when meeting Armsmaster for the first time, would assume he is a well organized Tinker with a system for everything. The kind of man who keeps everything in their own separate drawer, each one labeled and arranged by color or size or any number of factors.
Colin would also describe himself as such. The problem was that all his systems, and charts, and labels, they only made sense to him. To everyone else it looked like a mess.
Dauntless carefully stepped over a disassembled halberd shaft, its place on the floor outlined in chalk like it had been the victim of a gruesome murder. A tag tied around the bottom end labeled it as V-7-AAB-BLUE, which Dauntless was sure meant something, just not to anyone except Colin.
"Investigating what?" Dauntless asked. God, he hoped those coffee mugs on the desk weren't of Colin's 'special brew'. Human beings should not consume more than 1 cup of that stuff per year, and there were at least 3 empty mugs sitting there.
Colin turned back to his array of screens and brought up an array of police reports. "Vice, of course."
Dauntless pointedly did not turn his head towards the sealed glass case, where Vice's arms were sitting inside. Small patches and skin and muscle were missing where Colin had taken samples. They were the reason the two of them were here in the first place.
"Colin, about that-" Dauntless started.
"My sample analysis has turned up organelles and muscular structures not present in normal humans. We are dealing with a Changer that is capable of modifying himself on a subcellular level. My programs predict this mitochondria design could result in an over sixty percent increase in ATP generation-"
"Colin." Assault chimed in. But it was too late now.
"-And then there's the exact nature of his plans, we've had reports of him and Junkyard Dog Deep in Empire territory." He paused to take a breath. "You heard about the explosion down at Northern Pines Apartments yesterday?"
"You don't think Vice caused that somehow?" Dauntless asked.
Colin shook his head. "He was spotted nearby around the same time, but I don't believe he caused it. I took some scans and samples from the site. There was no evidence of any burns or smoke damage on the site, nor any chemical residue created by any conventional explosives. A pure shockwave of air."
That sounded familiar. Dauntless put the pieces together. "You think Stormtiger caused it? Why would he have been there?"
Colin nodded. "Unless Vice lugged 8 massively over-pressurized tanks of air, set them off, and then carefully picked out every piece of metal shrapnel from the blast site in the 15 minutes before the cops arrived, I'm inclined to think Stormtiger was involved. As for why, that's still a mystery. That's not even the strangest part."
Colin pulled up a photo of the inside of an upscale apartment. One of the walls looked completely destroyed. He pointed a finger to a spot just in front of it. "A woman was in the apartment next door, standing just in front of that wall. According to her, she heard loud yelling from inside a moment before the explosion occurred."
Assault boggled. "She's still alive? How?"
Dauntless had to agree; the forces required to put a hole that large through a wall like that would have turned a human to pulp.
"Not only alive," Colin continued, "But entirely uninjured. She was knocked unconscious by the blast, and when she woke up, her clothes were ruined but she didn't have a mark on her."
There was, of course, an obvious conclusion from that information. "She triggered?" Dauntless asked.
"She claimed she didn't, and testing found no obvious powers. A needle punctured her skin as normal and she didn't heal from it appreciably faster."
They were all silent for a moment.
"Then how-?"
"I don't know," Colin admitted, slumping in his seat. "There's some other factor we're missing here."
Now Dauntless felt really bad about what they were doing. He started to hold the envelope in his hand out to Colin. "Listen, we're here to-"
The Tinker straightened up in his seat, ignoring him entirely. "There's also something I was just looking into. The police managed to get a hold of the building's landlord. The apartment where the explosion happened was rented out by a man named Brad Meadows."
The name sounded familiar. "Wasn't he-"
Colin cut off Dauntless's train of thought like a red Ferrari merging onto highway traffic. "The registered owner of the pickup truck we found at the warehouse fire. The one Vice and Junkyard Dog stole from the impound lot later that night."
Colin was getting back on a roll now, Dauntless needed to step in. He shoved the envelope towards him again. "Colin please, we just need to-"
"Now Brad Meadows has no criminal record to speak of besides being arrested last Christmas for a DUI and resisting arrest. However-"
Assault had apparently had enough. "Colin. You're being benched."
Colin stopped in the middle of his sentence. He turned around, slowly, and looked Assault up and down. God, Dauntless wished he could have just given him the envelope and left.
A small, disbelieving smile formed on Colin's lips for just a moment. "Ethan, we're not a sports team. I can't be 'benched'. What are you talking about?"
Dauntless held the envelope just in front Colin, practically shoving it in his face at this point. "From the desk for Director Piggot," he stated, trying to leave out any emotion in his voice.
The expression on Colin's face turned sour for just a moment, before he took it in his hands. He picked up a scalpel from his desk. Slowly, carefully, he cut open the seal, took out the letter, and read it. His face didn't change the entire time. He also didn't let go of the scalpel.
Colin wouldn't stab anyone, of course, but Dauntless really wished he would put it down.
He set the letter and the scalpel back down on the desk. "A week of forced vacation?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"A week of mandatory mental health leave," Dauntless clarified.
Colin apparently did not appreciate being corrected. "Why." He asked, his eyes narrowing to dangerous levels.
"Well, let's see…" Assault began, "You introduced yourself to a new, unknown villain by cutting his arms off-"
"I was defending myself!"
"-yeah, and you're unimaginably lucky nobody filmed you 'defending yourself'. Piggot had a fit when she found out. And then you kept them as a trophy? You're lucky you're not getting actually suspended!"
Colin slammed his fist on his desk, causing a screwdriver to roll off and drop to the floor. "You weren't there! She wasn't there! I was attacked-".
Dauntless stepped in. Armsmaster was known, even to the public, as the embodiment of stoicism, of keeping it cool and professional. Reacting like that to being attacked, reacting like this to being reprimanded, it wasn't like him at all.
"Colin, please," he said placatingly. "When was the last time you slept?"
The fire in the man's eyes seemed to die, replaced by something analogous to guilt. "I just had a nap 2 hours ago."
"I didn't say 'nap', Colin. When's the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?"
His eyes avoided both their gazes. "I've been developing a special regimen-"
Assault threw his hands up. "Oh, for fuck's sake Colin!"
The Tinker tapped his finger against the desk assertively. "The efficiency I've gained in the past two weeks has allowed me to-"
"You haven't been getting any real sleep for the past two weeks!?"
"Will you two stop interrupting me for ONE SECOND-!"
Dauntless grabbed his Arclance from his back and slammed the bottom of the shaft into the floor. There was a bright, loud spark. All the lights in the lab flickered.
Both of them stared at Dauntless in silence, Assault's face full of surprise, and Colin's with a nervous anger.
Shit. Now what? Dauntless thought. He took a deep breath. He needed to put this to bed, now.
"Colin. On that day, you said to me that the Protectorate was a team who was responsible for protecting the public. That they couldn't afford to have unstable, mentally unwell people doing that job when there were lives on the line."
He gestured towards the Tinker at his desk, breathing heavy with bags under his eyes. "And now it turns out that you've been working on not nearly enough sleep, and it's been making you high-strung and irritable. Enough that, when put under stress, you seriously hurt someone. Even if they could take it."
He placed a hand on Colin's shoulder.
Dauntless could see the anger in his eyes replace itself with shame. He slumped back down in his chair, the reinforced frame groaning against the weight of his armor.
"I…" he began. He swallowed, composing himself for a brief moment before he broke entirely. "Shit. I'm sorry."
God, he just looked so defeated. Getting your own words thrown back at you was a horrible thing, but he desperately needed to hear it.
"Just get some rest, Colin. Assault and I are going on patrol."
"It's just…" he muttered to himself. "He leapt out at me, and he was all charred and black, and he wasn't winding up to attack, he was just reaching out towards me. Towards my face, where I didn't have any armor."
Assault tilted his head slightly. "He… just reached towards you? Fingers outstretched?" A look of deep consideration passed over his features.
"I know. I know. I overreacted. It's just he… he's…"
A loud alert blared on the computer behind Colin. One of the monitors began to flash, casting the whole lab in a bright red color.
Colin looked it over, and Dauntless could hear his teeth grind together. "He's currently robbing Brockton Central Bank!" He punctuated the statement by slamming both hands on his desk.
Almost as if by pure reflex, he got up from his chair and moved towards the rack of spare halberds on the wall.
Dauntless moved into his path and shook his head. Colin lurched to a halt, brows furrowing, clearly frustrated at both Dauntless and himself.
Dauntless walked back towards the door. "I'm sorry Colin, but I have a feeling you might make things worse." Colin's frown only grew deeper. There were probably better ways Dauntless could have phrased that.
"Battery and Miss Militia are already out on patrol," he continued. "We'll meet them there. It'll be fine."
Assault gave a thumbs up and a grin. "We'll have 'em outnumbered two-to-one, big guy, don't worry about it."
Colin leaned against his desk, his armored hands gripping the edges tight. He hung his head low.
"Just go."
Assault's smile faltered. "Just, eh, get some sleep. We got this."
They both exited the lab. The sounds of someone throwing a set of tools against a wall followed them before the door shut. Something to worry about later.
Dauntless activated his radio. "This is Dauntless, requesting the garage to prepare my Bike and get ready to lower the shields."
The line crackled for a second. "Dauntless, this is Console, we read you. Bike will be ready to go in 2 minutes. Shield dropping in 3."
"Not going to fly over?" Assault asked, using his power to skip forward down the hall.
"Not sure I could make the jump yet. Someday, though. Meet you outside?"
"You got it." He bounded off the hall, exiting towards the upper decks of the Rig.
One short elevator ride later, Dauntless turned the engine over on his motorbike as the bridge of hard light leading into Brockton Bay sprang to life, the iridescence of the force field dropping at the same time. The machine roared beneath him as he rode above the waves.
Dauntless really hoped Colin would get some rest. And he really hoped he didn't take it too hard. Or too personally.
Above him, Assault did an almost perfect combination backflip-corkscrew off the top deck of the Rig like it was an Olympic high-dive. When his feet hit the glowing surface of the bridge, all the momentum he built during his fall suddenly went sideways, shooting him forwards at the exact same speed. In two bounds, Assault had already streaked ahead of Dauntless, his power taking the force of each impact and using it to propel him further.
Both of them raced into the city. They could handle whatever happened. Colin could relax.
Back in the lab, a tinkertech screwdriver was thrown so hard it embedded itself halfway through a filing cabinet.
Everyone was staring at them.
And why wouldn't they? Vice commanded everyone's attention in the loudest possible entrance one could make. He literally went in with a bang.
Lars clung tight to the back of Vice's weird vest-jacket thing. Why was it so long despite not having sleeves? Why the fuck were they robbing a bank? Why the fuck was she naked and a tiger-girl and robbing a bank and getting horny and-?
She was going crazy. Again. Had to be.
The patrons of the bank were all still looking at the three of them dumbfounded.
"Well?" asked Vice. "Have none of you ever been in a bank robbery before?"
Lars could hear the girl working behind at the teller frantically hitting a button underneath the desk. She considered warning Vice about it, before realizing she really didn't care if Vice got arrested and-slash-or blown up by the heroes. She savored this small victory, this piece of information only she had.
She then thought about it a little more and realized Vice most likely didn't care either. What's the point of all this pomp and circumstance if you don't expect someone to show up and try to stop you?
Vice turned his head towards one of the side walls of the lobby, where a large poster stretched across its length. It featured a family of ambiguous-race cartoon people that all corporations loved to use these days. Above, it declared "CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF KEEPING YOUR MONEY AND YOUR FUTURE SAFE".
Lars barely had time to think 'They're just asking for it, huh?' when Vice flicked his fingers forward, causing a crescent of solid air to impact with the "3" on the poster, blowing the numeral to confetti, just leaving a big fat "0" behind.
Vice turned back to the stunned patrons, who just then seemed to understand what was happening to them.
"For those of you new to super-villainous bank robberies, now is the part where you all run away in fear, screaming for the heroes to save you."
A giant flat disk of compressed air formed in front of Vice, and he leapt onto it, before he shoved it forward with his- with Lars's!- power. To everyone else, it looked like he was just flying really low to the ground. He leaned forward, presumably to project as much menace as possible.
And then he started to laugh maniacally. The patrons finally seemed to get the message, as they all began screaming at once.
Men in suits and women in fancy coats ran past, screams spilling from their gaping mouths. One older woman looked like she was about to genuinely faint. Vice paid them no mind whatsoever. Brad followed behind, watching the civvies flee with a fascinated amusement.
Vice made his way over to the teller's window. His dumb compressed air segway thing wasn't any faster than walking; he was doing it only for the effect. The worst part is that it seemed to have worked; everyone had fled the lobby except for the woman behind the counter, and not a single person had gotten in their way. There had been a security guard by the door when they entered who had stumbled, dropped his gun, and then literally scrambled on all fours towards the exit.
It was frankly embarrassing, and given Lars' current state, that was saying something.
All Vice had done with his powers was dumb stunts and that was enough to reduce a crowd to complete hysterics.
As soon as the last of the crowd was out the door, Lars unlatched herself from Vice's back and shot up towards the ceiling, perching under the lip of the domed skylight. She could see the whole of the lobby from here. A set of metal bars had dropped over the teller's windows. Lars could just make out a set of heels sticking out from where the clerk from before was cowering below her desk. The scent of fear-sweat and expensive perfume wafted from the location.
It was a little known fact, one Lars knew very well, that the odor produced by sweat caused by fear was different from the scent of sweat caused by simple exercise. Different glands, or something. Point was, this woman was terrified as Vice slid up to the window. He hopped off his invisible little air cushion and kicked it backwards behind him, where it dissipated harmlessly.
Vice cracked his knuckles and then rang the bell on the counter.
Nothing happened, save for the squealing sound of some escapees in the parking lot burning rubber.
Vice rang the bell again. The woman behind the desk made a quiet choking noise. Lars heard an alarm bell start to ring somewhere in the back of the bank.
Vice rang the bell a third time.
"Will you quit fucking around?" Brad asked. She shoved vice out of the way and tore the bars clean off the window. The clerk girl screamed as the glass behind the bars shattered.
"Terrible design," Vice remarked. "Who ever heard of a self-service bank?" He leapt through the now open window like an Olympic hurdler. He landed just in front of the clerk and immediately grabbed her, before putting himself in her face.
"Hi, I'm here to close an account. Many accounts. None of them mine. Could you please show me to the vault, if you would?"
The clerk was crying at this point, makeup running down her face and splattering onto her blouse. Shakily, she pointed to a hallway towards the back.
"Thank you!" Vice said in a sing-song voice. The girl screamed as Vice slung her over his shoulder and made his way towards the back. Brad followed behind, the metal bars from the window disappearing into her forearm.
Two security guards, baffled at the fact that a supervillain was actually robbing them, emerged from their office to point their guns shakily at them. Lars watched from around a corner.
One of the guards barely managed to squeeze out a "Stop! Freeze!" before Vice simply walked up to them. With a hostage over his shoulder, neither guard was actually willing to fire. They backed away, still pointing their guns at him, until they hit the wall.
Vice walked up and slowly, calmly, took the gun out of one of the security guards' hands.
And then his mask split down the middle with wet crackling noise, revealing a vertical maw of jagged bony teeth with a long worm-like tongue. Lars let out an involuntary scream.
The clerk let out an extremely voluntary scream. It was a full bodied, five-alarm scream.
And then Vice ate the gun.
He gave a few dramatic chews, before the entire weapon just disappeared into his face. He burped a cloud of what smelled like gunpowder into the guards face, who simply slumped against the wall, eyes bugging out.
Vice turned towards the other guard, who, in a fearful attempt at appeasement, held out his gun towards vice by the barrel.
"No thanks, I just ate." Vice said. "Junkyard Dog, here." Vice grabbed the gun and threw it back to Brad, who expertly unloaded it before throwing it in a nearby garbage can.
Vice gestured with his thumb towards the bank entrance. "Out!"
The guards didn't need to be told twice, almost falling over each other to flee. At this point the clerk girl was hanging limp over Vice's shoulder, all the panic and tears replaced by resigned confusion.
Lars could relate.
She followed as Vice strode forward, not really wanting to be left alone when the heroes inevitably showed up. The girl gave hurried directions at Vice's insistence, guiding them past offices and meeting rooms and rows of cubicles until finally, there was a large circular metal door, with a stainless steel wheel in the center.
The clerk girl tried to speak up, so Vice just dropped her off his shoulder with a thump and a yell. She stood up, panting heavily, eyes darting to-and-fro.
"Listen, please, just let me go, I don't know the combination and even if I did, the timer lock activated the moment the alarms went off. Nobody can get in for 24 hours. Please, I don't know anything, I can't do anything, just let me go."
Vice shrugged. "Okay."
"...What?" She whispered.
"Okay. Go away. Don't slow us down."
Vice walked over to the vault and extruded a massive 3-inch diameter drill bit from the palm of his hand. He pressed it against the top hinge of the door and it began to spin rapidly, creating a horrible metallic shriek that left Brad and Lars covering their ears. Or, at least, Brad was. Lars had just grabbed the side of her head where her ears used to be and wondered why that wasn't doing anything.
Lars didn't know Brad's power could do that. Did Brad know her power could do that? She didn't look surprised. Did she teach him how to do that? Was she training him?
God, she was absolutely whipped wasn't she? Lars bet she begged Vice to fuck her last night. Probably got down on her hands and knees, unable to take the heat she was feeling anymore. Begging for sweet, sweet relief.
The clerk girl looked up at Brad, and then looked down at Lars, not in fear, but in confusion, like what is this pet thing with a collar doing here and why does it have hips like that and why is it blushing.
Lars tried to growl at her and all that came out was a sharp hiss. She still fucked off and ran away though. Mission accomplished.
"Vice, how long is this going to take?" Brad asked.
"Twice the amount of time it would take if you helped me."
"Fucking fine, smartass." Brad lumbered over and a much rougher spiraling spire of blades erupted from her forearm which didn't so much drill into, as grind against, the bottom hinge of the vault. She grabbed her braids with her other hand and held them out of the way.
Stop helping him! She thought. Lars kind of just wanted to leave, now. It would be easy. Just let the heroes come in and arrest Vice and Brad, and then…
Vice probably dies. Powers like that almost necessitated a kill order. Hell, if they put him in the Birdcage he might get strong enough to just break out if he gets the right combination of powers. They would never risk it.
Also, Lars might never be able to orgasm again. Shit.
Heat burned between her legs again, and her knees bowed together. She glanced around the room, somehow feeling more self conscious now that there was no one else here. Were there cameras watching her right now? What did they see? Her, standing around useless and naked. Like some cuddly mascot or something. Did the blush pick up on the cameras? They might think she had a bank-robbing fetish or something.
She imagined a picture of her naked body on a corkboard in some PRT detective's room, tacks and red string tying her to a picture of Vice.
No, she was strong. She could do this. She could leave. She wasn't a slave to her body. It was like a trade. Orgasm for wings. Some people lost their dicks in horrible accidents and they didn't get to fly in return. Pretty good deal!
She could live in the mountains, some kind of eunuch, hunting for food. Meditating on mind over matter. Overcome her own body's horniness through sheer willpower. And Brad would…
And then Brad gets sent to the Birdcage once they figure out who she is. Leaving Lars home free to just fly away.
A large bolt came away from the vault hinge, spinning through the air.
God she was such a shitty fucking friend. First thing she thought of when planning her escape was how she was going to deal with not being able to cum instead of the fact her friend would end up shoved into an inescapable hole. Mind over matter? Her body was apparently the only thing on her mind whatsoever. She literally couldn't stop thinking about how she looked or how others saw her or how horny she was or how good it felt to fly.
She wouldn't be a fucking celibate monk, she's be a sex-crazed animal living in a cave, begging travelers to kiss her and fuck her like she was under some fairy-tale curse that only true love's dick could cure, but she'd never be able to because Vice owned her and everyone would know it and-
She screamed in her mind.
I'M FUCKING DOING IT AGAIN!
She needed to just forget all of it for now. Help Brad. Be sort of a good friend.
"I, uh…" she started. Brad turned to look at her. Vice also turned to look at her, but his head twisted a full 180 to do it. She felt the fur on her back raise.
"Is there something I can do to help? Or something I should be doing?" she asked.
Brad raised an eyebrow and went back to grinding away. Vice scratched his chin.
"I thought you were doing lookout?" He asked.
"Oh… uh, yeah, right. I was doing that. I meant besides that." She really should have actually been doing that. With a mental push, she tensed her power. Tendrils of air formed, not under pressure per say, but more like under tension. Entirely invisible, they extended in every direction, around corners, through vents, through tiny cracks in doors and walls. Sensations of sound and smell traveled through them, feeding into her senses. Senses she had been slowly coming to realize were much, much stronger than they used to be.
She wondered if Vice knew how to do this. He had her power, but this was something she'd learned to do over the years. It was a skill. Something she was actually proud of.
She had the tendrils trace the paths of particular scents. The smell of fear from the clerk girl went out the fire exit, out through the parking lot, into a space filled with the smell of car exhaust. She had left in a hurry.
She traced all over the bank, prodding each and every room, looking for the scent of sweat, the traces of human body odor, the sound of breathing.
Not a peep. Everyone else cleared out.
"You spacing out? I asked a question." Vice said.
"I said I was doing lookout!"
"After that. You got a faraway look."
"Oh." She was listening to the entire building at the moment. Give her a break.
"I asked If you could find a fire extinguisher."
"...can I ask why?"
"You'll see."
Brad watched Lars fly off. He and Vice had almost torn through the hinges at this point, and they were surrounded by a pile of metal shavings.
Vice had to be smarter than he let on. He had to be. The alternative was too stupid to comprehend. Sure, he acted like a fool, but his big supervillain show-off had driven literally everyone out of the bank and left them alone. Nobody had even fired a shot. And now they were basically alone with the loot. It worked almost perfectly, except for the timer-lock thing. But at this rate, that wouldn't be a problem either.
Vice suddenly stepped away from the hinge he was working on, ran towards a fake plastic plant in the corner, and vomited some black ooze from his weird vertical mouth thing. That's what you get for eating a gun, dumbass.
His mouth had been normally shaped last night, he thought. He shook his head. He didn't really want to think about what happened last night. Not to say he really regretted it. In fact, he was pretty sure if he thought about it too hard, he would actually come to regret what she had done- what he had- what she…
Yeah, he didn't really want to think about it too much.
Vice walked back and resumed drilling through his section of the door. "Junkyard, what are guns made of?"
"You shouldn't eat shit if you don't know what it is."
"Alright Mommy." He replied snidely.
"Vice, if you put a baby in me last night I will cut that shit out of me myself and throw it in the ocean. I swear to god." He took a deep breath, getting a whiff of hot metal shavings. "Security guards use Glocks, usually. Glocks use some proprietary polymer shit." There were a lot of gun nuts in the Empire. Suprise, suprise. He had been subject to many extremely opinionated discussions on the subject of firearms over the years.
"Whatever it is, it did not want to digest at all. I used every enzyme I could think of. Yetch."
Vice pressed further into the hinge, and the whole thing started to peel off. Brad was finished with his section, and pretty soon they had the door standing free.
Except it wasn't falling down or anything. It just sat in the way, hingeless.
"I think the lock mechanism is still holding it in place." Brad suggested.
"Shit." Vice walked up to the door, and, forming the drill again, began to bore a hole just above the wheel of the vault. The drill bit heated up to the point of glowing red. It began to soften.
Vice tried to retract it, only to burn his hand.
"Yeah," Brad gloated. "Doesn't fucking feel good to be on the other end of that, huh?"
"No, actually! It does not!"
He twisted the bit and it snapped off, where he threw it on the carpet. A fresh one emerged from his palm. He returned to drilling. Soon, the borehole went almost all the way through. Vice stopped, throwing the hot drill bit on top of the other one, and then shoved his hand into the three-inch hole, bones cracking a deforming to allow passage. Soon he had almost his entire arm in there.
"What are you doing?" asked Brad. Vice looked like he was rooting around in a vending machine for a lost bag of chips.
"I just need to make contact with the central mechanism-" there was a 'shunk!' from inside the door. "And apply a little bit of your Ferrokinesis." Another 'shunk!' rang out.
"Metallokinesis. Ferro just means iron." Brad corrected.
"Nerd!" Vice shouted. One final 'shunk!' rang out. "And it's unlocked!"
"Couldn't you have just done that in the first place, without taking the hinges off?"
Vice's eyes looked around shiftily. "Well, you see…"
Vice didn't finish the sentence, as the door started to tilt forwards out of it's frame.
With Vice still elbow deep in it.
"Oh." He said, before about 2000 pounds of metal fell on top of him with a mighty crash.
There was a beat of silence.
"Hey Junkyard Dog, can you lift this?" came a muffled voice from underneath.
Please god, let him be doing a bit. Please let him secretly be a genius.
Brad put his hands under the door, feeling the shape of the metal, and lifted with both his muscles and his power. It came up easily.
He couldn't find it in himself to be shocked at how strong his body was now. Which meant he was growing used to it. Something to be concerned about, maybe.
Vice, on the floor, looked to have been squashed almost flat into the carpet. Slowly, his blood seemed to reverse direction, congealing into a gelatin-like state before flowing back into him. It was barely 30 seconds before he was completely fine, save for some loose splatters of blood.
It seemed like as long as all Vice's parts were there, he could put himself back together from anything. Brad felt slightly less bad about not being able to kill him before.
He bounced to his feet and ran into the now open vault. "Thanks!" He yelled. Brad set the vault door against the wall.
Inside, rows upon rows of security deposit boxes lined the side walls, with the back being taken up by shelves of bundled cash, sorted by denomination. Hundred dollar bills went on top, of course, then fifties, then twenties, tens, ect.
Brad watched as Vice dug through one of his giant coat pockets, to reveal…
A big folded up canvas sack with a dollar sign on it.
"Vice, where did you even get that? When did you get that?"
"I went Parian's shop while searching for you last night, just in case you went back there for god knows what reason," he said, his voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "...and I helped myself to some material. You know, multitasking! Speaking of which, loot while you talk!" Vice's legs stretched out to reach the top shelf and he began sweeping stacks of hundreds into the bag.
"Are you trying to coin a fucking catch phrase or something?"
Vice paused in the middle of his rampart larceny. "I should have a catchphrase, shouldn't I?"
Brad just sighed. He scanned his eyes over the rows of safety deposit boxes. He thought about Vice's trick with the vault. He knew, intellectually, he was always able to do that, but Brad generally always solved a locked door by plowing through it. But now…
He ran his claws over the locks of a row of boxes and they each popped open one after another with only the slightest exertion of his power. Inside the vast majority of them were just papers, photos, deeds and shit. But a few of them had jewelry inside. God, he was just straight up robbing a bank, wasn't he?
Kinda fun.
He started a pile of gems and pearls in the middle of the floor. The gold and silver, however, he just absorbed into his core. Chains, necklaces, bracelets, rings, they all floated inside, still intact for the moment.
Vice seemed to have gotten a similar idea, as he shoved his hand into the drawer filled with stacks of quarters, letting them sink into his arms and disappearing.
"Don't waste your time with coins!" Brad barked.
"You never know when you might need some. I think these are mostly copper." Vice remarked. He went to shove the remaining hundreds and a few stacks of fifties into the bag. Then he grabbed the pile of jewelry Brad had made and just dumped it in as well. He tied it closed, as it was almost full to bursting. He slung it over his shoulder like some Santa Claus of crime.
They both jumped at the sound of a loud 'Pshht!' from outside the vault.
Lars was standing there, holding a fire extinguisher out towards a spot on the floor where the carpet was charred, two smoking drill bits laying in the middle. "The carpet was on fire. Was that why you needed this?" she asked.
Brad glared at Vice.
"No, but good reactions!" he said. He ran out and looked her up and down. "Perfect, one of those cee-oh-two ones. Now, I want to try something with that and your power, can you-"
Lars's tail suddenly stood straight up, her fur puffing out. "They're here," she said. "Two motorcycles. Two arriving on foot, one of them smells like ozone. That's Battery."
Vice tilted his head to listen. "Dauntless I recognize. I don't hear Armsmaster's power." His shoulders loosened. "Thank god, that dude scares me." Lars just looked confused at the statement that Vice could hear powers. Did he not explain that to her?
Brad scoffed. "What, seriously?"
Vice pointed a finger accusingly. "You weren't there. It was like one of those gunslingers that fires two shots so fast they sound like one, except it's a 6 foot halberd. Seriously, I got into arm's reach of the guy and both my arms just fell off." He turned to Lars. "This coat wasn't always sleeveless!"
Lars's ears twitched. "I think the other two are Miss Militia and Assault. I can hear their voices, but I can't make out what they're saying."
Brad threw her head back. "Fuuuuuuck. I was hoping for velocity. Well, Vice, you better find a way to beat Assault or it's over."
"Now who's scared?" Vice jeered.
"You don't understand, Assault isn't someone you can beat by hitting him hard. I'm not going to be able to do anything to him."
Lars looked between the two of them. "Wait, we just need to get away, right? We have the money, we can just go and leave, right?"
"Fuck no," Vice and Brad both responded.
"I want to fight." Brad continued.
"And I want Dauntless's power. And also Dauntless, if there's time."
Lars looked extremely apprehensive. She bit her lip. "Vice, are you really sure that's a good idea?"
"It is the idea. The very principle of the thing. Now, let's get set up."
Battery skidded to a halt outside the bank as Miss Militia pulled up in her motorcycle. Dauntless was already taking position on top of one of the nearby buildings, and Assault was bouncing from foot to foot, each step taking him several feet in the air. His cocky smile turned to a genuine one as she approached. A couple of PRT vans were setting up roadblocks nearby, with a few officers taking statements from the few bank employees who had stuck around instead of making a break for home.
It must be so nice to get a day off when villains attack instead of being called into work.
"Hey Puppy," he said. "Long time no see!"
"We saw each other this morning, dumbass." There was no venom behind her insult. Just the playful banter of two people who knew just how to get on each other's nerves. "Any updates?"
Assault stopped bouncing and gave her a nod. "The one hostage they took seemed to get away, or was let go. Her car was seen pulling out of the lot and hightailing it out. No injuries or deaths. It's about as clean an operation as you can get, minus the property damage."
He gestured to the row of doors leading inside, their windows blown out, with one in particular being forced inwards and having its frame bent.
Miss Militia dismounted from her bike, removing her helmet. "I think calling this an 'operation' is giving it a bit too much credit. It's a literal smash and grab." she said.
"Hah! I know, I know. Not exactly Ocean's Eleven. But still! Speed has an elegance all its own."
"Can you stop fanboy-ing for the new villains on the block, please?" Battery said.
"Listen, as a retired supervillain myself-"
"At no point did anyone ever refer to you as 'super' anything. Super annoyance, maybe."
Miss Militia's holstered pistol flickered green and reformed into a long sniper rifle with a heavy-duty scope. She took aim and scanned over the windows of the bank. "So no hostages, no demands. We can probably expect they're going to make a break for it, then? Did they arrive in a car?"
Assault shook his head. "Not sure. And no, this guy is the theatrical type. He's going to put on a show. Make a statement."
Assault frowned. "There was something else, though. The people we questioned seemed confused, and none of them got a particularly good look, but a few of them reported that Vice either had wings or had something with wings clinging to his back." He shrugged. "Also, I was talking with Armsmaster about his own encounter with Vice. Now this is just a hunch, but I wouldn't let him touch you."
"You think he's a Striker of some kind?" Battery asked.
"Again, just a hunch based on the way he tried to fight. Takes one to know one, you know? He's a shapeshifter, might have some kind of venom in his hands or something. Just some things to watch out for."
Dauntless's voice crackled on the radio. "I'm in position. Can't see anything on the roof or upper levels."
"Probably still towards the back, with the vault." Assault said. He turned to Battery. "You wanna do the honors, Puppy? Give them the spiel?"
"With pleasure. Miss Militia?"
The American-themed superhero nodded and reached into a compartment on the side of her motorcycle, removing a collapsible megaphone. She tossed it to Battery.
She flicked the switch on the side. "Testing," she intoned. "Alright."
She moved to the front, taking a deep breath. "Attention! This is the Protectorate! You are under arrest! Please come out with your hands up, and submit to the custody of the PRT, or you will be taken in by force!"
Battery's voice echoed across the lot.
"You know, I don't think I've ever seen anyone actually follow those instructions. I certainly never did." Assault chimed in.
"It's always worth a shot," Dauntless said. Battery couldn't help but agree. It was important to at least give them a chance.
They waited for about half a minute before Battery repeated herself, this time adding "This is your final warning!" as one does when they are warning someone for the final time.
"I really don't think they're coming out," Miss Militia said.
Battery sighed. Someday, a villain would surprise her by actually complying. But not today. "I'll take point. Assault, back me up. MM, watch the windows and our backs. Dauntless, cut them off if they try to make a break for it."
Assault gave a salute. "Aye aye, captain!"
Battery breathed deep and built a charge. She took calm, careful steps forward, centering herself so she wouldn't lose it. It sat, ready to spend at a moment's notice.
Suddenly, a gout of white fog spilled forward from the front entrance, whirling and twisting unnaturally. She stopped midway up the steps.
A silhouette appeared in the fog, a long jacket billowing in a breeze that came from nowhere. Vice stepped out, striking a pose. One hand was on his mask, eyes peering from between the gaps in his fingers, while the other held an actual, honest to god canvas bag with a dollar sign on it.
"Heroes of Brockton Bay!" he shouted. "You know not the forces with which you tangle!"
Battery, against her better judgment, looked behind her to see her team's reactions. Miss Militia's eyes were narrowed with suspicion, and Assault? He was grinning like a lunatic.
"Wait, did he say 'Tangle' or 'Tango'?" Dauntless asked.
"How is he doing that with the fog?" Miss Militia asked.
Vice continued unabated, like an infomercial salesman who couldn't wait to tell you how much more 'more' there was. "If you want these ill-gotten gains, then we'll have a classic game of capture-the-bag on our hands! But be warned, for if I win, I shall take you into custody!"
He gave a maniacal laugh. He was just playing all the hits, wasn't he?
"Especially Dauntless. He's still on notice from last time." He pointed at the Cape in question, Arclance at the ready on the building across the street. "You will be mine!"
He shook his fist for emphasis.
Alright, the bit is running its course, Battery thought. She gave a quick nod to Assault, and she spent her charge.
Time slowed.
She punched Assault on the shoulder with as much strength as she could, causing him to rocket upwards over Vice. As he did that, Battery shot forward, her steps putting cracks into the pavement. She launched herself right at Vice. Remembering Assault's advice, she made sure to lead with a kick from her armored boots.
Vice didn't seem to be looking at Assault at all, so no dice on using him as a distraction. That's fine. The 3 eyes in his strange mask looked at her as she flew forward. Her foot hit him right in the chest.
Strangely, he seemed to go entirely limp, tumbling back into the foggy bank's lobby. The bag of cash went sailing overhead.
Even as he tumbled backwards, Vice was already recovering, stumbling to his feet almost gracefully like a drunken boxer. Time was still slow, and she had more charge left to spend. She sprinted into the fog, rearing back with a soccer kick that would send him sprawling all the way into the bank's teller windows.
Except, as soon as she stepped foot into the fog, a massive shape came in on her left side. That's right, with all Vice's theatrics, she had forgotten. He wasn't alone. Junkyard dog was there, holding a massive circular metal object in mid-swing. Battery couldn't avoid it; she committed too hard to pursuing Vice. She was going to get hit. She was going to get hit with-
Is that the fucking vault door?!
Fortunately, she was almost invincible while she was spending a charge. Unfortunately, she was not immovable. A solid ton of stainless steel impacted her and flung her out the bank doors faster than she came in. She was unhurt, but there was a problem.
Mostly the fact that she was still flying through the air and her charge just ran out. The ground began to pick up speed as her perception went back to normal.
She hit the ground, hard. She tumbled end over end three whole times before she came to a stop, the padding and armor in her costume being the only thing preventing some horrible scrapes and bruises. Her elbow took a hard hit, and pain traveled all the way up her arm. God, she hoped she didn't break anything. Assault leapt to her side.
"You alright?" He asked.
"It's fine, I can still fight."
Junkyard Dog stepped out of the bank, lugging the whole vault door over her shoulder.
Vice followed after her, holding the money-bag to his chest like a trophy.
And then the fog cloud began to follow after him, hanging off his movements like an over-protective guard dog.
Battery got to her feet, clutching her arm. "Team, I think we might have a problem."