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GM

February 2nd, 2012, 2.41P.M., the Theater District Eastern Seaboard Bank branch.

The morning rush was done, and now as the afternoon settled into being the beige floor of the impeccably polished green and gold bank was sparsely populated with the odd harried student, gloomy elder with a debt gnawing their options on the complementary couch, or a placid businessman calmly working out the labyrinthine difficulties involved in solving a truly bizarre problem with his credit rating. The sun was rapidly lowering itself as it made its journey across the sky that was still filled with its golden light, the air was crisp and cool, and the flock of birds noisily playing outside on its ancient stone roof could only dimly be heard, at just the right volume as to make peaceful music.

It was, to put it mildly, a good day.

The teller manning the extreme left-hand booth tugged at her stiff collar, smiling politely as the scrawny FCU student hurried away out into the street spouting thank-yous for her help with his financial woes. She turned her 5000 megawatt smile on the next unfortunate needing assistance and said warmly "Hello! How may i help you?"

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Thomas Morgan hated banks, he honestly did. It was the single most annoying thing he had to do on a weekly basis. Sometimes, his father would ask him to deposit some money on behalf of the store. This annoyed him, mostly because he hated lines.

When your mind works faster than a computer, boredom can come quickly. He entertained himself by surfing the internet absentmindedly with his mind, reading up on some technology news.

"Yes, I would like to make a deposit on behalf of Morgan Computers. He said, smiling, despite his frustration and irritation at the bank environment.

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Synth had never even entered a bank. She barely knew what they did. Store money...?

As for herself, she hardly had any money to store. She was even more broke than normal today. She patted the back of her jeans, about twenty dollars in change and notes. That was it.

She had blagged her way into a construction job, cash in hand. It was a good one, despite the occasional hit by her co-workers. But she had got careless. Working faster and harder than the others, without exhaustion, and exerting strength no woman should exert, even an athletic one. Nothing too obvious, and suspicions were not too high. But she decided to move on before they got raised, or people got to know her too well.

It was a lonely existence. But she wanted to keep under the radar.

But it left her with no money, and no roof over her head. Even for her, that was bad.

She sat outside the bank, munching on a hot dog she had bought. She didn't need much food, but she needed some.

Desperate as she was, bank robbery was not on the agenda. She would have to find honest work somewhere. Right now, she would need a few more dollars as a...what did they call it...a loan?

She sighed, finished off her hotdog, and entered the bank.

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Spitfire

Max walked into the bank with more than just a hint of trepidation. He'd never had need of a bank account before, living with the circus, and had an ingrained distrust of all things "the man." However, seeing as his tattoo business was finally seeing regular business, he decided it might be a good idea to shop around and see where he might store his company's holdings, as wall safes weren't really that reliable in a town with superhumans who could punch holes in steel.

Max looked around the soulless building with it's bank tellers (or fleshy greeting and monetary deposit machines) and smirked. Wonder what ole Bertram would thinka me now, frequentin' a joint like this. Max spied the shortest line and took up residence in the back and decided to pass the time playing angry birds on his cell.

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A lean, bearded man wearing a tan pair of coveralls strolled in just after the other three, whistling a tune that someone who knew about such things would have recognized as a folk song that dated back to the early Ottoman empire. He was there for the truly inconsequential business of depositing checks from his job at the accounting office, something he could have done more remotely if he wasn't such a people person. Settling into place just behind Max, he let himself relax and fell into a near-doze..until he heard the tell-tale tapping of a touchscreen phone. Throughout his entire life in places that popularly sold such things he had never had the chance to use one himself, and even at the variably high-tech bases the super-teams that had sheltered him used he had been largely forbidden to operate their complex equipment.

As a partial result, the small devices that did so much as modern cell phones did were an endless fascination to him, and he watched with interest over the tattooed man's shoulder at the deft flicks and taps that sent the rotund birds at the fortified pigs. As is common, the rudeness of watching over another's shoulder was easily forgotten in the interest of seeing whatever they were doing.

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GM

"Yes, I would like to make a deposit on behalf of Morgan Computers"

"Of course sir" said the young woman behind the desk, with the kind of pleasantry that bespoke a complete apathy for anything but the latter half of the sentence "May I have your card?". She rapidly completed the wanted movement of money into the account, barely loosening her grip on the professional smile she wore, and upon its completion she asked politely "Is there anything else you'd like to do while you're here sir?"

Synth's request for a loan was welcomed heartily by the young man behind the desk she approached. The fact that she hadn't any kind of identification whatsoever less so. "I'm sorry miss" he said at length, after poring over the Eastern Seaboard regulations for loan application "I can't give you any money without some assurance that you are who you say you are, a passport, driver's license, something with your name and picture on it" he shrugged apologetically "Again, I'm sorry miss. Though," he added dubiously "I must confess I find it odd you wouldn't already know that. If I may ask, how did you think this would work?"

A sudden arrival of five more patrons caused a slight stir as they conspicuously began settling themselves wherever a line was not, casually standing at attitudes that argued a rather different intention than most of the other visitors had.

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Spitfire

Maxie perceived the man looking over his shoulder as a slight burning sensation behind is ear. Glancing slightly over his shoulder after a particularly impressive one shot clear with a boomerang bird, Maxie smiled.

"Amazing ain't it? What people do with the wonders of technology. Over yonder behind the magic curtain that is the security system of this bank, fractal equations are being used to safeguard yer money, while right here, I'm using a truly impressive amount of processor power to fling goofy lookin' birds at pigs hiding behind precariously placed planks of wood. Yessir, it's an amazin' world we live in," Maxie said, turning to face the man in coveralls. Max held out the phone and smirked, "Wanna give it a shot?"

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"I can't give you any money without some assurance that you are who you say you are, a passport, driver's license, something with your name and picture on it. Again, I'm sorry miss. Though, I must confess I find it odd you wouldn't already know that. If I may ask, how did you think this would work?"

Synth shrugged politely, and let out a small sigh.

"I don't know much about banks" she said, honestly. Of course, she was actually mentally incapable of telling an untruth. She had gotten quite good at holding her tounge, however.

The man was nice enough, she had to give him that. But it looked like she would be sleeping rough tonight. She needed to get some form of employment.

"I would imagine there is no work going here either..." she said "...and you would need some form of I.D. for that too? and to open an account?"

It looked like this banking thing was that wasn't going to be on the menu for some time...

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Marceau blinked in surprise, the sudden realization of rudeness causing a slight retreat that almost sent him into the person behind him in line. "Sorry about that!" he apologized earnestly to the humorless-looking woman in the red hoodie behind him, before resuming his place in line. Facing Max again he said with curiosity "Truly? Thank you very much for the offer, I'll hand it right back" taking the thing gingerly he examined with interest how it seemed to have been put together, noting the density of the touchscreen plate, the weight and composition of the stylus, the material of the shell and the listened to the thrumming of power through the device. Handing it back he said with quiet wonderment "An incredible kind of machine, thank you for letting me take a look, much obliged!" offering his right hand(after a second's consideration of whether the tattooed man might be left-handed) he added "I'm Marceau Suvou, a jan-ah, "maintenance staff member" at an accounting office"

And superhero, he added mentally,but I dare say he's run into more than one just living in this crazy town!

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Spitfire

Maxie took the man's hand, shaking it warmly. "Howdy Marceau, the name's Maxie Napalm, but you kin jus' call me Max. I run a tattoo parlor here in town by the name of Fire-Eater Ink. You should stop on by, I do all the tatts myself. Got a girl that handles the piercings, if that's what yer into. Here's my card."

Maxie produced a card from the dufflebag sitting next to him and handed it to Marceau, his pearly white fangs showing from his bright smile. Maxie found the man amusing, his apparent naivety in regards to technology coupled with his unassuming personality melded to give him an endearing quality that Max couldn't quite put his finger on. "You just come from work Marceau? Cuz if that's yer normal mode o' dress, ole Maxie is gunna have ta take you out shoppin'!'

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Raising a thin(and evidently much diminished) eyebrow at the last remark, Marceau admitted wryly "Coveralls are pretty much the only outerwear I have, to be honest. Got a suitcase-load of the things in Eastern Europe, and they're so applicable I just can't work up the desire to get any other kind of clothes, which as you might imagine doesn't help with interviews" he sighed glumly before looking back at Max, his gaze having wandered over to the new arrivals, but soon had passed over them, seeing nothing out of the ordinary about their manner. "I'd eagerly take any dressing tips you might have, Max. I live near a thrift shop so no real risk of being too in-fashion" he said jocularly with a wink.

The mention of tattoos and piercings intrigued him "Body art, eh? I've seen some truly impressive specimens of that practice around here, I'll be sure to visit sometime" he glanced at the new arrivals again but shrugged, discarding them from his concerns. He fell into easy chatter with Max about tattooists he had met in Europe and Asia.

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GM

"I would imagine there is no work going here either..." she said "...and you would need some form of I.D. for that too? and to open an account?"

The teller glanced at the other people in line, and seeing as they were just far enough away, whispered to Synth "As a matter of fact miss, we DO have light work in the back that I don't believe will require much in the way of I.D. We need people to help sort through newly-arrived bills in the vaults and make sure none are counterfeit. We don't find very many, but it always helps to make sure. All you need to do is sort through small piles of money and check them for the marks that show it's genuine. We'll give a thorough demonstration of what to look for, and it pays well above minimum wage too, only real downside is that it's awfully time-consuming" leaning back to his original posture he said rather more loudly "Thank you for your time miss, please come back when you have some I.D. so we can serve you better, have a nice day!"

It was then that the vault door opened, the three red-swathed women dropped from out of the ceiling and barred the doors, and the new arrivals drew out guns, short swords and knives, and eight men that looked for all the world like some crazy cross between samurai and ninjas walked calmly out of the vault. The one wearing gold-rimmed armor and a clearly ancient samurai mask spoke in a midwestern U.S. accent "Citizens! We are Katanarchists. Do not try to call for help, do not resist in the least, do not move if you can avoid it. We are taking you hostage, and wish nothing from you personally except your lives as bargaining chips to negotiate a deal. Cooperate, and you shall leave our custody with nothing worse than an exciting story to tell your friends, co-workers and family, resist and we shall sever your hearts from your bodies without remorse, hesitation or mercy" at his nodded signal, the other seven began to move towards the bank visitors with lengths of rope, their intent self-evident.

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This, well, this sucked. He was stuck in a bank, with bad guys, and would have to figure a way out of the mess. He lowered his head, but for a moment.

His mind reached out and found a nearby wireless signal. Hacking into it effortlessly, he then went online and checked every resource he knew about for information on these individuals. He gathered a great deal of information on them, and sighed, this was going to suck even worse. He had to get them away from the civilians, put on his costume, and then defeat them without anyone knowing who he was, and all while under the constant gaze of them. This was beyond annoying.

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GM

Synth sat deathly still, her eyes flicking over the intruders. She counted fifteen, and they lookedserious, from what she could tell.

All this happened in a second, while she contemplated the options. They were a threat, of course, they could seriously harm or kill the civilians in the bank. She could get two or three before they could do anything - but fifteen...fast as she was - and she was fast, there was no chance of stopping them all.

Discussion? well, she would normally have loved to engage in a debate about the horror of capitalism and the banking systems. She might even have a fair bit in common with them - although anarchy was not a model she approved of.

But they looked serious, and if she started talking she would be singled out.

In a matter of moments she decided to play safe. The katanarchists were not going to hurt anybody yet, and she could pick her time, and assess the situation further. For now, let them think she was just a helpless citizen...

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Spitfire

Of all the downright rude things ta do when a man is talkin' to another man is to interrupt him with a bank robbery! These boys need a lesson in manners as well as style. Maxie's smile disappeared as he looked at the would be bank robbers. His frown deepened when he looked down to his bag, that happened to be holding his costume. Ya know, this happens entirely too often. I think from now on I'll do my bankin' in my get up!

How was he going to slip away and don the costume with all these madmen around? Maxie looked around for some way to blend in with the crowd, or some broom closet that might offer him a private spot to change when and idea struck him. So insane, it might just actually work! My favorite kind of plan! Maxie smiled broadly as he formulated the plan.

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Marceau stiffened at the sudden attack, eyes racing over each of the arriving groups as they made their nefarious presence known. He silently cursed himself for letting his guard down so easily, especially at a bank in Freedom City. In a low mutter he said to Max "Okay, so what's our best bet? Do we have a chance of beating them before they can hurt any of the bank visitors, or should we go along with them?" he tugged a little at the collar of his coveralls, wondering if he had any chance of hi-no, of course not, that was quite impossible in a crowded space like this, he'd be instantly be seen trying to conceal himself. Ducking behind someone was also out of the question, as everyone in the room would be at complete alert. Nothing would get past them.

He raised his hands above his head, watching the ninjas warily, and quietly considering a plan of what to do once captured.

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Spitfire

Maxie, surprised by Marceau's brashness let a large smile form on his face, long enough only for Marceau to see it.

"You just follow my lead friend. Ole Max knows a thing or two about a thing or two. Watch my back for a second will ya?"

With that Max slowly bent to the ground, gathering fire in his lungs, stoking it till he was sure it was hot enough to melt metal at least, then slowly, Max breathed through his nose, the heat of the fire, hidden beneath his hand, burst the water molecules in the air, causing a blanket of steam to fill the room almost instantaneously. When the steam had nigh well made seeing anything distinct from within a few feet impossible, Max started donning his leathers. "Maxie, ole boy," he said to himself "it's times like this, you can really cook!"

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GM

The effect was immediate, and quite satisfactory for Spitfire. A roiling mass of vapor that adequately blocked the view of pretty much everyone in the entire bank of anything more than a few feet in front of themselves at most. Thus obscured, the fire-breather had no interruptions to changing into his other work clothes. In the broil the leader of the ninjas could be heard clearly shouting "Quick! There's a vigilante in here, find the source of that fog and kill them! Don't let them disrupt the deal!" the red-clothed Katanarchists hurriedly began their search, but their arts were...not all that up to snuff, and they wouldn't have been able to find Spitfire soon enough anyway.

The rest of the bank patrons were unhelpfully milling around in a panic, further obstructing the ninjas, though they punched and kicked savagely and in increasing desperation as they hunted around the lobby, they were quite unable to locate the heroes that chose to change at that time. The tellers were unfortunately at sword-point, and couldn't call for the police or do much of anything without immense risk to life and limb.

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In an instant after the fog had finished its spread, Marceau had shed his coveralls and tossed them behind a potted plant. In another, the cowl was pulled over his head, the cape was unfurled, and hist right fist was planted in the gut of the nearest Katanarchist, who he sent spinning into a wall to leave a dent and unconscious heap. Leaping through the fog, he slammed his right knee into the left flank of one of the other ninjas armed with rope, and smashed his right fist into their forehead, tossing them away to bounce and skitter on the floor, coming to a rest at the feet of the leader of the squad.

At the sound of a blade slicing through the air, the King of Suits spun under the sword-arm of the same stone-faced woman he had nearly bumped into earlier, and, his imagination failing him, punched her very hard in the stomach and threw her into one of the complimentary sofas.

That completed, he called out cheerfully "Alright! Thank you very much for the cover, sir. Much obliged!" and stood at the ready, eyes peeled and ears pricked for the sounds of impending hostility. A crimson figure reared up out of the fog, whipping their arms into a block as the King of Suit's left fist raced towards them, and Marceau felt as if he had punched iron.

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"Just the cover I needed." Thomas mumbled to himself. Thomas closed his eyes, changing into his costume in a moment. Voltage opened them, and grinned.

A silver bolt streaked from the fog, slamming into one of the ninjas and carrying her off her feet. A figure, dressed in black and silver, flew through the fog following it.

Voltage glared at the assembled ninjas. He wasn't sure who had thrown up the smoke screen, but he didn't care. He was able to dress in his costume. He crossed his arms and floated there, almost inviting retaliation. Suddenly, the frustration of the day dissolved. Waiting at a bank was annoying. Fighting bad guys? That, that he could handle.

It was then he realized that they might not even be able to see him clearly. So much for looking intimidated.

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Synth was surveying the battle carefully, eyes darting as she tried to keep up with who's who and what's what...

This looks better odds...she concluded, rising from her chair. There were too many civilians around for her liking, but already the numbers of the Katanarchists was thinning. Given the fray had started, there was no longer any point in deception.

She crouched, and ran, one-two steps, and unleashed a poweful sidekick at one of the assailants, striking him hard. Her muscles clenched with power, her synthetic cells able to exert much more force than normal human ones.

"Take that..." she added, for good measure.

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GM

The mist swirled around the unconscious ninja as he was sent thudding along the floor. After a second, the entire bank of fog seemed to be alive as red-clothed figures came sliding like knives out of the air, aiming their blades at the three heroes who had revealed themselves by their attacks. three went for Voltage and three for Synth, there swords, dyed red out of veneration for the Crimson Katana's famous bloodshed, hissed and cut through the air towards their targets. Most of them missed, but three Katanarchists managed to connect their weapons with a target. Synth and Voltage were dealt rather light blows, while the King's attacker managed to deal him a painful bruise through his breastplate with the hardened edge of their sword. In the swirling fog the leader's voice could be heard "Defeat them quickly! Kill them, and take whatever prisoners you can!" the four caught a glimpse of the more heavily armored man binding two visitors together and dragging them hurriedly through the vault door.

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Hearing the shout of the apparent leader of the ninja gang, Marceau started as he caught a glimpse of the man dragging the two captives away, and almost began to chase after him when the sword slammed into his armor, the rigid metal of which turned the blade but did little to cushion to the blow, leaving a reddening welt on the point of impact. With a slight gasp of surprise and shock(the pain hadn't had time to make itself known yet), the red and black King of Suits spun on his heel and launched a kick at the foeman's head, only to find his strike blocked by the flat of the lucky man's curved sword and braced against an upraised forearm.

Wish I could get my hands on a sword, Marceau thought dourly to himself as he took his position again, stepping sharply backwards to get some distance between himself and the ninjas I'd find a great deal of use for it at a time like this!

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Spitfire

As the steam dissipates, a man with red eyes rises from a kneeling position, sporting black and red leathers and tattoos. With a vicious smile, Spitfire points to one of the Katanarchist's carrying a hostage, "Hey red! Don't think yer leavin' this party so soon now!"

Sucking in a breath, Spitfire aimed carefully at the bank robber whilst attempting to miss the hostage. Narrowing his eyes Spitfire let loose from his lips a near white-hot volley of fireballs into the would-be ninja's chest, scorching holes in his ridiculous armor before dropping him to the floor unconscious and burned.

Spitfire looked around the room and screamed "Who's next?! Who's up for ninja-extra crispy?!"

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"I take it there's another hero in here?" Voltage said, looking around the room. Spotting a ninja, he allowed himself to grin before charging more energy into his hands. A silvery streak of lightning shot through the air to a nearby enemy ninja. The ninja's body shook for a moment as his nerves were overwhelmed by electrical impulses. A second later, and he was unconscious.

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