“What’s going on out there?” an angry voice yelled from nowhere.

The sudden noise, in the empty room made him jump and fumble his gun, and after several failed attempts to grab it, dropped it to the floor with a resounding clack.

(Okay…)

He coughed into his hand, and with a quick glance around the room to once more make sure it really was empty, reached down to pick up his gun.

(No, one saw that. So, I’m just going to pretend it didn’t happen.)

“Respond, what’s going on, damn it?!” the voice called again, and this time he noted it was coming from a set of radios carried by both of the dead bank robbers.

He glanced from one body to the other, before shrugging and grabbing one of the radios.

(Why the hell not?)

“One of you jackasses respond right this second or so help me…”

He rolled his eyes.

(Well since you asked oh so nicely…)

He cleared his throat, before putting on an overly chipper tone.

“Hello, hello, I must apologize but the number you are trying to contact is no longer live, if you wish I can direct you to our nearest available Ouija board, so you can get in contact with your deceased party.”

There was a pause, before the angry voice finally answered.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Hey, the first of your guys I killed asked me the same thing, ain’t that a quinky-dink?” he taunted the boss bank robber, while searching the thugs he killed, hoping to loot something useful, (like more explosives.)

And he did find a grenade on the thug from the second floor.

(Guess they’ve each got a grenade? Eh, doesn’t matter I won’t have time to go back and check the other three until after I deal with the boss…)

He paused before shaking his head sadly.

(Damn it, and this would have been so much more fun with grenades.)

“So, you’re some kind of vigilante, eh?”

“Mm, no, not vigilante.” He glanced at one of the already dead bodies before smirking, “Ain’t that right buddy?”

He kicked the thug from the second floor, faking a grunt of pain as he held the radio away from his face.

“Ah, don’t have anything to say? For shame.” He tsk-ed at the corpse, before shooting the ceiling.

“Oh, well.” He shrugged, before turning back to the radio, “Hopefully you’ll be a little more forth coming.”

There was a pause on the other side of the radio.

“What exactly are you after?” the boss thug growled, whether because he had hurt the thugs, or was threatening said boss, he wasn’t sure.

“Not much…” he admitted, letting his eyes wander around the wrecked lobby, “Though I did think it was kind of rude of you to rob this bank.”

(Now if I was hiding hostages where would I put them?)

His eyes shifted between a few side rooms, and the hall leading to the vault.

(Vault ‘s a bit cliché but it is the most likely place…)

“Rude, heh, well I guess you’ll think it even ruder when I fucking kill you.”

“Mm…” he took a moment to think about it before shaking his head, “Nah, I kind of deserve it after I you know, killed all your friends.”

(Actually, if I set up this robbery, I wouldn’t bother taking hostages…)

(I’d just pay everyone off to keep their mouths shut, and let me get away before the cops get here; though at this point I don’t think either of those things is going to happen…)

He paused, a frown coming to his face.

(Wait… Hold up…)

“Hey… I have a question.”

“…” the boss thug didn’t respond, so he took that as a sign to continue.

“Where are all the cops?” He glanced through the bank’s, clearly transparent windows and out to the van parked in the street below, and the people idly walking by on the other side of the street as if nothing was wrong.

(I could get the lack of attention if they were loading out the back, but a van being filled with money by guys in ski masks… Doesn’t that raise any flags people?)

“What?”

He sighed at the (un)professional criminal’s confusion, before spelling it out.

“Well, this bank robbery has now lasted about twenty, twenty-five minutes. And I understand we have a crummy police response time in this city, but we’re in a bank, on the preppy rich side of town so why haven’t they swarmed this place, or sent in the Masks?”

“Heh, I’ve already bought off the call center the cops aren’t showing up any time soon, so you’re all on your own.” The lead of this (rather sad) bank robbery sounded proud of that fairly weak threat.

“Oh, fantastic!” he chirped happily, “For a second there I thought I’d have to worry about them sending me to jail for killing you.”

(Because less face it you’re not going down without a fight, besides I’ve committed like ten other crimes tonight, half of which are felonies.)

“You think you can kill me?” the (wannabe) criminal laughed

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

(Great… another arrogant son of a…)

“No, I don’t think I can kill you, I know I can.” He explained before dropping the radio, before the bank robber could piss him off any worse.

(What happened to the guys with class the old man used to talk about?)

(Like, like that De Sade guy. He was an evil prick, who deserves a bullet but at least the man had class, and character beyond this 2-d cut out.)

He ran a hand down his face before shaking his head.

(Quit getting side tracked-ed.)

(Boss idiot should be with the hostages in the back, so now you just got to-)

A door towards the back burst open revealing a very big and (as expected) very ugly boss thug, with a very big and very ugly, as well as unexpected mini-gun.

(Is that a mini-gun?)

A whirring sound, told him: ‘Yes, the big gun about to fuck you up is in fact a mini-gun. Thank you for noticing.’

He dove behind the nearest piece of cover, an armchair that could probably take a bullet or two before being made useless.

(Who the fuck brings a mini-gun to a bank robbery?!!)

Bullets began to tear into the space around him, with a surprisingly poor accuracy for a death machine, (especially since I’m only like ten, twenty meters away.)

He shook his head, trying to focus.

(Alright, I’m literally outgunned at the moment.)

His gun felt heavier in his hand.

(No, that’s not meant to offend you, it’s a rock, paper, scissors type of thing.)

His gun hand shook a little, earning the gun a glare.

(Well, a mini-Gatling gun beats a handgun obviously.)

The gun seemed a little lighter for a moment.

(I don’t know, a rocket launcher?)

He paused for a moment, feeling like there was something wrong, but not sure what.

His gun hand twitched as a series of bullets tore through the chair’s side, earning itself an eye-roll.

(Besides the mini-gun thing.)

He froze, before slowly turning to the hand gun.

(…)

(Okay, I’m having a mental conversation with my gun…)

He ran a hand down his face, as the gunfire began to slow.

(That’s two kinds of crazy at one time… which is one more than I am comfortable with.)

An odd sensation ran down his spine, as he noticed a sudden pressure pressing against his body, one he surprisingly recognized from a high-school party he’d been dragged to where this drunk Deviant had…

(Fuck.)

The pressure doubled down before his body gave a lurch, and was launched six feet into the air, giving him just enough time to see the boss thug with glowing blue eyes and a hand raised towards him.

Dozens of micro-thoughts flashed through his head, as the Deviant criminal slowly turned him in the air, until they were facing each other. All while his attention rapidly shifted between the Deviant and the pressure on his body.

(Deviant.)

(Power type?)

(Arcane?)

His eyes shot to the mini-gun.

(No.)

(Has a gun.)

(Lousy range though.)

The pressure shifted a minuscule amount.

(Psionic?)

(Yes.)

(D-Rank at best.)

(Combat class?)

(Size says Bruiser.)

The thug’s stance was off, tilting a little too much towards the mini-gun.

(False positive.)

(Weapon says Blaster.)

(Power says Tactician.)

(Threat ranking?)

(Low-C, high-D.)

(D-Rank Tactician, used power after shooting, has charge time, object limit, and/or range problems.)

(D-Rank Blaster, mini-gun is unsteady, likely unused to it. Grabbed biggest weapon he could find hoping to intimidate.)

(Fight or flight?)

He subtly flexed his hand.

(Power has a little give.)

(Enough to act, not enough to run.)

(Fight or flight?)

He gave himself a nod.

(Fight.)

(Eliminate threat.)

The boss thug clenched his fist, causing the pressure to increase, before gesturing up and then swinging his hand down with force. An action that resulted in Jericho rising another six feet before slamming into the ground with enough force to leave the taste of blood in his mouth.

(Shit… that hurt.)

The pressure increased again, as he was slowly, and painfully, dragged across the floor and in front of the boss thug. Whom then used his power to pick him off the ground, by his throat.

(Fifty bucks says your copying this from Vader.)

He tried saying this out loud, but apparently the Deviant was smart enough to force his jaw shut, though it did lower the pressure on the rest of his body.

(Hell, I bet you think your B-Rank just because you can knock-off one of Vader’s moves.)

“So, you’re the smartass who killed all my guys?” the boss thug laughed, in a rather poor attempt at sadism.

He tried his best to nod cheekily, but the uneven pressure was giving him a bit of a crick in the neck at this point.

(Speed through the idiot monologue already.)

The pressure on his throat slowly increased, “Still know you can kill me?”

He couldn’t help but smile, as he twitched his fingers.

“Easily,” (like in the next two minutes, even.)

“Let’s see you say that after this.” The Deviant growled before throwing his arm to the side. This time resulting in the pressure throwing him through a nearby wall, and maybe the wall after that one, he wasn’t entirely sure after the initial head trauma.

“That hurt…” he whimpered, as the dust began to settle, before blasting all around him as an explosion rang out.

“Though I’m pretty sure that grenade hurt a lot more.” He cackled, lifting his head just enough to see through the hole in the wall and spot the scorch marks on the ground, as well as a few chunks of… (Damn, completely forgot how messy explosions can be…)

“Yep, that easily hurt more.” He nodded twirling a grenade pin around his finger.

(I need to remember that trick next time I see Aiden.)

“Are you here to help us?” a voice asked, rather stupidly given how he was just thrown through a wall before the explosion.

He popped one eye open and glanced to the side, before finally noticing several people tied up, each wearing a mix of both fearful and hopeful expressions.

(Hey look, the hostages.)

He let out small laugh.

(Can’t believe my plan is actually working…)

Slowly (and just a little painfully) he managed to pick himself off the ground, wincing as he accidentally brushed a few cracked ribs as he tried to dust off his black hoodie, though both actions only resulted in him smearing the various blood stains on said hoodie.

(Well that’s presentable…)

“Eh, mister?” one of the hostages called.

“Yes?” he asked, not entirely sure what they wanted with him.

“Have you dealt with all of the bank robbers?” an older man asked him, a hint of fear in his voice.

“There were five plus that one Mask, right?”

Several of them nodded slowly.

“Then yes, I’ve dealt with all of them.” He gave them a firm nod.

Several of them gave each other relieved looks and words, all of which he ignored as he made his way back to the hole in the wall.

“Um, where are you going?” one of the hostages, a blonde woman asked more than a little fear in her voice.

He paused before shrugging.

“I’m going to search the Psionic for his keys.”

“Can’t you just cut our ropes or something?”

“Uh, yeah I could…” he nodded, stopping a step from the wall he’d been thrown through.

(How is my spine intact?)

“Um, aren’t you?”

He blinked before turning back towards the hostages, “Uh, no… I’m not…”

“W-why not?!” A man in red shouted.

Hearing the tone, he took a moment to look at all of the hostages. Each with a look of confusion, causing confusion to slowly show on his own.

(Why would they think I’d…)

(Oh…)

(Oh, they think…)

“Okay… Wow… This is awkward…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding…”

“A misunderstanding?” one of them asks in shock.

“Yeah…” he grimaced, adjusting the mask on his face. Just in case.

“What kind of misunderstanding?” a woman asked cautiously.

“You see I’m not here to save you guys…” he tried explaining, while avoiding eye contact with just about anyone.

“You’re not?”

“No… I’m not…” he admitted, glancing away from the awkward situation, only to see more hostages staring at him in a dumbfounded fashion.

“Then why are you here?” a hostage asked more aggressively.

“Um, I’m here to… uh, the bank.” He purposely mumbled his words.

“What?”

“I’m here to rob the bank.”

“…”