Fight the Pain. Fight the Clowns!
A quartet of robbers in extravagantly designed masks stormed into a large back, three of the heisters shouting at the civilians to “Get on the ground!” in an array of accents. Two of the heisters were in finely pressed suits, a third one in a dark green pantsuit.
The fourth heister climbed up onto the counter, pulled out a strange looking Dictaphone from his pocket, and pressed play. The dictaphone then said “Please pay attention. You will be happy to know you are victims of a robbery. You will not be harmed. We will take the bank's money. Your savings are insured by the federal government, Please consider your loved ones. Remain calm and quiet and your survival is assured.”
The heister in a finely pressed grey suit, with a stony grey mask, approached the vault door, and, after a few seconds of drilling, a shout of “What third world country made this drill?!?” was heard throughout the bank, as the drilling resumed.
The only female member of the heisters was finished tying up the customers, before shouting “Shit! It’s the cops!” before getting into a battle ready position, firearm drawn.
The heister with the dictaphone pulled a claw hammer out of the pocket of his letterman jacket, boots hitting the floor as, with a single, sickening strike, he caved in the skull of an officer with no effort. Pulling out the dictaphone once more, a message was called out to the officers, pointing their guns at the jacketed man. “We insist that you surrender notions of bravery.” was announced, as the officers with their firearms directed at the criminal were frozen in sheer terror.
“We got the loot, let’s fucking go!” the apparent leader of the group said, as the jacketed man took off back into the bank, towards the back door.
The woman of the group held up a hand, and, with a slight straining, the bullets seemed to be pulled directly out of the guns and into her hand, where she then dropped them on the floor, stepped away, throwing a grenade over her shoulder as she followed the jacketed man, her snarling fox mask being a strong demonstration of her absolute cruelty and brutality, as the bullets fired off from the head of the explosion, almost all of the bullets being fired rendering the squad cars inoperable
“We need a fucking way outta here!” the leader called over the sound of the explosion, a circular saw being formed from a bookshelf, which he used to cut open the locks of the back door, as the crew stepped out into a van which was parked out back, dropping the bags of cash on the floor as they sat on the benches, closing the doors, and doffing their masks.
“That went easy. Too easy” a man with a goatee, 5 o’clock shadow and gel-slicked hair said, rubbing his eyes with his palms
“It was certainly less difficult than our other jobs. Normally there’s much more shooting” August Lindenhurst, AKA Duke, replied, taking a swig from an intricately crafted flask
“Well, I wanted to go out with a bang, and Jacket’s quirk certainly helped” The fox-masked woman, one Inko Midoriya, codenamed Kumiho, said with a smile. “Little Izuku’s definitely going to be a troublemaker” she added, putting her hand on her slightly growing pregnancy belly
“you will be missed” the dictaphone-wielding man said via the device in his hand.
“Alright guys, we’ll drop you off at the apartments. Good Luck, Midoriya” Bain said over the telepathic link, as Inko stepped from the van, entering the furnished apartment which was to be her home. She had planned on defending the payday gang, under the guise of a public defender, so as to get the gang pardons, but their case wasn’t for a few months. Oh well.