C-Listers Issue 1: "Rise of the mediocre"

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Devin looked at the kid, recognizing him from the packet that the Broker had forced upon him. His expression was that of someone who was unimpressed. As Kanye walked into the bank, Devin grimaced, muttering under his breath, "Or I could just stay over here, so that if this shit show goes sideways, like it's fuck near guaranteed to do so...I can get the fuck out without being caught by the pigs."

And he would have done just that, if it hadn't been for the words from the Broker. That veiled threat to work with them, or suffer dire consequences. Shifting the armoured van into reverse, he pulled up alongside of the curb, before the bank. Setting the fan into park, Devin left the seat, and walked through the pass-thru to the rear. Unlatching the rear doors, he triggered the electro-hydraulics that lifted the heavily reinforced upper door, before a mechanical switch clicked, the load on the hydraulic system spiking as the lower ramp began descending to the ground, to aid the miscreants escape, whenever they got done inside.
 
All in all, everything was going ok. Then again, Sylar or rather Chidaruma for the moment, had very low expectations and in his mind everything was ok so long as he was alive and still held some sort of potential for staying that way. He glanced at Plaything's body gratefully. From the beginning he knew someone was bound to die and he was just glad it hadn't been him. Although, if he did come to pass, at least he wouldn't have been the first one.
Sabrina's kiss brought him out of his mental death-loop and he blushed furiously even though there'd been no actual contact. His stomach filled with butterflies but not because of some sudden shoujo blooming romance or anything, but more because of the fact that he'd been useful. Chidaruma couldn't help but smile under the helmet, still in slight disbelief that he was actually helping this villainous campaign alongside better villains than him.

While Sabrina threatened the hostages, Chidaruma walked amongst them to reinforce the threat. Should any of them attempt any heroics, he could cripple them, and himself, with pain. Thankfully, the black helmet and clothes made him seem more menacing than he actually was, plus the evidence of a burning mass and Plaything were enough to keep the hostages obedient. For now at least.

He heard the fight against the remaining guards and felt a pang of envy at those who could actually do something about it. With his contact-only gift there was nothing he could do against bullets except die. Even so, working with capable people was making him feel villainous and in control. He pulled a black glove off and reached out to make an example out of someone, just to keep the threat going but mostly to feel like he was doing something for the team. He pulled a man by the neck towards him, making sure the man would crash against Chidaruma's side where the cut still felt tender and the man let out a scream of agony. Chidaruma had felt the sharp pain for only an instant, and was extremely glad he wasn't feeling it anymore. To the onlookers, the man in black was terrorizing with a simple touch.

"Don't tempt to practice and experiment on you!" his voice echoed from the helmet, "cause I'm more than glad to!" With a quick glance he checked his watch. The guards should be taken out soon...
 
As the guard's attention went towards the outside of the vault Pretender started to move slowly and carefully, making as little sound as possible. Lowering her hands she prepared to strike pretty sure she could do it, she had practiced combat for the sake of being a femme fatale after all. Wait, how long had it been since she last was involved with anything related to fighting? At the realization that she had gone a while without combat practice her confidence dropped. Still, she had the advantage of surprise...
Inching closer the incoming attack was paused as something reached the last guard before her. "What?" Charade slipping for a moment her voice was no longer nasal, it was her own, reflecting the confusion she felt.
 
Abomusician
If the song had been Fifteen or WANEEGBT, Kanye would have killed her there and then; wrapped his tiny arms around her neck and squeezeeeeed until she cried for Chopin or Debussy or even Zimmer to retroactively endow her with a better playlist. Fortunately for terrified female hostage #2, he had a soft spot for You're not Sorry, though he would never openly admit any affection for any pop poison spewed from the Queen of Pollution, Taylor '18th on the hit list' Swift. As the uphone found its way into the bin with a satisfying tink, Kanye moved on to the next terrified hostage, and then the next one, seizing their phones one by one, judging their contents -and their owners- all the way.

Young looking brunette girl-like creature with a ponytail. Did all teenagers smell of pee and fear? She had a glee playlist, and something that seemed to spell Jonas brsomething. It was literally static to him. This only happened when he was in the presence of true musical greatness...or the extreme opposite. He gave her the benefit of the doubt; with a reassuring nod, he made a fist and crushed her phone into tiny smashed-up phone parts. Better to die a warrior's death than be consigned to the bin.

Some middle-aged lady -he thought?- with sexless marriage hair. Currently playing: Happy. He gave her the look of a father disappointed in his problem child, and she hung her head in shame. Consigned to the bin with an extra hard toss.

Blonde boy who looked barely old enough to drive. First item in Recently played: Photograph by Nickleba- There was screaming from the hostages. His body moved before he finished the thought, pulling back his arm and backhanding the bastard so hard that his front teeth showered the rest of the hostages. Somebody called loudly for Anubis to answer her prayers, another whispered captain gold's name under her breath. A particularly sensible hostage, despite his predicament, nodded his approval.

On and on the judging went, and the the bin found itself filled, for the first time, with the true junk of society: derivative lyrical abominations. Plaything would have liked it, Kanye thought. He didn't know the man at all -was it a man? He still couldn't tell them apart after all these years. He was just guessing genders at this point. But yes, he might not have known the man, but he looked like someone who could have liked Beethoven. That was enough reason to mourn him -her?- Whatever.

He made his way to the vault, placing some distance behind the dog and his gun. When the vault opened, he was more than ready to grab the greens. He was the physically strongest of them, he believed, and wasn't that just a depressing thought.
 
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There was alot of confusion admist all the chaos, but it seemed that the hostages were somewhat subdued for now. Air called out fro mthe street. "Guys. I thought there would be more then me that set up a distraction!" She was of course right, the charming illusionist was busy blowing her wad on a poor guard who was then disintigrated infront of Charade. The woman, who was a staunch christian managed to utter a single "Jesus fucking chr-" before her body was no more then charred shadows on the walls. In the distance, sirens could be heard. IT appeared the time table had to be rearranged, the rather brutish, violent approach of Mad Dog and Seraphim had led to unwanted attention.

Air started swearing, the foulmouthed, glorified aquamancer clearly in a sour mood. That mood of hers only worsened as the first car skidded across her icetrap, almost clipping her in the process. The car had been the first responder, the other were likely a few minutes away still. The police car, apperently quite the muscle car in performance, had hit the ice patch at such speed it totalled itself against the banks walls.

"There is more coming. HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Air shouted as she stared nervously down the road to where farther off, a pair of black vans were approaching. The Super Suppression Unit. "Oh no." She groaned.

Meanwhile. Kanyes little cellphone stunt had a very nice effect of keeping the hostages from contacting and giving intell to the police as well as keeping the perps from being photographed. The one he had brutally backhanded seemed to lay unconcius on the floor, teeth and blood everywhere. His girlfriend crouched over her, eyes blood shot with tears. "Jimmy. Please wake up. Jimmy!"

Mad Dog would find that a 4 inch plated steel vault made of even thicker concrete didn't exactly mind his thermite shotgun. He would need to use more concentrated amounts of it if he wanted to get inside.

Meanwhile, one officer staggers out of his wrecked car, stumbling towards the squinting Air who promtly knocks him down and freezes him to the road. But as she does , she realizes he was clutching something. It was shaped like a stylized pig.

"Oh no." She began, when suddenly, a loud oinking noise was heard. "A fucking super..." Coming down the road at alarming speed was a a pudgy looking. He looked Angry as and seemed to be wearing a rather unflattering cape and spandex get up that must be from the 50's. As Air drew more water from the water post, the man jumped into the air and thne landed in a roll that didn't stop. Realizing to late, Air was hit by the human bowling ball and was flung far off. She coughed up a little blod. "What the hell fattie!" She shouted only to narrowly dodge a haymaker that cracked the pavement.


"BASTILLE THE BOISTEROUS BACON IS ON THE SCENE! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" The fat superhero shouted out, striking a pose that made his belly tremble with gravitational force.





Bastille joins the Battle!
  • C-List superhero.
  • Known power; Durability, Strength.
  • Bastille is a known brawler, that despite being low rank can dole out alot of punishment.
Police are arriving in 4 minutes!

Time Untill electronic defenses come back online: 16 minutes.
 
Mad Dog was a little pissed, he hammered shot after shot of his beautiful Roisin but the Vault still stood, mocking him and tormenting him as the faceless metal contraption seemingly gloated about it's sturdiness. Well, in Mad Dog's mind anyway. "FUCKIN PIECE OF SHITE! FUCKIN CHRIST ON A FUCKIN BIKE!" He exploded with curse word after curse word, kicking over the nearby trash can with force. It was then he realised or had all his little toys with him. Seeing that only Kanye saw it. "You saw. Nothing." he said in hushed tones as he then looked upon the vault with a gleeful smile as he just had a "Eureka!" moment. placing his lovely Roisin back in her holster carefully. "Here's something ya need to know about me, lad. I love making things go kaboom and burn. My Thermite bombs here? best of worlds! I love them as much as me grandpa finding some potatoes during the Potato famine!" Mad Dog rattled, as he walked on over, taking out two of them. He decided to play three around the center's edger, hopefully to burn a hole so that they could easily slip through and take the money, thus completing "phase 2" of their grand bank heist. He moved back quickly. "Come on, lad, unless you want a quick thermite shower." Mad dog as quickly as he could, looking for cover.
 
Kanye and Sabrina Mini-Issue #2: Bringing Home the Bacon

Kanye knew how hard it was for a woman to get into the business. And calling herself 'mad dog' rather than 'mad bitch' only reinforced her need to shy away from her gender. If her playlist checked out, she would be the first and foremost of genetic templates in his new world of song. He nodded like a sycophant. "I was thinking of a time when...the english are sick to death of labor and torries and spit upon the name of Oliver Cromwell, and denounce this royal line that still salute him." Morrisey had an answer for everything, except for courtesy.

Not that anyone had extended him the courtesy of proper sexual dimorphism. Aside from Sabrina and her crotch hoop, of course. When the world was ashes and only music of the Gods prevailed, the humans under Kanye's world order would wear crotch hoops to denote their gender identity. The larger the hoop, the more manly the man.

Sabrina had no time to pay any mind to the weird child who was hard at work crushing phones that were much fancier than she could afford. After she had blown the guard to smoky smithereens, she realized that they weren't alone. Not in the "oh look, a creepy janitor is leering at you" kinda way, but in the "cornered by a small time wondergeek" sense. She quickly looked over to Mad Dog who was rigging up explosives and realized that Kanye had wound up next to the Irish pyromaniac. This, she decided, she could work to her advantage.

Tapping the kid on the shoulder, she asked, "Hey, Kanye, you Jewish?"

He paused for a moment, thought about just shaking his head...but went ahead with the lyrical shackles he called speech anyway.

"To all the aryans in the area that are carryin' rhymes. And neo-nazi's better watch me, catch on up with the times. When other rappers see me coming, yo they run and they hide
I grab the mic and commit lyrical genoci-"

Taking that as a solid no, the sorceress rushed to the front of the bank to catch a glimpse at the barbecue on legs. Looking at Kanye, she snorted, "I had to ask, 'cause I have a plan that's about to break kosher-"

"Say H-I-T-L-E-R, driving down the streets in a fancy car. SAY H-I-T-L-E-R-" Kanye was in a sort-of half-trance, his eyes desperately staring at her even as his body moved to the beat. He was pressured to at least finish this portion of the anti-semetic rap.

A small laugh escaped before she noticed the pasty look of unamused, porcelain judgement. She wasn't sure what to make of these musical outbursts. They were almost enough to make her stop trying out horrid jokes. Almost. Giving Kanye a quick, gruff shake of the shoulders, she tried again, "I don't have enough power for another death beam, but I can work a few more illusions. If you go out there and rap something at him, or whatever your powers are, I can lure him in towards the big bang Mad Dog's setting up. Kill two flying pigs with one stone. Just make sure you get out of sight once the dupe is up." She gestured to the bin he had been using as a ritual burial ground.

Kanye blinked once, then blinked again. He looked at the vault where, at Sabrina's already retreating back, at the pigman, then back at the vault again. He thought about self-esteem. He thought about the impact of 400 pounds on his tiny, human body. He thought about dying underneath a sea of pure lard. He thought about Sabrina, the one man who had shown him any kindness.

Then he took a deep breath, and another, and screamed:

"Your zipper burst, your buckles break. You're too much of a man for us to take. The pavement cracks when you fall down, cos you've got more chins than Chinatown."

He began tapping his feet against the floor to the beat of the verse, his little worn shoes dancing to the tune of "FUCK YOU, YOU'RE FAT."

"Well,youI've never used a phone booth! And you've never seen your toes! When you're goin' to the movies," Kanye smiled nervously, but pushd on. "You take up seven rows!"

"Because you're fat, you're fat, come on. FAT, FAT, REALLY FAT."

As Kanye did his song and dance routine, Sabrina channeled her energy into the chalice once more and began to painstakingly create an image in the likeness of the small figure before her. It looked to be a near-perfect replica, and she kept it positioned out of immediate sight from the scene outside. Giving the Kanye-clone another glance, she dipped her fingers into the magic mist and twirled a cowlick into the image's hair, making it nigh indistinguishable from the novice rapper who was about to get his ass handed to him if he didn't run.
 
Cursing under her breath Pretender took a small overview of the surroundings before pulling out a handkerchief to wipe off the prints. Making sure that there was no chance of prints being found on the keyboard she then wiped down the mouse and everything else she had touched. "No way I'm going back so soon." Muttering softly she nodded satisfied with her work and grabbed the memory stick. Stuffing it quickly in her pocket she then pulled out some fine gloves and turned to head out to the vault. They had to be fast with how much noise some of them were making.
 
The arrival of Mr. Porker cast a jiggling ripple among the hostages almost impressively in tune with his own moving belly. With a flip-flap and gurgle kind of movement, hope bulged out among the scared and desperate. In hysteria stemmed bacon adoration, people ran towards the heroic pose of the super! With everyone else busy, Chidaruma was pushed and shoved out of the way as he struggled to stand, weakened by the blows to his already injured body. Had the young man not taken off one of his gloves earlier, he might have lost consciousness. Here and there he managed to touch someone, briefly relieving himself of the built up pain. A moan escaped his lips as he felt the pain exit from his limb, dispersing itself onto his victim.
The pig squealed outside and Chidaruma managed to drop another hostage and trip a third. Three hostages were better than none. He caught a glimpse of Sabrina and Kanye, whatever they were doing... or, uh, planning to accomplish with a bit of rap and an illusion was beyond him, but whatever it was he prayed they'd hurry and be successful because the situation was already tasting of Deja Vu.

They'd already lost teammates. He'd already lost hostages. Mad-Dog was having trouble with the safe, surprisingly! and that skinny boy they sent in first as a tech hadn't come back either... Bastille was just outside and police where no doubt on their way. How long did they have until - 16 min. He checked. Shit. Was that long enough to take down Mr. Porker?!

"Kyaaa! Pervert! Lemme go!" screamed the lady under him, her face twisted with pain, feebly attempting to punch his hand away. He had a firm grip on her ass but couldn't afford to let go... He blushed furiously behind the black helmet and maintained a steady flow of pain to keep the woman weak. Half of it went to the man doubled over. Chidaruma had tripped him and managed to touch his shin to his ankle. The third hostage, a man, was just recovering from an earlier shot of pain when Chidaruma punched him across the face with his gloved hand and sent him back down.

"Is there still a point to keeping hostages?!" He screamed out towards the team, not really expecting an answer.

"Shit," he whispered as both of his hands clenched, one conveniently more firmly than the other.
 
The guard went down in a spasm as the electrical blast hit him, his gun clattering on the ground. Tim breathes heavily as he realized how close he was to being shot by the guard. Swallowing a lump, he then grabbed the unconscious guard and dragged the body towards where the other hostages are. Inside he heard one of his fellow villains complaining about the need of keeping hostages. Tim frowned to himself, that didn't sound good. Was that guy one of those 'blood thirsty' villains? That sounded like said person was going to murder all the hostages. Wait, what had happened?

It was then he heard the premonition of something bad.

"BASTILLE THE BOISTEROUS BACON IS ON THE SCENE! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

Cursing as he dropped the guard besides all the other hostages, Tim glanced towards the one who had just threatened to kill the hostages.

"Um, hey, look, they're hostages, right? Wouldn't they be useful for, y'know, stopping the hero outside from doing anything funny? Threaten to kill them or something?" Tim uncertainly said. He was obviously looked uncomfortable as he shifted his weight on his shoes.
 
The Heroic piece of angry lard stares at Kayne. Then he grumbles and punches Air who is trying to get up. She is at once out cold and slumps back onto the cold concrete. The Pig only have eyes for Kanye though. His nostrils flair as he stomps the ground like a boar about to charge. Meanwhile, a small wave of people are overpowering the incompetent villains who won't actually harm them it appears. So they are now pressing towards the exit, intent on escaping.

"JUSTICE!" Bastille bellows suddenly and with enough force and gusto that it rattles the windows. Of course, the piglike superhero was momentarily stopped by a wave of hostages excaping nad mobbing the poor Genius and Gifted persons trying to keep them in check. While it stopped his immediete charge, it also redirected him to the swamped painbased super hero and tried to essentially tackle him as if he was a american football player. Meanwhile, the police sirens were getting ever closer. The vengefull piece of lubber barrels trough past both Salvage and Chidaruma. He goes for a full body tackle against the illusion of Kanye, crashing, denting the wall as he smash into it. Stumbling onto his heels, holding his head he grumbles.

"FOUL TRICKERY!" He exlaims as he tries to look about for something exact Justice on. Finding nothing of immediete concern, he refocuses on the villains, seeing Mad Dog by the vault. "HERE BUT NO FURTHER!" He exclaims once again with a voice that would make a opera singer cream his pants. Outside, a newsvan arrives to start filming, the Hawks of newmedia being faster to respond then the cops, no big surprise there.



Hostages are escaping. A camera Crew have appeared on site

Police are arriving in 2 minutes!

Time Untill electronic defenses come back online: 14 minutes.
 
Mad Dog looked at the large fatso of a superhero and gave out a laugh. "Oh wow, what a fackin joke this is! You look like my uncle paddy wearing my gran's coloured tights!" Mad Dog laughed still at the rather rotund Bastille Bacon. "Well sorry about the mess we got you in, ole porky McScratchings, but I gots a date with some green. No, not of the four or three leaf clover kind either. More to do with money!" Mad Dog stated, getting out the detonator for his Thermite Charges. He looked at his fellow small timers with a smile. "Did you order the roast pig, IRA House Special!?" he shouted, a crazed and deranged look in his eyes, as he darted away from the Fat Hero, pressing the detonator as he made sure to make some distance between himself and the vault. "LEG IT, ROOM ABOUT TO GO BLAZIN' BOOM!" He shouted. The look in his eyes as he watched from the corner of his eyes, like a child who was waiting for Santa Claus, a very fiery and explodey Santa that is. He took out Roisin from her holster. "just in case that rotund, round, rambunctious rump just so happens to survive my lovely display of brimstone." He didn't know exactly how durable Bastille Bacon was, but he was hoping to eat some bacon tonight.
 
Sabrina was almost surprised that her plan worked. Sure, she hadn't doubted her ability to scheme for even a second, but she had feared the costumed fatso might have been too intelligent to fall for a simple bait and switch, sponsored by ancestral demons from the deepest rungs of hell. Alas, there was no such hangup. Bastille Bacon's frontal lobe was all spam and she was absolutely fine with that. Kanye had been leering her way for a couple of moments and she decided it wasn't wise to stand there much longer. If Mad Dog's explosives weren't enough of a motivation, the fact that there was the potential for Kanye to start singing again was enough to get her moving at lightspeed.

The hostages were everywhere. Initially, this bugged her. They had worked so hard trying to keep them in check and all of a sudden they were pouring out into the streets, salivating at the sight of cameras, hoping to give the next incoherent interview that would become the latest viral video craze. In a way, she envied them. If this went wrong for their little criminal band, there was hell to pay. Regardless of the outcome for these hostages, they still got to go on living their own blissful lives from this point forward. Whatever tiny miracles they experienced would be considered the pre-ordained wish of some benevolent god. Any misfortunes, surely nothing more than tests of their moral fiber, would bring them closer to loved ones and family and the meaning in life. They would get to experience such mundane occurrences as the birth of a new child... they'd see something as disgusting as a woman writhing in pain as a parasite slipped through her internal organs into the bright light of day and they'd say, in their unobstructed and simple wisdom, that it was as if the universe was rearranging atoms just to create this new life and that as it grew up, a whole galaxy of possibilities would swirl around it, connecting this bundle of innocence to every moment that went before and every one that would come after in some Disney-trademarked circle of life.

Fuck that bullshit, she sneered, Why would I want to be a simpleton when I can obliterate people?

All of that philosophizing, which had apparently come out of the blue, seemed to be connected to the fact that she had picked up Kanye in an attempt to get the eerily staring boy to pick up the pace. Upon placing him back down outside of the bank, she felt her thoughts were making so much more sense. Was that part of the kid's powers? Useless and convoluted thoughts? Was he some sort of enlightened inner-city cretin that could only express himself through rap and cheap lyrics?

She snapped back to the present once more when she thought of how close the police must be. Camera crews were annoying, but nowhere near as devastating for the mission as cops. Mad Dog was busy fondling Roisin, just in case their meaty pal escaped the impending inferno, so Sabrina assumed it was her job to take action against the reporters, if that was deemed necessary. The more she thought about it, the more important escape became. She quickly hissed at Mad Dog, "If we get out of here now, it won't matter if Baconbutt is burnt to a crisp. Put enough distance between ourselves and this crap and we get to survive to heist another day."
 
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