The excitement was high. Mason's body was bent in an impossible angle; his spine bending backwards at something that would have been broke a regular athlete's back, as he slowly made his way down the bank's vent system. His feet and hands made absolutely no sounds as they seamlessly stuck to the tin air-vent's walls, and he was quite happy for this; so far, his powers made everything so much easier than it would have been normally. 

As his descent into the bank's many vent systems began to end, Mason folded in on himself, body in the fetal position as he let himself loose and fell all the way down into the main vents. His drop was silent as a whistle; not a dust particle flying as he crouched low in the vent, arms and shoulders bending forward to allow him into a position he was beginning to feel natural in - all fours, arms and legs spread far, palms and feet on the ground, and head downwards...much like a spider. In this position, he scuttled, a blur of silent speed as he began making his way through the vents. There were small slits to let air through, and he used this to see where he was going; the main deposit boxes would be in the back-room, away from all of the guards. He was glad he had started small; the experience with this...smaller, more suburban bank would allow him to be successful with the bigger, richer places.

A few more minutes of patient scuttling later, and Mason grinned underneath his web-imprinted black mask and dark hood. This was it...the deposit room, directly underneath him. A quick glance downwards showed that it was just an average-sized room with metal walls and a wide expanse of safety deposit boxes stacked on the far-side, each with locks on every single one of them. Two guards were  on the opposite side of the deposit boxes, batons, pistols, and radio-speakers on each of their hips. The older one looked at the younger one, and made a 'smoking' motion with his fingers. The younger one nodded, and at the same time, both men pulled out cigarettes.

The young one took out a lighter. "Bottoms up." He grinned, showing two buck teeth. The older man smirked. "Young'uns and their phrases." He chuckled, taking the lighter and lighting his cancer-stick. As they began to smoke, Mason narrowed his eyes. He had to get them out of the way...somehow. There had to be cameras. If he could take those out...then it would be a perfect shot to the boxes, and the guards would only be a minor hindrance. But...how?