[i]Chinatown, Lost Haven: 3:31 AM[/I]
[color=ec008c]"Pull!"[/color]

The beam of intense super heated plasma blasted the wall hit the flying glass figurine with startling accuracy. No lag from the mechanism, instantly reactive form the point the trigger was pulled. The beam remined me of blue lightening too so bonus for color. Bits of burnt, smoking glass peppered the ground and bounced of the husks of cars that littered the small lot. I lowered the rifle and a giggle bubbled up. A clunk drew my attention as the pitching machine I'd jury rigged loaded another figurine. Oh what the hell. 

[color=ec008c]"Pull!"[/color]

The percaline likeness of Jesus Malverde was flung into the air. With practiced ease I had the rifle up and blasting his fat, mustachioed face to smithereens. Satisfied I popped a lever on the barrel, checking the charge. Enough for three more shots before the bulb needed replacing. A field test was in order. I went back inside the garage. 

Situated in a derelict little neighborhood, most of the other buildings around my shop were boarded up and prime squatter real-estate. The garage had been abandoned for years before I came along and liberated the place. It still had the outer appearance of a condemned old garage, but inside: wall to wall lights hung from wires dyed the room technicolor blues, pinks, and purples, back to back metal tables held guns of varying degrees of completion, bombs, spry paint, and enough chemical equipment to make any self respecting cook salivate. I set my latest toy on a table and pulled on my favorite jacket. It was overlarge, sported a big flamingo on the back, and smelled faintly of Chanelle perfume. I set twin energy pistols to the holsters strapped to my legs and started filling my backpack with some supplies. The last piece of my uniform hung on a hook beside the door. A neon purple do rag, blank as it was and old as hell. I kissed the fabric then donned it like a mask. 

I glanced in a grungy mirror over my makeshift cot and the small mound of pizza boxes, ramen cups, and Mechanics magazines and struck a pose. Fine as hell and an ass that wouldn't quit. The fox staring back at me smirked. Ready to go, I grabbed my latest design. Out back my bike was covered with a tarp. Underneath my baby sat. Dark purple- noticed a pattern yet- jacked with nitro, a Suzuki Hayabusa, with a few... editions. Enough electricity to fry a horse jolted through my system when I touched the handle. I pulled the cord on the side out and wheeled it out. 

[i]Financial District: 4:01 AM[/i]

Amazing how utterly devoid of life this city could be at the dead of night. Monuments of steel and glass rose like pillars holding up the sky. Damn me this place had some height! I stood in the empty street and stared up at a large bank. High end with some serious coin inside no doubt. I shook my head and slid my bag off my shoulder. The money wasn't the target though right! I started setting little disks around the street and side walk. From the depths of my jacket pocket I pulled a little clicker, like for a car. With a [i]click[/i] every disk I placed beeped once and flashed blue. 

An MP3 appeared from my jacket. Unrolling the headphones I had Babymetal blasting their awesome sonic chocolate in my ears. Dancing along to the music I skipped over to the massive double doors of the bank. Neon Lines traced along the veins from my heart and heat radiated under my skin traveling up my arms. The feeling always reminded me of stepping in from the bitter cold into a warm room. The air in front of the fingers of my right hand distorted and a second later a pink flare sprang form my fingers like a welder's torch. Cutting through the doors was child's play. Within minutes the seared apart doors fell with a [i]clang[/i]! I strolled in. 

Massive pillars and a marble floor greeted my entrance. A whistle escped my lips. Damn and I thought I knew what real bling was. This was what real wealth meant. Shouts came from behind the counters. Right time for some action. Like a cowboy from those old westerns I pulled out my pistols. The first white button down I saw running into the lobby was met with two bolts of toxic green. Each impacted his chest- one incinerating his little gold badge. Searing flesh and causing a chain reaction that turned his charred meat to a molecular goo. Took me a year to get the intensity right, I was inspired you could say. He hit the gorund with a very shocked look of pain twisting his features. The second guard had the reflexes to take in the scene and manage to fire off a few rounds. The impacted my stomach; small pulses of purple and blue accompanied his surprisingly decent aim. I winced. Rentacop has skills. 

I obliged his wasted talent with some fine shooting of my own. He fell on his gun, his face a smoldering, green dripping ruin. The valt was easy enough. Thick industrial steel. Simple stuff. I pulled a pair of wrapped plastic bags of grey powder from my pack with a roll of duck tape. Up in the center I set them on the door. Producing a roman candle and a lighter from my bag of goodies. Walking decent enough distance away I lit the candle and fired the technicolor at the bags. A few hit and that was enough. The bags burned a blazing whit and [i]ate[/i]through that door. 

A journey through the smoking, red hot tunnel later and I was laden with my now empty pack filled with nearly a hundred thousand in cash. When I stepped out the sweet serenade of police sirens filled the air outside. took these assholes long enough. I shouldered the pack and unslung my rifle. Now for the real reason I was there. I pulled Babymetal from my ears with a tinge of regret and walked out into the night. 

Cops ducked behind their cars, pistols and shotgun pointed at me. Someone ordered me to my knees, surrender, blah, blah, blah. Fat chance of that. I let loose a bright ass flare and ducked behind a pillar. They opened fire. Sure I was essentially bullet proof but that didn't mean being shot didn't sting like a motherfucker. I poked around the corner long enough to get a cop car in sights and fire a shot at its engine shot with my rifle. Now the thing to know about most up to date cop cars is that they are armored bastards that are bitches to even so much as flip, nothing short of a rocket launcher could faze them these days thanks to other metahumans turning the earlier models to scrap metal. Blue lightening crossed the distance between me and my target at a fraction of a second. What followed next was the engine going up in a concussive blast of fire and smoke. It was propelled back, crushing two cops between it and the car behind, and blowing back another engulfing him in flames in process. I grinned. 

Success!  

I slung up my tried and tested little cash cow and fired off my mines. Thick clouds of tear gas filled the street. In the chaos and confusion I slipped across the street and into an alley where my bike waited. I was gone before any one of them managed to stumbled out of the choking cloud.