Worn brake-pads croaked as the van lurched slowly to a stop. The deep thrumming of the engine cut to a sudden stop, leaving the back of the vehicle in a sudden silence.
The darkness was pierced by a sudden beam of light from the front cabin as the bulkhead window slid open, and a raspy voice croaked through.
"We're here. Get out." The old, craggly voice was stern, and commanding.
He slammed the window shut.
Just as it did, the squad in the back threw open the rickety old doors, and lined up. The last to leave slammed the doors shut and smacked the vehicles deep-grey skin.
It sped off, lurching as it travelled. Propagating dark fumes as it struggled out of the dark alleyway, leaving behind a group of four well-dressed criminals.
The individual at the head of the pack cleared his throat, surprisingly unmuffled. His face was covered with bandage-like cloth wraps, having turned yellow and worn from use, covering all of his skin. His eyes were left open, but were covered with reflective glasses, leaving any expression completely unreadable.
"Well, crowd, let's work." He stuffed his hands into the perfectly fitted light-grey two-piece he donned. "Leonidas, the bots." He nodded toward a man before him.
Leonidas was a head shorter, draped in black vestments resembling the flowing robe of a prophet. His pointed hood drooped down, and beneath it he wore a dark face-covering enshrouding the depths of the hood with formless shadow.
He puttered over to the bots, kneeling before them and dragging them over.
"These damn things are so unresponsive, King! How did that skinny loser make it bite my finger off?" He groaned as he dragged the metal beasts to the side.
Notably, the young robed man's gloves contained each digit, what was once a torn stump was now a perfectly working digit. King didn't expect the boy to be so willing to work with them, but in fact, once the finger was regrown, he was ever-more ecstatic about the machines.
On that note, the boy… King couldn't quite tell what they were doing wrong, but he knew these bots were dangerous. He wanted to exploit them, and this job was his first chance at exactly that.
It was a damn shame the boy was so clearly civilian. He wouldn't work willingly, that much was certain.
King shook his head, and eyed the other two comrades. The women had been ever-useful over the years, and he had slowly started to trust in the two, despite their stubborn refusal to unmask in front of them.
The sisters stared back at him as he turned to them, standing with their hands loose at their sides. They opted for the stereotypical comic look, wearing dark form-fitting suits, visible at the joints, with large sections plated with lusterless metal platings.
They almost gave off the image of valiant knights. They'd surely be plastered across promotional material had they registered themselves. It was beyond King why a pair of marketable Overclocked sisters turned to someone like him, opposed to joining the Registry.
"Knick, Knack, with me. If all's well, there should only be ten Ordinaries in there." King turned, wandering out of the alley. He waved behind his back for the duo to follow.
Soon enough, King, Knick, and Knack, had burst through the glass facade of the bank, leaving small remnants throughout the carpets. The small things looked like raining diamonds, but the few that caught King's suit left minor cuts throughout it.
He wasn't a fan of being so unpresentable, but such was his career. Before he had time to worry however, three Ordinary officers had sprinted out of a break room, holding their implements with shaking grasps.
"Hello, good-sirs. We have every intention to harm and kill you if you take a step forth. My two friends here don't kill quickly, so it'll be even less fun than usual to die tonight." King announced. Beneath his wraps, it was obvious he wore a smug grin from the pitch of his voice.
Just so, the group dropped their guns and surrendered. It was certainly cowardly, but in a battle against Offclocks, the police were closer to decorations than true assets. It was simply unknown as to what they could do.
"Y-you won't get away, you know. Th-this building is on the route of several-!" One officer fought against his fear, and stepped forward.
Immediately, Knick crossed the distance and gripped the man's face like a vice. He muffled out a yell, until several shallow cuts formed across his cheeks, splitting open from faint scars. His neck grew shallow wounds in several places that seeped beads of blood.
He brought his hands to the woman's arm, clawing desperately at it as several fingernails split, and numerous minor cuts appeared across his hands.
She dropped him, and he sank to the floor, his tears welling and sinking into the cuts across his face.
King sighed, "Knick, that wasn't necessary," The armored woman shrugged at him. He turned to the bleeding man, "You shouldn't have spoken up, good-sir. You're lucky you've never had any serious injuries in your life, or that would have killed you."
In King's mind, the performance may not have been warranted. However, he couldn't argue with the effectiveness of the show. The stiff postures of the guards had sunk into defeat. If any of them hoped to win, it was due to a surprise visit from a Registered.
Hopefully he was wrong. The routes of NORA agents weren't public, but they were roughly known via sightings. This should've been the furthest from any big names it can get.
"Knick, Knack, grab one and open up the back. I want this done." King ordered, as he herded the officers to a corner.
He heard a few yells and cries from the hall the sisters had disappeared into, no doubt caused by Knicks liberal use of her power. After a good couple minutes had passed, the duo sprinted back out the hall with large, bulging bags over their shoulders.
The king couldn't help but smile. He really was the greatest planner. He'd never heard of a heist going so well.
The three walked out of the foyer, through their puncture hole in the glass. There, they met Leonidas, waiting with the bots. They hadn't even needed them.
Who could've guessed the night would go so well?
"Wow! That's a lot of cash! Where do you work!? Are we celebrating?"
The unfamiliar, peppy voice froze the crew. King turned in a split second, and was nearly blinded by the dazzling colours intruding upon the night.
"Under the authority of the National Overclock Registry of America, I'm arresting you." The neon woman grinned, strutting a step closer, "If you don't comply, I can't promise you'll be comfortable sitting down for at least a month."