Resonants
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Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.
Step one: scout ahead.
Psychedelia always went first. The day before, Min’yo sent him in wearing a polo and loose slacks. The spider backpack might’ve gotten a few looks – even a compliment from the teller whose desk read Sandy. He explained that he was waiting for someone outside, and he just needed to use the bathroom. She was understanding, the way most people where when they saw Psych’s sad eyes and nervous smile. She pointed them in the right direction, and gave them the perfect overview of the lobby.
They drew it from memory when they got back to the hotel. Camera placement, guard locations, tellers, waiting areas. The bank hadn’t been busy yesterday. It was today, as they sat in the van, watching Techno disappear inside. Their part was done; the rest of the team was already out. The van would be warmed up and ready to go when the others were done in there, and Psych was safely out of the way.
Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.
Step two: set the scene.
Techno stepped between the first set of double doors, hands in her pockets like it was too cold out for her. It was cold out, admittedly, which was why it worked. Casual and smooth, without so much as a weird twitch as she released a soft pulse of energy that would scramble the metal detector and camera in the breezeway. A localized power surge. The first symptom of the problem that had just entered the bank.
Nothing seemed to be tripped, though. She didn’t have anything on her. She didn’t look like she belonged, for shit sure – purple eyes, uneven hair, army jacket and cargo pants, spiked collar. She definitely got people’s attention, but she waited in line like everybody else, and she had a hunch she intimidated the guard just a little bit. That was good. She’d hate to have another incident where she had to throw a punch before she even delivered the message.
The woman behind the counter looked like pretty much every bank teller, ever. Her name plaque said Sandy. Psych had mentioned her yesterday. Well-meaning, if a little straightlaced. That meant that she’d earned enough of Techno’s respect to get a not-quite-animal grin, and a note slid across the desk.
She waited for the understanding to appear on Sandy’s face, before she turned to the rest of the busy room. Two dozen or more people loitering around, waiting on appointments, or in line behind her. Techno’s grin widened a little, and then she spoke up over the quiet in a harsh voice that betrayed her hometown of Newark, New Jersey.
“Ladies and gentlemen, can I get everybody’s attention up here, please and thanks.” She waited until about half of them looked at her, then raised her voice a little more to make the announcement:
“This is a robbery.”
A cartoonish wall of noise that embraces catchy tunes and memorable hooks. The music zooms between beauty and ugliness, as shimmery melodies collide with mangled instrumentation.
Step three: make an entrance.
The wide front windows blew inward, shattered in a wave of tinkling noise. Anybody standing too close would be covered in painful glitter. In Hyperpop’s mind, it’d be an improvement on whatever tacky business clothes they were wearing. With a little headstart from outside, she did a spinning jump over the remaining windowsill, and landed in a T position. She and Techno made eye contact, and then Pop turned her attention to her captive audience.
“Nobody do anything crazy,” she chirped, her seafoam eyes sparkling like the rhinestones on her mask. “I don’t wanna have to do that to anybody’s bones.”
She strolled in like she owned the place, confident despite her unusual clothes. Her hands were gloveless, revealing the sparkly mint nail polish she was wearing. She kept her palms separated, but one wrong move, and they’d be ready to come together to reinforce her point.
For many Japanese, min'yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.
Step four: play the part.
A blast of wind came in through the open windows, just enough that people would notice. It stirred the glass and announced the woman who flew through. The director and producer of this little ensemble, recognizable to some – though probably not to anybody here – as Min’yo.
She landed beside Techno at the counter and spun her bo staff around once, before giving the visibly panicked Sandy a glance. There wasn’t a piece of glass on her, not a speck or smudge on her white halter top or cotton pants. She swept the room with sharp, dark eyes as another figure came in – like a reasonable person, through the front door. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. Instead, she looked at Sandy again. Her small features were surprisingly neutral, given the circumstances.
She gestured to Techno with one hand, as Symphony handed her the respirator mask and the latest in her collection of obnoxious purple battle rifles. “This can be handled civilly, I think. No need for a fuss. Escort my associate to the safe, and we won’t have any more problems.”
Sandy nodded, tremulously, and Techno hopped the counter. Really, nobody used good safety measures anymore, did they? There were places where this would be a real situation. It didn’t seem like this would be one of them.
Shame.
An elaborate instrumental composition in three or more movements, similar in form to a sonata but written for an orchestra and usually of far grander proportions and more varied elements.
Step five: be patient.
Symphony watched his wife disappear around a corner with the teller, his own Colt drawn. He swept over each of the other tellers at a glance. None of them were fighters. This entire situation hinged on the training tellers received – insurance would cover money lost, so go through this without a fuss. Avoid the publicity.
That wouldn’t be happening today.
Techno hadn’t turned off the cameras around the front desk – or the silent alarm. It wouldn’t be long before they had company. Normally, that’s what a robbery like this would try to avoid. If the point was to get the money without being followed or tracked, then they were doing a shit job. Thankfully, the money was a secondary goal. It wasn’t the point, although the civilians here didn’t need to know that. Sure, cops would get a message across, but this was Pittsburgh. Metahuman capital of the US, by some people’s count. A magnet for vigilantes and villains alike. The cops were coming. But it was entirely likely they’d have company long before they heard the sirens.
“Everything’s set,” he said, softly.
Min’yo started to walk, and Symph trailed behind, his eyes darting around the room, picking up movements, context cues.
“How long?” she asked him.
He did a little math, then smiled. “Five to ten minutes. Any longer and we’ll be long gone.”
Pop was already doing rounds, occasionally giggling as she saw someone especially nervous. That one had a couple screws loose. But she was crazy powerful, and she believed in Min’s message even when Min herself had doubts. She was a useful tool. And even more than that, she was like a little sister to the rest of them. Even if she could take care of herself, they’d all rain hell on whoever moved on her first. And with Psych outside in the Astro van, that was a few different loose ends tied up. Now they just had to wait and see if any new ones came loose.
