Concealed Threats

The robbers were careful, efficient and thoughtful. They had the technical knowhow to kill silent alarms and cut telephone communications. They were ruthless enough to terrorize the staff and patrons of the First Bank of Manhattan, and make everybody believe that they really would detonate a bomb unless their orders were followed to the letter. And they had sufficient intelligence about the bank's holdings to steal selectively from the vault, leaving the things that were too cheap or difficult to move in favor of portable, exchangeable loot.

But they didn't count on everything. They didn't count on Vuvuzela's superhuman hearing picking out the sounds of the bank robbery from blocks away. They didn't imagine Springbok could zip in the revolving door, punch six thieves in the jaw and run out again, all within three seconds. And they certainly didn't plan around Force Majeure, eight feet tall and wielding a stainless-steel baguette, caving in the hood of the armored car the robbers were using as an escape vehicle.

"Halt, evil-doers!" shouted Papageno from his perch on a bank lobby chandelier. "Surrender to…"

"…the League of Nations!" finished Papagena, fluttering to land atop the vault door.

The police broke in just then and surprised everybody by training weapons on the superheroes, not the perpetrators. "What ees zis??" demanded Force Majeure, putting his hands on his beret as he was urged into the back of the police van.

"This is a concealed powers state, mister," said the lieutenant. "Go brandishing your superhuman abilities around like that, you go to jail."

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