Vorspiel auf dem Theater Edit


It was night time in the bustling city of Charlotte. Even though the sun had shut its eyes and gone to bed several hours ago, the streets were still bright with the neon lights of clubs, the warm, welcoming light of stores, and the cold yet impressive light of the towering skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the sky with their height and spires. 

As with any big city, crimes naturally occur, but even in Charlotte people feel safe enough to walk without much worry along its streets at night. It's fairly protected, and crime rates are on the decline.

Of course, that's not to say crime doesn't exist here. That would be illogical.

On the western side of the center city's own center lay the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art, home to over 1,400 works of art collected over several decades. A small handful of the museum's contents alone could be worth several hundred thousand dollars.

Long since closed for the night, only a few armed guards patrolled the stark white and minimalistic interior of the museum, swinging their flashlights and keeping watch over the various paintings, sculptures, models, and sketches they walked past. Some took their job seriously, and some just wondered why a sculpture that looked like a mish-mash of random shapes that a kindergartener could just as easily come up with was insured for ten times his own paycheck.

While one such guard walked past the large pane of glass that was the entrance, a man dressed in a ballistic vest suddenly charged from out of nowhere wielding what looked to be some homemade battering ram. As jerry-built as it may have appeared, it was no less effective; when he thrust it at the glass, it shattered around him with a loud crash and fell to his feet.

The guard had noticed him too late to save the window, but turned around in shock towards the intruder. Just as he rushed his hand to his hip holster to grab his taser, the robber rushed and tackled him to the ground, knocking him out with a powerful punch to the face. As quick as he was to disable the front guard though, it didn’t do anything to prevent the other guards from hearing the commotion.

The intruder quickly rushed out of the entrance and headed further into the museum, the clammering footsteps of the other guards clearly outnumbering his own.

He beat the guards to a gallery of various paintings, but he didn't escape them. Just as the burglar reached the opposite side of the gallery, the guards rushed in with their own tasers or firearms already raised.

"Hands in the air!" one of the guards shouted, pointing his gun at his target.

Instead, the dark-clad man grabbed a large painting off the wall and held it in front of his body like a shield - as intently the guards were pointing at him, their duty was to protect the contents of the museum, and none of them were looking to pay several thousand dollars for a giant paint splatter.

"Put your guns down at the painting doesn't get hurt," the burglar said gruffly, gripping the sides of the canvas tight.

The guards hesitated, looking at each other before slowly, and begrudgingly, lowering their weapons. The robber approached them, the painting still held in front, and walked past them slowly while staring them in the eyes - they couldn't get into a skirmish with him for fear of damaging the art either, and all the guards in the building were in front of him now.

The buglar was halfway towards the front door before he glanced behind himself. He furrowed his brow in confusion when he saw the unconcious guard's body was no longer lying on the floor. He looked ahead of himself, and saw that he was now sitting, still unconscious, in a char behind the front desk. The guards followed his gaze and looked just as confused.

Suddenly, the painting in the burglar's grasp vanished. In an instant, it reapeared leaning agains the wall near the conscious guards, safe and sound.

Before the guards or the burglar could react, a smiling figure clad in a strange green outfit and safely several inches shorter than any of them appeared in front of the would-be-thief. 

"I know people like to admire artwork, but even I think that thing's too gaudy to hang up in your living room." They said, their voice sounding rather young and feminine, the intruder looking on in a mixture of surprise, fear, and confusion.

Some ways south of the center city's center, a jewelry store had simultaneously been invaded by more robbers, and this time they were armed. While two pointed guns at frightened employees that had stayed behind to get some last minute work done, another broke the glass display cases with ease and began stuffing a large bag with glittering rings, necklaces, and watches.

Once they were finished, they returned to the armed group with their stuffed, jingling bag.

"Lemme see," an armed robber said with a nod towards the bag. Its holder obliged. The armed one leaned his face over the bag to get a good look at what would most likely be worth thousands upon thousands of dollars with an awaiting grin. When the bag was opened, he was instead greeted by several white doves flying out of the bag directly into his face.

The robbers all jumped back and shouted, the bag's holder dropping it in shock.

"Sorry 'bout that," came a voice from behind the robbers across the store. They and the hostage employees looked in the direction of its origin to see someone in a purple costume twirling a glittering diamond necklace with their finger. "Usually people find my tricks rather entertaining. But don't you worry, I've got something that's sure to impress!"

The figure raised a classic stage magician wand, black with white tips, and pointed it in the robbers' direction with a smirk as a purple glow began to envelop the tip.

At the center of Charlotte Center City lied the town's tallest building, a 60-story tall corporate bank center. Covered in glass panes and filled with tantalizing currency and cookie-cutter office rooms alike, it housed most of Charlotte's money, with several bars of gold and silver like a proverbial cherry on top.

Right now though, it was losing several thousand dollars a minute to a group of armed robbers, also dressed in balistic armor, taking bags upon bags of cash from the various vaults. The police would be on their way, but by the time they arrived they would already be gone with a good chunk of the well-earned paychecks (and some ill-begotten checks) of Charlotte's citizens.

While several robbers kept their guns at their waists and looked around the main lobby, their companions dragged cash to their getaway car.

Just as one carrying a rather hefty bag was reaching the car, something struck him in the torso and sent him flying back into the bank, where he slid across the floor and collided with the front desk.

The armed robbers turned around quickly and aimed their guns ahead. Where their comrade was before now stood some orange figure. 

They quickly opened fire on the stranger, but almost as instantly as they had pulled their triggers, another figure jumped over the car behind them and landed in front of the first, blocking them with a large and oddly-designed shield. It was bombarded by bullets for several seconds before the robbers ceased fire - the shield barely looked dented, if even scratched.

"You okay?" The second person asked the first, moving the shield to the side slightly.

"Thanks to you," the first replied, a slight warmth in their voice as they gave a small smile to the second person, both of which quickly vanished when they faced the burglars again. They both sounded like young girls. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to take what doesn't belong to you?"

"W-what the hell? Who the hell are these freaks?" One burglar asked, his gun still raised.

"Well that's not very nice." The second, younger-sounding figure asked. 

"I'll ask you one question." The first stranger asked the robbers, staring intently with a hard, stony and cold voice. "Would you like to leave this bank the painful way, or the hard way?"

The bank robbers were flung out the front door of the building, flying over their car before landing and rolling on the hard street before coming to a stop. Moments later, several more robbers were flung from somewhere and landed on top of the first group, followed shortly by a single robber appearing out of nowhere several feet in the air, who fell with a shout on top of the groaning, grunting pile.

With a bang, four figures landed on top of the getaway car, severely denting the roof and shattering the front and rear windows.

"Camicia di forza!" cried out the one in purple, pointing their wand at the collection of criminals. With a flash of purple light and a cloud of smoke, the pile of men were now collectively bound in a comically large, padlock-sealed straitjacket. They all grunted and squirmed in a quite futile attempt to escape their strange bonds.

From down the street, the sound of police sirens began to grow louder, and flashing red-and-blue lights began to grow larger and brighter in the distance. Together, the four strange figures knelt down and jumped high into the air as one, jumping from the side of building to building until they fled over rooftops into the distance, leaving the police and their bound prize far behind.

Several buildings away, tucked between two buildings in a dark alley, something small and strange watched where the four apparent heroes had once stood with small, red eyes. It twitched its ears, turned around, and slipped silently back into the deep black shadows.