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The Second National Bank of New York. it's a moderately prosperous bank, one that's trying out something rather radical as well, namely they're open on a Saturday! Somehow, despite this, the sky has not fallen, nor has the earth opened up. There are a few people either at one of the three tellers working or waitin in line for their turn. One of those in line, a fairly bland looking young man, has a largish briefcase with him and glances around the room carefully.
And how serendipitous, that they should be attempting such a novel opening date! For who else stands in one of the lines but Steve Rogers, attempting to remain a civilian in his jeans and brown leather bomber jacket, complete with shearling collar. He's currently frowning down at his wallet and wondering to himself precisely how much he should withdraw for groceries this week. Old habits settled back in the age of the Depression die hard, and sometimes it's difficult for him to excuse buying as much as he should be eating, especially with the super-serum's effects.
Old habits die hard, especially ones formed in such desperate times as those. Of course the advantage of not being wasteful is that things don't get wasted. Alas, the gentleman with the briefcase has not learned the proper habits in his life. He kneels down as if to tie the laces of his shoes, setting the briefcase down with more oomph than necessary, causing a loud thump. Another gentleman idly leaning against a wall straightens up, and gives a firm cough. The first gentleman then quickly sets the briefcase on its bottom and pops the lid.
The cougher turns his face towards the wall and pulls up his jacket while a faint vaguely buzzing sound can be heard from the briefcase. A taller glances up absently as the buzzing is replaced by a stranger, harsher almost screech-like sound, thoroughly inorganic, and one that sets teeth on edge. The woman the teller had been helping suddenly screams in terror, for the teller…has no face! Where eyes, nose and mouth were there is now a featureless fleshy…form instead! The teller bangs helpless at the gate in front of him, and soon others scream, as another teller's face disappears, and then a customer's!
Steve glances up from his wallet at the sound of the briefcase landing hard upon the gleaming surface of the bank floor. Mildly perplexed, he then dismisses the young man for taking his proper step forwards in line. He's next up for approaching the counter when the first sound makes itself known.
Up comes the Captain's head, alert as a guard dog, and he quickly looks around. It's foreign enough in the circumstances that he's immediately beginning to tense. Then comes the screech. It sets his teeth on edge and he flinches; with his serum-boosted hearing, it's a horrifying thing. A sustained tone and then it drops with all the sudden shock of a rollercoaster before rising back up to that metallic, sustained shriek. He doesn't make any cry as he sees the changes occurring in the tellers and even in one of the people behind him in line, but — he does see that the briefcase is ajar. A quick flick of his eyes from that to the young man supposed in ownership and he shoves his wallet into his pocket even as he begins striding over.
Step one: contain the cause.
Step two: address the…weirdness.
"Hey! Shut it off!" It's a bark of command, mimicking a drill sergeant down to the growl.
The sole security guard on the bankfloor had started to move away from his position when chaos started, only for his face, too, to disappear. Once that had happened, the man at the briefcase barks a quick, "Now!" and flicks a switch on it somewhere. A slight humming sound might can be heard under that godawful screech.
Unfortunately for Briefcase and Cougher, their plan didn't account for someone responding so assertively, and confidently, to the situation. Cougher doesn't see what's happening, instead he's leaping onto the counter in front of a faceless teller, and then trying to scramble up the half-height wall to get behind it. Briefcase acts as if electrified, muscles freezing and eyes wide as the Captain barks at him. The screen continues, but no more faces seem to fade.
Well then. If Briefcase isn't going to hit the kill switch on the sound, then Steve's steel-toed boot will certainly oblige everyone in the room. He closes the distance with quick strides and gives the briefcase a good kick. No doubt it flies away across the room, possibly to bounce off another object in the process. Briefcase is given another stern look.
"Son, if you run, you won't get far. Stay there and eat your crow," he commands, expression set in stone. As for Cougher? The Captain attempts to put the kabash on that man's clambering by loping over and reaching up for a handful of outerwear clothing, meaning to yank the man back down onto the proper side of the counter.
The briefcase goes flying, the lid dropping closed, and for a moment the man whose case it was has a look of sheer horror on his thankfully not featureless face. He watches as the briefcase sails across the room, rotating in seeming slow motion before hitting the wall, bouncing lightly off of it and landing on the ground on one corner with a thump, it falls back on another with a thump, the lid bounces closed…then bounces open again, staying open, which Briefcase finds a relief for some reason. The screech continues, the faint humming is, well, more faint, clearly coming from the briefcase, though the screeching is not.
Cougher is scrambling at the wall, and wile he's in good health, it seems he's no athlete, as he's still struggling for purchase when the Captain intervenes. He yelps in surprise and then grunts as he lands butt-first on the floor.
And then the screeching…stops. There's still the sounds of chaos and fear, with people still missing their faces, but at least those who do have faces no longer have teeth wanting to writhe in pain.
Cougher then needs to deal with Steve, baring gritted teeth out of irritation at circumstance and noise, grabbing up a handful of the back collar of clothing. A (relatively) gentle motion of the Captain's arm intends to send the man skid-sliding over to his compatriot and his captor follows, scowling.
Steve looks up and makes eye contact with the nearest bank customer with a face. "Go call the authorities, we'll need them," he says before glancing back to the two men. "Give me a wrist. Both of you." He has one hand inside his bomber jacket, at the small of his back, where a pair of handcuffs are conveniently stashed (read as: he forgot to give them back to SHIELD during the last mission — oops, someone doing inventory will be annoyed). Presumably, he intends to cuff the two men wrist-to-wrist.
"Ack!" acks Cougher as he's slid across the floor, thumping none-too gently against his friend. Or partner. or fellow would be robber at least. The customer Steve singles out is watching wide-eyed, but his instruction shakes them out of their daze, and they dash out the front door to find a payphone. "Wait!" says Briefcase. "You need to close the lid! So the queen atom doesn't escape again!" While it sounds ridiculous, the man certainly seems sincere. And it might be noticed that the inside of the briefcase seems to be lined with a metal of some sort. Inside is a small cube of some sort, on which sits a white powdery substance. On the lowe rhalf of the briefcase there also seem to be two small…let's call them emitters.
"I'll be sure to shut it," Steve replies coolly. Whether or not the two men offer up their wrists or not, he's grabbing up sleeves and click — the would-be robbers are now cuffed to one another. "As I told him earlier," and the Captain points at Briefcase; "Sit there and eat crow."
With that, he walks away across the room and to the briefcase in question. Crouching down by it, wincing at the sound, he peers inside and sighs. "Where's Stark when you need him…?" he grouses, not understanding much of what technology he sees. Placing a hand on the briefcase's outer shell, he pushes down on it, attempting to then latch it shut entirely.
The two watch him, clearly fearful until he starts towards the briefcase. Stark's probably in a bar somewhere. Why would he be in a bank? He probably owns one. Or three. The latch closes with an authorative *click* and the humming either stops or is completely muted. "Oh thank god!" someone says, and if the Captain looks, he'll see a teller's face beginning to return. And if he looks there he doesn't notice as Briefcase digs something out of a pocket. If not stopped, he'll activate a smoke bomb to try to conceal he and his partner's escape attempt.
Hearing a voice pipe up, Steve glances over his shoulder as he stands upright, holding the briefcase by its handle. Back to its mundane-looking state, he could pass for another customer easily, rather than erstwhile super-soldier.
"Are you alright?" he's quick to ask, taking a step towards the person in question. But then! The smoke bomb! Reeling back a step or two, the Captain squints and waves at the air before his face. If he can catch any moving silhouettes, especially a pair seeming to be attached by the wrists?
The briefcase itself flies into the cloud, aimed at the torso of one of the fleeing would-be robbers!
"Yes, yes I think so," says the teller, somewhat breathlessly. Steve's able to barely make the crooks out through the smoke and kicks after them, unfortunately they make it through the exit with the briefcase sailing in their wake. Once outside, they'll be able to grab the briefcase and depart. Locked together, of course. Another face begins to return, though, with signs of panic starting to recede.
As the smoke settles to the floor, Steve coughs once more into his closed fist. Just a standard get-away cover, thankfully, it appears, and not some more toxic fume. He glowers, seeing no sign of the briefcase or the duo. The authorities have yet to arrive, so he lingers rather than chase after the erstwhile robbers. Poor bastards are going to have a hell of a time getting out of those cuffs as is; they're graded to keep sub-super-human strength at bay, despite their relatively slim-looking build. The would-be robbers can thank SHIELD's science division for that break-through.
"Good. Get the others, we'll go outside for cleaner air." Working in tandem with those able to help herd the shocked, he shoos everyone outside and onto the sidewalk, where the authorities presumably arrive sooner than later. Everyone's questioned, including Steve himself, and he reports what he can. Despite the disbelieving squint from the lieutenant taking notes, the police seem to accept his report — especially when someone realizes precisely who the blond man is. Promises are made to pass on the information to SHIELD itself and once Steve is certain that everything's under control, he departs from the scene, hands stuffed away in the pockets of his jacket.
Oh well. Look like the withdrawal's happening on Monday.