Lights Out

Vegas. Good ol' Vegas. Trent had come here once or twice back on his free time, not exactly to install any security cameras - casinos probably had that covered anyways -, but to waste away his youth gambling and drinking. That's what the lads called blacking out in a puddle of your own vomit with your yearly savings blown on some random lady you spent five minutes with and a roulette. Trent, well, he spent most of his time in the hotel room. Reading. Kind of an anti-social young adult, he was, not that it had changed much. Ask him the reason and he may as well ask why you wouldn't swim with sharks. This time, though, he didn't have to fake a smile when college football team pretty boy Rodrigo starts talking. He's here himself, looking for his own jackpot.

Unlike most unlucky bastards spending their life savings on a card game with way too many rules, though, Vaughn liked to leave as little to luck as possible.

Some nice lads back in Duskbürg were kind enough to let him into some details, for an amicable compensation, of course. See, Casino Du Soleil was having a quite nice event, big companies and their big deals with their big parties. Obviously this wasn't as clean as one would expect, if it reaches the dusky side of Millenium, it's pretty much drowning in as much dirt as it could. It's why a counterfeit invitation was so easily attainable by whoever paid the most - or had the most convincing argument. Tonight he was coming as security, private security, which meant all the last few days had been just him and some scowling generic bald men loaned straight out of the Matrix. Not to be confused with the matrix he had access to, tech-savvy came in handy at times like these, being able to trace the electricity currents and map out the place came in second place.

Couple uneventful days pass, eating good food for free, getting scolded while in underpaid service, taking some mental notes to make sure the house didn't always win. Just as that, the big night was on. So much money rolling into the casino, shaped like carbon-based beings dressed in flashy suits from top to bottom, ladies with those comically large pearls that might as well have targets on them, expensive clocks ticking the seconds on diamond roman numerals, a single attire here would cost him fifty salaries, and that because he hadn't even checked for the vehicles yet. It was fine to want in on some of the action, no?

Well, even if it wasn't, he didn't care.

World always belonged to the quickest to bury the other in the sand and then step over them, this was just some personal payback.

The casino's security room was packed, the touring schedule was memorized on his mind, he had a couple minutes to do this. Immobilize the taskforce and the security, cut the power, pick out security, do his thing. Trent's hands trembled a bit, never had he had a job this big before, especially a self-imposed one such as this, and he wasn't stupid enough to consider walking away from this without anyone fighting back. "You got this. It's alright, everybody gets nervous, but you planned this. You know how to not fuck it up." He mumbled to himself, splashing some water on his face. "Tough night, eh?" Rispid voice from his side, old-timer, pearly white suit, cowboy hat, large moustache. "Haha, yeah. Boss is gonna kill me if I spend too much time having fun. Gotta make sure y'all feel same, y'know, uh... sir? Sorry. Got them jitters." Play it cool, fake some random accent, look away, fiddle like you're anxious. It's not like they'll even be able to remember anything from how much booze seems to be drained by their bodies. You'd think he was the biggest issue for them here, but lungs and liver? Those were the true goners.

Trent walked his way back to the security room leisurely, making sure to avoid contact with any cameras, head down and just fast walking. He did enough styling so his hairstyle, face, eyes and accent didn't give him away too much, but precaution is the mother of all succesful heists. Plus, with all the storm New York was causing, Vegas seemed to be ripe for the taking. He knocks on the door. Twice. Some Arnold rip-off decides to open it abruptly, a straight-to-the-point 'what do you want'. Cut his work easier as he simply bumped by the man, forcing the door open as a metallic device slid on the palm of his hand. He clicks it.

"HEY! What's your big ide-" Poor Arnie, not getting to film Predator 5 today, his fist now entirely encased in expanding metal as the armor unfolds around his body. One punch to the face, nights out. The other guys are quick to react, pulling some firearms while others rush him out of pure instinct. First comes at him with a tackle, yet Braddock plants both feel steadily on the ground, answering with an unarmored elbow down the dude's spine, the armor sliding into his forearm until the second elbow comes down, the metal strongly knocking the guard on the floor. Second with a baton, other one already squeezing the trigger, thus Trent promptly slides forth, a burst of blue energy shooting from his forearm as he executed a chop against the baton, his surge of bright light blinding the shooters as bullets flew their way. He circled around the Herculean figure charging at him, baton cleanly melted in half, and pulled him down in one natural motion, banging his head against the floor with just enough force to render the enemy unawake.

Trent rolls forward, snabbing half of the baton and immediately hurling it into the escaping person's nape. One more unconscious body, this time blocking the door from the other side. With a blast of electricity from Junk's feet, he shot forward, grabbing one guard in each arm as he tossed them at the camera screens. A bullet bounces off his now armored shoulders. "Junk. Concussive." He spoke calmly, arms making a flawless 90 degree angle, left hand grasping some lever-like protrusion and vehemently pulling it down, revealing a blue glow, this time, however, it simply released an unbearably strong gust, throwing the shooter against the wall. Junk didn't dilly-dally, a flash of light practically pursuing the man, now held by his neck up high as the Electromagnetic Robber banged his head against the wall. His body almost fully enveloped by the armor, some quick thug managed to pull him around, another one came around, grabbed both his arms from behind, a single baton slams against his unprotected gut as he lets out an audible grunt, whatever fighting force they had surrounded him, batons loudly clanging against the armor, a taser is pulled up but he manages to kick it aside. "Tried the nice way." He grumbles, his chest ultimately closing for the full display of the extraordinary Junk suit he had made himself, a whirring noise coming from it's center.

The mass of people were immediately blown away, a large soundwave blasting through the room, violently pushing them all against walls. His hands quickly reach for his waist, two disks shoot out from his legs, rapidly charged with enough energy to rival a taser. He tosses them, hands glowing a bright crimson as he properly controls their direction, changing electromagnetic pull and push as they fly around simply touching the security until they fall unconscious. Vaughn walks over to the mainline of power, smashing it open, blue streaks shoot out forthwith, coursing through the armor, which shone in all it's glory as lights faded from the building. "Show time."

Naturally, security had two missions: organizing the guests so they didn't have much to worry about, assuring it was but a minor issue, and also running his direction to see what the actual fuck was going on. It meant they weren't ready for the charging metal man shoulder-bashing them against walls at speeds a metal man should probably not move. The phones had their lanterns on when he activated stealth mode, the murmurs softened by the constant yelling of drunktards demanding they be told what happened made some nice background noise to muffle the more metallic clanking of his feet. Trent snapped his fingers once, always keen on dramatic sequences, and phones started frying one by one, desperation and restlessness grew, just not enough.

There was no time for that.

"Now, now." The blue glow pierced through the growing darkness, his voice modified and booming. "I know what you're thinking. 'Is this really happening?' Yes. it is. No use fighting it now. Will you walk out of here alive? Well... Yeah." He shrugged. "Just collecting tax money. Rolexes and jewels. In a bag. Quick." He turned around to one of the members he recognised from his little time playing security friends. A life shone brightly on the man's visage, squinting eyes with hands going for a gun. "Do it. Maybe it'll work. Otherwise, I'd suggest you start on those bags, sweetheart. And make a sure to stop on the safe, I'm not cleaning house, but if you play it smart, might be some extra in it for you too. You and the safe, alone, nobody watching. Ah, the beauty of youth." He'd have winked, but that beat the purpose of wearing a helmet.

"And you, my honorable, oh, so honorable guests. Enjoy the party. C'mon, I heard the martini is to kill for."