“Oh, wow, it’s the Kobbers!”
The four men turned around. They didn’t resemble the heroes of the planet - tall men in black clothing tended not to feature amongst the group. But if you took one of them and melted them in the microwave, the cheap plastic masks over the group’s faces were close enough.
Leaning against the wall of the bank and peering through the goggles of his Rider suit, Vince took a moment to plan his next quip. They’d ripped open an ATM in the foyer - probably not brave or smart enough to try the vault. He’d seen them rattling around through the glass windows and gone to investigate, as was his duty or something. He noted the flowing metal around the hole where the ATM had been.
His entrance was kind of ruined by the fact his Rider suit was neon pink and sported spikey plastic hair, but hey. The classics worked.
“Carol? What are you doing around here?” He pointed a gloved finger at a man wearing a loose approximation of the redhead’s face. “I thought you were on vacation?”
Not Carol pointed a shotgun at him. Whoops. Vince dived, his Driver blaring a cartoon jump sound as he fell to his right. He felt the boom of the gun more than he heard it. He rolled back to his feet behind a desk and grabbed a potted plant on it before hurling it at Not Carol. It smashed satisfyingly on his target’s head.
The other three were moving. One, pretending to be a very sad-looking Airman, was charging across the foyer of the bank at him. Vince vaulted over the desk and lashed a sneaker-clad foot out, hitting the man in the temple and leaving him motionless on the tile. One down.
He raised a foot to move forwards, and left his stomach lurch as he kept rising. A third guy, wearing a face of some janitor guy he’d only read about in the comics, was holding a device that resembled a metal cylinder with blue lines scribbled over it. The business end was pointed at Vince. He flailed in the air.
“Dawn’s gonna sue you for using that,” he gasped, and scrabbled at his belt for another cartridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carol Man pulling the gun up to him. He managed to grab a cart and slam it into his belt.
“LEVEL UP!”
Vince twisted his upper body to the left as the belt spat a flat, shimmering screen into reality in front of him. The boom of the shotgun was dulled as its payload fizzled against the impromptu barrier. It crashed into the shotgun dude and hurled him backwards. Two down - probably.
“PAC-PAC-PAC-MAN!”
Oh, good. Vince let the screen wash back over him, cladding him in yellow and red. He was still suspended in the air though, and he couldn’t see the fourth guy. Who probably also had a gun.
Shit. He was never any good at Pac-Man.
“C’mon, guys,” he yelled at nobody in particular, and felt himself yanked downwards to hit the tile. They wouldn’t breach his Rider armor, but his breath left his lungs anyway.
“Where’s your -” Slam.
“Christmas -” Slam.
“Oh, forget it,” Vince wheezed, and yanked the Pac-Man cart from his belt. He shoved it into the holster on his hip.
“PAC-CRITICAL STRIKE!”
Vince promptly turned into a neon yellow ball. Pac-Man had one rule - you had to keep moving, like a pizza-shaped shark. As the ball rocketed upwards, chomping at the air, the man holding him yelled. Vince could feel his foe’s weight being dragged with him as he headed for the roof -
And burst right through. The man holding onto him screamed.
“Oh shit.” Inside the yellow sphere, Vince yanked the cart from the holster. Turning back into his usual neon pink self, he fell, willing game physics to accelerate him, and caught the flailing robber. Both of them burst through the rubble and smoke of their recent exit, Vince just managing to land on his feet.
Then he rabbit-punched the robber in the head and dropped him on the floor. Three down. Why hadn’t this doofus just let go of the -
“Freeze!”
That was a big gun. Judging by the orange glow, they’d used it to crack open the ATM. The fourth man, in the cruelest of ironies, had a Kamen Rider Hime mask on. He was back by the front door of the bank - too much distance for Vince to cross without becoming fried Rider.
“Uh, sure.” Vince raised his hands. Man, Lady Luck was mean some days. He watched the man reach for a duffel bag half-filled with dollar bills, the gun still trained on him -
His driver whirred. A brown block of bricks, three feet each side, materialised into the air between him and Not Hime.
“Thank you, Jesus,” Vince yelped, and dived forward and down. He felt the red hot lance spear over his back, smashing the block into pixels. He felt the magnetic pull of something being drawn to him.
“CHRISTMAS!”
When Vince stood back up, he had a Santa hat and beard on over his helmet. The final robber stared at him.
“Ho ho ho,” Vince deadpanned, and headbutted the man.
Four down. No more movement. Probably a silent alarm, though. He’d have to stick around, make sure he hadn’t killed anyone accidentally (a feat he hadn’t accomplished yet), and then let the police handle the rest. And pay for damages. How much did replacing a roof cost?
Vince glanced down at his belt.
“I didn’t know you had a holiday setting,” he said. The belt, being a hunk of neon green plastic that warped reality, didn’t respond. Vince sighed.
He could think about other things now.
“I wonder what Koakuma got me,” he muttered aloud, and went to check Not Airman’s pulse.
