Alarms screeched in warning against the vaulted ceiling of the bank, echoing out onto the streets, informing no one of anything they didn't already know. The hostages shook and huddled with their heads on their knees as masked men hurried to stuff as much money as they could carry into black sacks.

It was all very pedestrian. Broken glass crunched under Harry's Oxfords as he stepped inside. Two of the more excitable robbers brought their guns up level with him at the sound, the others following suit when the first two started shouting for him to get out and get on the floor.

"Well which is it?" Harry asked, raising his hands slowly. The other three joined in on the yelling and Harry sighed. He watched them much the way he might watch a traffic jam on his morning commute.

"It's rude to talk over other people," Harry took another step into the bank, goading them.

On cue, one of the twitchier robbers opened fire. Harry smiled as he tore a hole in the air between himself and the bullets, flat and endless black swallowing them before they reached their target.

"Fuck, I know this one! That's Galahad!"

"Nightshade, actually, and I'd thank you to remember it," Harry withdrew the void with only a modicum of difficulty. The vague coldness in his skin faded with it, but the sour taste in his mouth at the name remained. "Now, why don't you come quietly out and turn yourselves over before someone gets hurt?"

"We're fucked," said the man who had recognized him, lowering his weapon a fraction. The others wavered, the whites of their eyes visible in their masks as they looked between him, each other, and the cash.

"Do take your time," Harry murmured.

The one who fired was the first to organize his priorities.

"Hell no, I ain't goin' to prison!" With that he swung his gun around to the hostages. Several cried out and huddled tighter against the counter where they'd been corralled.

"I wouldn't do that." Harry warned.

"Screw you, hero! You might be bulletproof, but they ain't!"

"Rottie what the fuck, you said nobody would get hurt!"

"Said a lot of shit to get you to shut your mo-"

Helpfully distracted, 'Rottie' missed the moment when Harry closed the distance between them. Harry slammed the gun into the counter, catching Rottie's hand between cold metal and hard oak where it made a satisfying crunch. He felt a grin tug at his lips when he snapped his elbow back into Rottie's nose, feeling something give under the blow.

He was not quite so elegant as before, with only his bare hands to fight with, but elegance was not a requirement for success. Rottie fell howling, his mask shining wet with blood, and Harry spun away to the next closest robber. This one raised his gun, but Harry rammed the barrel up into his face before he could fire. The gun slipped from his hands as he stumbled and Harry caught his leg, let him trip, and whipped the butt of the gun against his forehead, sending him sprawling.

The others had their weapons up, save the one who knew him, and Harry opened another void to catch the bullets. He waited patiently for them to run out. Much as he hated to admit it, a savage part of him enjoyed even the easiest of hero jobs. There was a lightness to his limbs he hadn't felt in the two years since Valentine. But he was operating more on muscle memory than actual thought. This was a rather basic job, after all. So while he couldn't be blamed, it caught him quite by surprise when he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye and turned to find himself staring down an explosion.

"Shit," he ripped the void wider to catch it, too wide, but even as the chill broke out over the left side of his face the blast hit.

Harry's power consumed it, but even so the heat and force of the shot seared his exposed skin, knocked him back against the counter. He threw his arms across his face to block out the blinding light and rode it out. The hostages screamed in fear, and Harry felt the moment when he overcompensated, when he wouldn't be able to close the breach.

Where the hell had that come from?

The shot died off like the afterimage of taillights, and Harry lowered his arms to stare - at the fifth robber, the one who'd recognized him. He was panting, brilliant green eyes wide and what skin visible around them gleaming with sweat, hands raised and gloves burnt off. Harry suspected exhaustion for a moment, before he caught the glow in his chest that was bright enough now to shine through his hoodie. Exertion, not exhaustion.

From holding back.

"Hit him harder!" shouted one of the gunmen, breaking the odd calm. The powered one dropped his hands and glared at the man. Mistake .

"You wanna fuckin' die? I can't-"

Harry clocked him with the butt of the gun and he went down, silenced.

"Well," Harry said, looking at the last two "I must say you've squandered some considerable talent."

Half a second later both of them fled through the broken glass into the waiting arms of the police. Harry frowned. Behind him the darkness was shifting, seething. He tapped the side of his mask, opening a com channel.

"Merlin," he began, but was cut off.

"I'm en route."

"Good, thank you," Harry closed the channel, turning to the hostages. "Are you all alright?"

Shaky confirmations greeted him, smiles and wary glances at the rip that was left open. Sweat began to prickle along the edge of his mask, the back of his neck.

"The police are outside. Be careful of the glass."

They trickled out the bank front and for the briefest moment the unpleasant surety that he was being discourteous overtook the strain of containing the void. Then a chill crept along his scalp. He clapped his hand against his left eye, hidden by the gleaming black mask he now wore, in a vain effort to contain the spread. From his uncovered eye, he saw the gaping darkness begin to grow.

A glimmer and a chime like fine china, and light surrounded it. It danced and spun with numbers and sigils and whatever other magic was needed, lovely even bent to things it was not intended for, turned to unyielding steel, and compressed. Slowly the chill receded. Harry dropped his hand and sighed, waiting for the void to be manageable enough to blink from existence.

"Thank you, Merlin," he turned to where Merlin had stepped into the ruined bank. The alarm finally stopped without so much as a flicker of the wizard's eyes. "I apologize for pulling you away from your work."

Merlin only nodded. "That was easy." He observed, drawing Harry's attention to the robbers.

"Child's play," he shrugged. Merlin eyed him for a moment and Harry had to wonder just what he'd been talking about.

But then the scrutiny ended and his eyes fell on the three unconscious robbers, "I heard there was an Imperium among them."

"This one. He'll be difficult to contain, probably Ridgelock. A shame, he might have been a wonderful hero."

Merlin waved his hand and brought up the video feed of the fight, playing it back in the air before him while the police began to filter in. His eyes gleamed, and Harry felt a disconnected sort of pity for the boy over whatever Merlin was dreaming up. A few plays later Merlin vanished the video and gestured for Harry to follow him out.

"We're still looking for a more suitable partner," he began, and Harry braced for the inevitable "it may be best if you're not sent out again without one."

"Surely there are some categories of crime I can be allowed to deal with."

"In theory, it was this category," he turned to Harry at the edge of the police line, frowning. "As much as it can be argued that you're even more of an asset now, the danger you pose without reliable containment is too great for me to condone use of your powers."

Harry's lips thinned "I understand."

Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder "Don't pout. I've an idea, Harry. With any luck, you'll be back on the roster within the week."