“So Paulie, Morph, and Burdock do ….” The man known as Hannibal said. Years of talking later, Terrence nodded.

Her was wearing a black and red tee shirt. The shirt was black as a base, with red letters that said things like “Wrexham football” and EST 1864. A single gold chain hung from his neck. His skin was dark, his hair, black. His black hair was cut close, but it was curly. The mates had wanted him to grow it out into a Mohawk or something, but it just wasn’t him. His name was Terrence Torrance, and he went by Tee. It only made sense. They’d all met golfing. Chartered business over tea.

He had a rough British accent. “So ‘den I create the distraction? Right?”

Business went on and on.

——

The deposit was routine. Money from sold artwork. People liked it. Abstract. He’d made a name for himself in the years since He began. Had an online store. Some art for galleries, for home display, some prints. You could find it at hotels and corporate offices, when a wall space needed filled. His girlfriend had her own side of the site. Fan art, popular at conventions and Renaissance festivals. Some of her own personal stuff too. And Pictures AS herself. She was wonderful. Modeled, too. For art classes. And sometimes professionally.

They had been seeing each other several years, now. She knew his secrets, him hers. But still no ring… They had discussed it, sure. She just felt at ease, comfortable. In no hurry to make it like that. And He was easygoing. It was like comic book romance. Limited progress. If things happened, it would be huge. Front page stuff. The incredible woman and Mister Invisible. Not seen on this page. Behind the model name, “Also known for.”

The teller did their job and gave him a piece of paper. Elliott did his job, and vanished out the front door. He hiked the backpack over one shoulder, as he did.

Rex frowned as he walked into the bank. Normally he paid everything online, but the website had been going through some maintenance. He'd been in the area anyways on an unrelated matter, so he made a pit stop.

His work boots didn't quiet clomp on the neutral-colored carpet, but his tucked-in flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves and his customary jeans didn't particularly attract attention. There were a lot of people milling around but Rex had never been to this particular bank branch before so he studied the layout and the people, but there were just so many there. Instead of wasting any more time, Rex said a prayer.

"Father, where do I go to make a deposit?" he asked, calling upon magic. Then something came over him and his feet felt like moving. Thirty seconds later, warmth suffused him and the spell ended. He was in one of the lines for one of the tellers and the spell was over.

It was not far to the bus stop. But the bus was not there yet. He waited.

Some time later, Sirens wailed. Elliott went to find a place to change clothes.

—-

Let’s jump back several minutes, to get to the point right before the sirens.

The line Rex was in moved at a glacial pace. Someone several people ahead of him was already in position. That was Paulie. Done up in disguise. They seemed taller, with aquiline features, thinning hair, and a pointed chin. Be different than their usual alpha Chad appearance. That was thanks to Hannibal, mastermind of this operation. He’d done up almost all the crew. Made them Seem different. It was all illusion.

The infiltration had gone swell. Morph had replaced a worker. Bound and gagged in a closet, they had assumed the identity. A woman in their thirties. Blonde. They were the only one Hannibal had not touched. When Paulie got to the register, they would be making a very large withdrawal. Several big bags. They had the bag of holding. They could carry it all in one bag. That was not their power. It was someone else’s power. Their power was ropes.

Burdock was the artificer. They made the items. Not mutant. Magic. Not every crew member had mutant powers. Some were more magical. Like be Hannibal and their illusory stuff. Him, and his creations. Stay tuned…

Hannibal was on overwatch, listening to radios. Tee was distractions. Together, they were a team. They all worked together to avoid the lame daylight hostage situation robbery angle that drew in idiots in ski masks. ‘Wouldn’t be caught dead in a mask like that…’

Everything was going great. Tee was stationed outside, looking like a heavyset middle-aged man in a blue collar shirt and khaki slacks. He was there in case things went south, to step in and cause a distraction.

Hannibal heard police radio chatter. Someone had noticed the money sack pass and triggered a silent alarm. He told them all to get out of there, and told Tee to tee one up.

Tee stepped in. He picked a random, some guy in ‘tucked-in flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves and his customary jeans.’ Once Morph was clear out the back, and Paulie out the front (to join Burdock and Hannibal in the van, no doubt), he took aim at the target and used his power.

Polymorph. Basically. He turned whatever his target was into something. ‘Something that wrecks’, that was the general MO. That was what they always requested, and he had made his name wrecking things this way. As a distraction. People always said “Tee wrecks.” Today, he wanted it to be literal. So, he focused on jeans and flannel, and used the power. To turn the man into a tyrannosaurus Rex. Then, he ran to the van. They pulled away, just as sirens began to wail and all hell broke loose.

How’s that for a heist gone sideways?

The line slowly moved. Rex used that time to think about nothing. Nothing about fighting fires, about magic, about life and death situations, or even what he was doing after he left the bank. He already knew his plan for the day - there was no need to rehash it or think about it until he was done with the bank.

He was maybe halfway through the line when something started to happen to him.

"Aargh!" he shouted through gritted teeth as his flesh began bulging and bursting beneath his clothes. Tendons expanded and he heard a deep intense crunching, crashing and groaning as...as...as....his internal organs and bone structure began to warp and change and most of all, grow.

He slapped himself on his chest as pain began to course through him like fire. He called upon magic as he began reciting a verse. “And now, Lord, behold their threatenings..." but before he could even get halfway through the healing spell, his jaw burst forward from his mouth and his vocal cords vanished.

Rex was bulking up and growing, growing, growing. He felt a sickening tearing sensation and then he burst out of all of his clothes, but there was no longer any skin to be show. It was all scales. So many scales.

Within a minute, Rex was gone, and a tyrannosaur stood in the middle of the bank.

A furious, still-hurting tyrannosaur.

With a basso roar that nearly rattled bones, the T-Rex started lunging for people, stomping on things, and swiftly smashed through the side of the bank and into the streets, where he immediately clamped his massive jaws down on a taxi, shook it like a dog with a toy, knocking the driver out of the passenger window, and then hurled the vehicle out into traffic.

The costume change, it took a minute. With the special “shoes” that were mainly straps with armor in appropriate places, and open spaces for bare skin on the soles of his green, three-toed feet to grasp. With the leather jacket, and the helmet he had kept inside his backpack (with the rest of the stuff), a separate helmet from the one handing on his handlebars, mind you. To differentiate him from the helmet of his alter identity. Yes. It took a minute. And in that minute, a Tyrannosaurus rex had come and gone on a mini rampage. No. A full blown rampage.

He came out from the alley into which he had changed, peeeeeerered around the corner, and saw. Saw: saw. A hole in the wall of the bank, a taxi that had been thrown into other things. Pavement, cracked, bleeding, broken. Maybe not bleeding, but no city bus would want to drive over those pot holes until things got fixed. COME ON! And the path of destruction, yeah, he could follow it. So running across the side of the nearest building at an odd angle for running, he did so. Arms swept back for aerodynamics.

Feh, the people who had robbed the bank. That team was small potatoes compared to the path of destruction left by the T. rex. Bless their hearts, the distraction seemed to have worked. Let the police handle the team, Elliott would handle… whatever it was that made the big mess.

He ran. He leaped. He pounced. He found it. Another pounce, up onto the T. rex, and then a pause, as he stood atop it on its back, and just contemplated his life choices.

Maybe he should not have insulted his third grade teacher?

Maybe not dipped Cindy Lou’s hair in the ink well? That had been mean. There had been a better part. He was better than that.

But no. His life choice about standing on top of this Monday-Friday tyrannosaurus Rex. That was what he questioned. He didn’t have the whole story. All he had, as he leaned toward to place his fingers against scales scales so many scales, was what he was seeing. And what he saw— well what did he see?

—-

Meanwhile, the van was going speeds unbecoming of New York streets, and encountering uncharacteristic levels of nonexistence of traffic. Really, truly, they loved it when a plan came together!

Rex roared, a guttural blast of thunder than overwhelmed even the chaos and everyday noise of New York.

Movement. Motion. Everywhere!

An elephantine foot smashed a newspaper stand as the dinosaur stepped forward, wading into the traffic. Another foot crunched the trunk of a car like a pop can, sending a family to run screaming out of the car.

By now, there were screams everywhere.

Rex barely noticed the green thing running up his tail and back. He did notice a fast moving van.

It was bigger than the cars. It was the size of a good meal. It triggered something inside of him, something that overwhelmed the lingering pain of the violent transformation.

Hunger.

The ultimate predator roared again and began charging down the road, stepping on anything and anyone in his path as he chased his fleeing prey.

Making his way down town.

The T. rex roared as it ran towards whatever it had spotted. A van, maybe? Bigger than a car. He felt it, on a personal level. Like the sub-sonic tower of a tiger. It would have gotten to him, even if he had been completely deaf. It made him stagger for a moment. But the grip of his feet and his power kept him from falling off. Even as the dinosaur beat feat down the street.

“Froggy feet, I love you.” Cheshire said. The green motorcycle helmet smiled the painted on smile. His leather jacket flapped in the wind caused by T. rex motion.

He had to stop the dinosaur. Had to— but how?! How do you solve a problem like tyrannosaurus? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? This creature could throwing a whirling dervish out of whirl. Unpredictable as weather, flightier than a feather. Many a thing he’d like to tell it, many a thing it out to understand… but how did he make it stay, and listen to all he could say?! How could he keep a wave upon the sand?

He felt pretty confused, out of focus and bemused. How could he keep a moonbeam in his hand— frack!! Elliott surged forward, to snap at the tyrannosaurs eye. He tore at it with his green hands, trying to jerk the creature and direct it else where. To steer it. To… keep a T. rex in his hands.

It was hard work. Trying to direct a T. rex, and keep the situation “in-hand.” The thing was strong and powerful and outweighed the world by a lot. Being an annoyance, but not enough of an annoyance it would try and headbash him off its skull, or buck him like a bronco, up up and away.

Cheshire, nee Elliott, roared at the T. rex eye and shouted “Stoooop!”

What else would it do? It couldn’t reach up and grab him, or punch at him to knock it off. Baby arms.

“Big and annoying. I didn’t even check if you’ve got feathers. Are we Jurassic park, here? Or something more scientific.” As if it could answer.

Maybe he needed to just kick it.

Tyrannosaurus Rex stomped on down the street. He roared and roared, but there were these loud, honking things everywhere. He'd step on one with a massive CRUNCH and suddenly very alarming sounds would begin ringing. He trampled one completely flat and only then did the thing go silent.

But he didn't have time to do that for all of them. His true prey was in the distance, lit up and running away. He himself couldn't run too, fast, but his legs were long and made for all terrains.

He was still gaining on his prey.

Then a bug thing got in his eye and squeaked. He shook his head to try to knock it off. And kept going.

Elliott winced at a crushed car. He was pretty ineffective so far. But what to do with an angry T. rex.

Not get shaken off. That was what. Thank god for his “grip it” ability. It let him hold on, not get flung from a T. rex head into the distance. All the same, as the head shook, he hopped off and landed on the back, the much more stable back. He could not get shaken off the back.

“You listen to Taylor swift too?!” He shouted at the dinosaur. “We need to compare FAVES!”

But what he really needed was to kick it. So he got a running start, hopped up, then did a dropping kick on the crest of the dinosaur’s noggin. It hit with the full force of a pile driver or a battering ram. One of his best kicks, the kind he couldn’t do very many times a day. A big gun. But would it work? This was a T. rex we’re talking about.

—

Here he was, minding his own business, getting a hot dog, when he turned around. A T. rex stomped his car. This was a few seconds ago. The scrawny Asian man was still processing. Who what when where and how got asked, as well as why. But for Amadeus, it all didn’t matter. Because when he got angry, logic fell away. His genius intellect and math skills failed to add up, and he just got real big feelings. Real big feelings that got him real… big. The bigger the feels, the bigger the change.

He was reallll angry.

Ping ping ping, the area around him sounded for a moment like a war zone as shirt buttons flew wild. His pants turned purple. They stayed. The radiation exuded by his peers imbued them with the powers of censorship. His shirt? Shredded. Immune to the powers. Pants? Safe. Tie? Turned red. Safe. Shirt, totally gone now. But He was growing fur. Turning into


—

A teenager was sitting on the stoop with his phone held sideways in front of him. He had missed the T. rex on the street. His air pods were in. And the movie was good. About a plumber. Just getting to his favorite part, with the rapping. The music in his ears sang the lyrics, as a few feet away, Amadeus transformed.

He-he-here we go!

So they're finally here, performing for you
If you know the words, you can join in too
Put your hands together, if you want to clap
As we take you through this monkey rap!
Huh!

The chorus began, chanting the main characters name, but he had finally noticed a giant ape in front of him. As big as King Kong, and wearing a— wearing a tie?! He did a double take. Then he noticed the crushed car, the city in chaos, and the dinosaur down the street. He swore. Then he ran inside.

—

Amadeus beat his chest. Then, he ran at the T. rex. He was going to SMASH!

The tyrannosaur took another thunderous step when WHAM! His head ducked down as something...stung?... him. "RAAAARRRRGGGH!" he roared as a piledriver kick drilled into his skull. He stumbled across another couple of cars and made his way over to the edge of the street. He swung his head toward a building in order to try to scratch his head against it and get rid of the bug thing.

But then a challenger appeared!

Saliva began pouring from his mouth like a gross rain as he took in the strange creature that could feed him for weeks!

Time to cho down!

The bug-thing forgotten, the T-Rex roared again and charged at the giant furry dinner entree blocking his path, jaws open and ready to cho-mp.