At base, the alert went off, the city map came up on the big screen, and Scott and Paul were treated to a rebroadcast of an interrupted call from a police cruiser. A luncheon for wealthy types had been taking place at a downtown club, the cop had walked in and said, "It definitely looks like there's something going on, and OH MY GOD—"
    "You ever driven a jetbike?" Scott inquired.
    "No."
    "Come on." He schlorked toward the door and called the others in. Phoenix Talon asked Scott to bring his bokken, then called Dawn to let her know that he was going to be held up a bit. Then he flagged down a taxi.
    "I'm gonna need a receipt," he informed the driver.
    Scott and Paul were the first to arrive. The latter had caught on quickly when it came to driving the hoverbike, but had a bit of trouble with the landing part. He didn't have a costume yet, and was just wearing his usual black fatigues.
    The club was called The Zen Underground. There was an empty cruiser parked in front. Scott moved in; he could see the stage at the far end of the room, and the band members lying unconscious around it. Luncheon attendees were crowded into a corner, being relieved of their valuables by two large men wearing black pants and t-shirts silkscreened to look like tuxedoes. One held a long staff with a curly top, the other carried a shorter black club. Tables had been overturned, and the policeman was lying near the door, unconscious or near it. He looked exhausted.
    At center stage stood a tall African-American gentleman in a black suit, holding a modified trumpet and smiling as he watched his men work.
    "Ha ha ha! My plans are coming to fruition! Quickly, Licorice Stick, Double Bass, continue to get all of their money!" he ordered.
    Scott flicked the light switch up and down and said, "Excuse me?"
    "Your gig's done, and the reviews were bad," Paul announced from the doorway, getting into the spirit of the thing right away. He hadn't dared to hope the group would see action so soon after his arrival.
    The man with the trumpet seemed unfazed. "Members of the Revolution! Do you really think you can stand up against Count Bastard and the Jazz Trio?!"
    Scott counted out loud, "One, two," and looked around for the third member.
    "Shut up, I'm working on that!" the Count shouted angrily. "I think you'll find my music to die for!" He brought the trumpet to his lips. Sound rippled across the room toward the two heroes.
    Paul felt his legs begin to move. He was dancing, and tiring quickly. This must have been what happened to that cop....
    Scott lashed out against Count Bastard, forcing him to stop playing to defend himself, and knocked the man to the floor of the stage.
    "Double Bass, Licorice Stick, crush him!"
    Their wild swings missed Scott's liquid form entirely. "Boss, we can't hurt him!"
    Freed from the compulsion to dance, Paul drew upon the sunlight from outside. A bright aura flared around him for a moment, then flowed down his arm. The light blast stuck the wall harmlessly, however, as the henchmen kept moving around in their futile attempts to beat up Scott.
    Count Bastard regained his feet. "It seems a different tune from my repertoire is required...." He played a single loud note, encasing Scott in a bubble of force.
    The silver robot gathered himself and lashed out in a focused strike, breaking free almost immediately. "Nice bass beat, but I can't dance to it," he remarked.
    Licorice Stick thrust the club at Paul, while the other man drew back his longer staff and swung it. The staff snapped against the captain's energy field and left Double Bass holding a half length of wood.
    "Jerk!" was the best he could do. "That's it, I'm goin' solo on this guy!"
    "Gentlemen, it seems as if our engagement at this club has run out," Count Bastard announced. "Why don't we grab the door proceeds and be on our way, while I bring the house down!" He played another series of notes, and the roof began to shake and crack near where the guests were being held prisoner. With that, the Count ran for the door.
    "We'll play again another time, pal," Double Bass promised as the two members of the Jazz Trio grabbed the money and followed their boss.
    Of course, Scott and Paul had no choice but to stay and help the people out of the now-precarious basement. Most of them could move under their own power, and only needed a few sharp orders to break them free of their terrified paralysis and head outside.
    Outside, the three robbers jumped into their vintage 1920s flivver as Phoenix Talon's taxi pulled up and Needle swooped down from overhead.
    "Follow that car!" Phoenix Talon told his driver, who gave him a nasty look. "I'll pay you extra. I have no idea what language you're speaking."
    "Fifty dollar!"
    "Okay, go!"

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