The clerks at MNT Bank had seen most every mode of dress, especially during the summer days when the MNT Concert Series was providing music of all kinds for customers of all kinds.

During the winter months, people tended to forgo the "look at me!" clothing and instead dress in several sensible layers. Of course, there were exceptions.

Today it was an unusually tall, skinny kid, whose white-blond hair stuck up in a kind of pompadour. He wore a long, blue-black leather coat, decorated with white, concentric circles drawn large and thin enough to form a pleasing pattern. His pants and shirt were similarly colored and decorated, and his eyes were hidden by narrow wrap-around glasses.

Stranger still were the enormous wristguards he wore - shiny gold, rounded up near elbows and pointed over the wrists. They had a number of what appeared to be switches, or buttons, that were raised just a little bit over the planes of gold.

He waited patiently in line with the other customers, who one by one approached the "concierge desk" to be directed to the proper line, this one to line C, that one to line A. He was a bit surprised at how efficient this system was; he should tell the Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

At last it was his turn.

"Hello. I'd like to speak to the bank president."

"Regarding what, sir?"

"Your bank's investment in technology."

"I see. Well, Mr. Merante is very busy. Perhaps Mr. Brown in our technology resource department might be able to help you - ?" the man politely gestured to the offices on his left.

"All right, I did ask," the young man shook his head as he stepped aside.

Suddenly he leapt up on a desk, and struck a pose as if he had been playing guitar.

"May I have your attention, please?" he called out in a strong voice.

Before anyone could do much more than look up, he began to play air guitar - but the sound of his axe filled the room!

He cranked on a guitar that wasn't there - just air - but the sounds of The Jungle grew so intense that every large window in the bank, surrounding the entire first floor, shattered! People screamed as walls of heavy glass came raining down and shattered on the concrete floor!

The odd man discontiued playing.

"I'd like to speak to the bank president, please."

"Uh-upstairs," a teller finally stammered. ""Sixth f-floor."

He bowed slightly and grinned. "Thank you."

He strode over to the elevators, only to be intercepted by a gray-haired guard.

"Hold it right there," the man growled from behind a gun. He sounded fearless, but the young man noted with some amusement that his gun hand was shaking.

"Come now," he said gently. "Do you really think I'm afraid of a gun?"

"Most people are," the older man said.

"Ah, but really now, do I look like 'most people'?" the young man said, spreading his arms magnanimously.

The guard nearly dropped his gun - then swung it up to level it at the strange man - but he couldn't... hold... on to it!

The pistol clattered to the ground as the older man braced himself against a chair. "Wha - what - ?"

"Hypersonics," the weird man replied, walking past him to the elevator and casually punching the call button. "Gentlest setting I can manage. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt your president - just want to talk."

He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for six. The elevator didn't move.

"Oh, really?"

The man smiled and jammed his finger into the control panel. Whitish-blue concentric circles formed around his finger and pulsed into the panel.

The elevator began to rise.

The man relaxed until the doors opened - onto three burly men in black suits, each holding a weapon.

"Freeze, mister- aaauughh!"

All three of them instantly grabbed their ears as the stranger played air guitar - the first three lines from "Pinball Wizard". My... God... that.... hurt... !

"Hullo Mr. Bank President," the stranger grinned as he stepped out of the elevator and over the three unconcious bodies lying on the floor.

"You're a hard man to get hold of.

"Let's chat."

"MNT Bank, huh?"

Americana spoke into the radio that was sewn into her suit.

"Yes ma'am," the policeman on the other end responded. "Reports are that windows are shattered and it was a Kirby who done it. Back-up units are on the way."

"Okay, I'm almost - oh heavens!"

The lobby had boasted mammoth four-story windows, almost completely surrounding the grand lobby and lighting the interior with radiant, natural light. Now all that glass lay shattered upon the ground, and the lobby lay completely open to the elements.

"Holy... " she muttered as she flew into the lobby.

Aside from the few employees who were closing out drawers, the place was deathly silent.

"Excuse me - "

"Americana! Thank God!"

"She will deal with him!"

"Yeah! Go Americana!"

"Woo-hoo!"

"Show him who's boss!"

The star-spangled superheroine looked around.

"Er, show who who's boss?" she shrugged.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened, and the strangely-dressed man with the electric hair stepped out into the lobby.

Everybody instantly pointed.

"Yes, it's me," he sighed. "Oh.

"Hullo there, Americana," he grinned.

"Hello yourself," she said, sliding into a stance that would provide her good offense. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to just give up now and save yourself a pounding?"

"Heh," he chuckled, taking up his air guitar stance. "No."

He strummed his hand as if playing an invisible guitar - and much to Americana's surprise she... felt... the waves when he played.

She could... see... the waves of sound from his air guitar... they formed circles of various sizes that... intersected... and apparently magnified or shrunk, at different rates, what could be seen inside each particular circle.

She tried to take a step forward - only she couldn't find the floor!

Her head bobbed and weaved seemingly at random, her arms were limp as noodles... her sight was filled with jarring visions, her ears hurt with every note!

Within a very short while Americana could take no more, and she spiraled through blackness into oblivion.

" -cana? Can you hear me?"

"Nu-u-u-hhhh..."

"She's waking up. Americana?"

Americana slowly opened her eyes and moaned - geez, those lights... bright!

She rose to a sitting position, assisted by some very helpful arms. "Whuh - where - ?"

She blinked. A gurney? She was... being taken out of the bank?

Americana jerked her head as she heard voices - only to have her vision flash painfully!

"Eweeyoooww!" she cried, holding her forehead in her hand. Heavens, what a wallop!

"Easy, easy. Help her down."

"Roswell? Owwww. How long... have I been out?"

"'Bout an hour," a man with a banker's namebadge said, glancing at his watch.

"Oy," the superheroine sighed. She had just stepped away from work for a moment. Now...

"Thought you'd gone into hibernation," Norman Roswell joked.

Americana glared at him.

"Er, I, uh, I just meant that... "

"That I got my lights put out," Americana smiled grimly. "It does happen sometimes."

She picked up a pen off a counter and casually snapped the cover off and watched the pen cap arc across the room.

"So," she wondered aloud, "How much did he get?"

"Nothing. So far as we can tell."

Americana slowly turned to face Roswell, running a finger behind her ear.

"What?"

"He, um, told me, that he didn't want money," the banker shrugged. "Just a little demonstration of what his father's technology could do..."

Roswell looked at him.

"The technology we, uh, refused to fund... "

"Wait... wait a minute," Americana held her head in her hands. "His... father?"

"Yep," Roswell nodded.

"Looks like you ran up against...

"The Son of the Son of Sonic Man."