As I strode towards the historic and newly renovated "Banco Romero", I studied the building with a calm smile on my face. The intimidating building was one of the most historic banks in the country, and had a storied, forty-plus year long history which indicated its flexibility, as over the last forty years the nation had undergone a series of challenges and changes that had pushed many businesses and other banks to their breaking point.
The building in front of me was a regal one and above the entryway there was a weathered looking wooden sign that simply said "Banco Romero". As I approached the building I considered how to best make do the somewhat tricky process I needed to do.
I silently walked up a flight of stairs and as I reached the top and came to be just a few meters from the entrance to the building I made a few gestures and uttered a word under my breath, to cast a "Shapeshift" spell that gave me the appearance of a tall and handsome American in an elegant suit.
The figure that opened the doors into the entryway of Banco Romero was a tall American man in an exceptionally finely tailored suit. He had a stock of somewhat messy black hair, somewhat tanned skin, and piercing blue eyes. In his left hand he carried an expensive looking briefcase, and there was a confident smile on his face.
He expertly made his way to the front of the bank's lobby area and grabbed a number from a ticket dispenser, his mind filling with information on both the dispenser and the ticket as he touched both. Once he had the tiny ticket in the palm of his right hand he went to a comfortable couch and sat down. As he did he was gazed at by a number of bank-tellers who stood behind glass windows on the other end of the room and curiously studied him. He was a handsome, confident fellow and to look at him was to gaze at the face of self-assurance.
As they gazed at him, they felt their hearts begin to beat more and more rapidly. Nathan, in any form, was supernaturally handsome, and that was combined with the potent passive effects of his extremely high charm scores. Every bank teller in the same room as Nathan, even in his illusionary form, had to resist the urge to go and talk to him. And had he turned to face them and spoken to them it'd have been impossible for them to muster the will to resist any commands spoken by him.
Nathan gently adjusted his "tie" and in doing so placed a hand on the lower part of his neck. As he did that he subtly altered his own pheromones, utilizing his own powers over hormones and pheromones to further boost his attractiveness. That quiet action brought a smile to his face, and filled him with a level of confidence that he had previously lacked.
He silently and patiently waited for the five minutes it would take for one of the bank's account-managers to notice him and call him over. He was the only person in the waiting area and so the account manager didn't need to try and call out any numbers. Nathan smiled and got up so that he could walk over to the manager.
A young professional-looking woman in a business-casual outfit called me over to her tiny office off of the bank's lobby. I eagerly walked over to her, carrying the illusions I had conjured in my left-hand and my ticket in my right hand. When I stepped into the account-manager's office there was a smile on my face, one that matched hers until the moment she actually looked up at me.
She was now close to me and could see me clearly, as well as smell me. The instant that she did I saw her eyes fill with both attraction and confusion as her heart began to hammer in her chest and a flush began to spread across her cheeks. I didn't need to read her mind to understand what was going on with her, or to know, on some level, what she was thinking. I stepped to the empty chair in front of her desk and sat down, and ignored the rush of information that filled my mind, thanks to "Psychometry".
"Good afternoon Ms. Bustillo." I said in slightly accented but still grammatically correct Spanish, greeting her and pretending to read the name-tag pinned to the top of her blouse. She composed herself quickly enough and returned my greeting but ending it in a professional silence as she waited for me to introduce myself.
"Hernandez. Nathan Hernandez." I told her, causing her eyes to open in confusion as she failed to mask her surprise at my Hispanic name. I chuckled and spoke once more.
"I'm half Honduran. My mother is an American, but my father is, or was, a mechanic from a small town near Tegucigalpa. I've decided to pay a visit to his hometown with my son so that he can learn more about Honduras and I simply need to do some paperwork before I travel down there and begin to set up roots." I revealed, lying with practiced ease. She nodded at me in understanding once I informed her of my "heritage".
"I see. Well Mr. Hernandez, what can I help you with today?" She asked me, smiling at me once she understood the lie I had made up. I smiled back, and pulled two blank pieces of paper from my "briefcase". The two pieces of paper were real, even though my briefcase wasn't. Veronica, or rather Ms. Bustillo, gazed at the pieces of paper, a look of confidence on her face, even as pulled one of them over to herself and began to write on it.
"I see that you already have your letters of recommendation." She remarked, totally sincerely, even as she began to write the letters herself. I was controlling her hands with my mind, but feeding her senses the illusion that the papers in front of her were actually fully written letters of recommendation.
"I can't begin to express how nice it is that you already know about our banking protocols. You wouldn't believe the number of people who come here to open bank accounts and do not have the proper paperwork in order." She told me, delighted that I "had" the paperwork needed to open a bank account in Honduras. As she spoke she continued to write, totally unaware of the disconnect between her actions and what she was seeing. I smiled at her and listened as she asked me to pull out a valid form of identification.
I continued to feed her an illusion as I rose my hand and spontaneously grabbed a small bit of light. My lumokinesis allowed me to physically grab light, despite the impossibility of that from a strictly mundane, physics-oriented, point of view and with my powers over transmutation I reshaped the luminosity in my hand. Veronica continued to look at me, and in her mind's eye I was merely looking through my wallet for my Honduran-issued ID. When I finished reshaping the light into an ID I placed it on the desk in front of me and Veronica looked at it.
All it took her was one second of studying my "ID" for her to verify it and smile at me. I closed my eyes and began to project psychic static into her mind, even as she began to finish writing up her letters. When she was done there I smiled at her and with the mental version of a flick of the wrist I telekinetically targeted and moved every single camera in the building away from myself, Veronica, and, very importantly, the man in charge of this corrupt bank, its president, Jonathan Romero.
I knew everything about Jonathan that he himself knew, thanks to my ability to scan minds. It was largely because of him that I had initially selected this bank in particular. He was a trusted confidante of numerous prolific cartel kingpins as well as local gangsters. And I was ready to begin a rather fun scheme that the back of my mind had spent a healthy portion of the day planning.
Atop the bank there was a solitary office. It was a luxurious room filled with ornate, handcrafted furniture, a state of the art desk, and a beautiful, custom-made computer. Behind the desk was a single man, a rather tall but only ordinary looking fellow who wore a custom-tailored suit.
The computer in front of him was powered on and the instant that his mind was abruptly frozen he was looking at various emails. The man suddenly seized up as his mind was filled with psychic static, preventing him from thinking about anything. Despite the fact that his mind was frozen he stood up and began to walk out of his office.
He calmly and smoothly walked out of his office, and to an elevator that would lead him downstairs. For the next few minutes the man, seemingly absentmindedly, made his way to the bank's basement. Once he was there he walked over to the building's vault and dexterously spun the giant wheel that prohibited entrance, spinning it in a way that it unlocked the strange lock that kept the finances of dozens of different major criminal groups safe. After a few spins the vault began to creak open, and the bank's president stepped into the place, his nose filling with the scent of the paper money.
Inside of the vault were stacks upon stacks of lempiras, the currency of the country. The man studied them, the scene in front of him being transmitted to the young changeling who was remotely piloting the bank's president's body. After a few moments of studying the vault's contents, the figure began to grab stacks upon stacks of money, preparing to take them to their new owner.
umm yes the smell of printed paper always smells good!