"Alright, now!" Sonja said as she heard the flat crack of the flashbang from inside. 

Magic, in all forms, requires some sort of ritual, an exchange of some kind. One of the more popular theories about that was that it sated an entity that demanded entertainment or a show of respect before granting a favor. In her particular field, rituals took the form of the spinning box, the top hat, the deck of cards. Or, in this particular instance, an elaborate bent-knee arm-waving flourish. The puff of smoke and bang was perhaps a little much, but hey, it looked good.

Abruptly, they were no longer standing on Chicago asphalt, but waxed marble. The tight group of Wenchang, Olympia, Sonata, and Graviton blinked in the soft fluorescent lighting of the bank's lobby. The Spirit of St. Louis looked around quickly, saw the disoriented villains groggily clawing at their eyes and ears, Hi-Voltage spewing lightning bolts at them. And also the bank manager and one other hostage, blinded and deafened. Too easy for them to catch a bolt of lighting, a blade, a mouthful of toxic gas.

Sonja moved quick, head low, towards the two hapless bystanders, arms extended as she grabbed both of them. "Alakazam!" she shouted as she pulled her second teleportation in less than five seconds, the puff of smoke taking them outside the bank. Wordlessly she shoved the two liberated hostages towards the waiting police officers, a light sheen of sweat already starting to form on her face. This many complicated tricks like teleporting were going to do a real number on her, especially this close together. But she had to do it. Lives were at stake.

And so, the black edges of fatigue encroaching on her vision, she disappeared in another puff of smoke, back into the bank.