Disappointing security protocols, lacklustre guard patrols, and an entrance that proved all too easy to slip into unseen. Surmire sighed as she crawled through the one-foot vent space between the roof of the gallery, and the ceiling inside. She made sure to center her weight across the tiled panels below so that she wouldn't’ slip through. As she crawled over superfluous air conditioning vents, doing nothing more than idly spin, Sumire found a gaping maw of boredom open up inside her; something unsatisfying and cold, that she couldn’t fill with stolen trinkets, or pilfered artworks. The black-clad thief came to a stop above the central air-conditioning fan, and pulled out a spot-welder, lowering a pair of goggles over her eyes. She switched on the burner, wincing from the sudden heat and holding it as far away from her face as possible. The flame went from a bright orange to a dull blue, and she put it against the bolts holding the fan to the frame. They came loose, melted down into a glowing orange slurry, dripping down below into the corridor, and sizzling on contact with the pastel blue floor, thirty meters below. She switched off the burner when the last bolt melted, and let the whole fan drop to the floor with a clatter. Maybe she’d get lucky, and the noise would attract some guards, or a janitor with nothing better to do—anything to break up the monotony. When the oozing bolts were cooled, and the silence once again smothered the darkened gallery, Sumire slinked herself down through the hol, and hung suspended from the unit for a time. The thief took a moment to survey the gallery storeroom, sprawling out below her. Shelves upon shelves of stored art, recreated paintings, and faux-gold sculptures—all of them worthless to her, but worth a lot to the right fence. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out a length of cord attached to a powered electromagnet, sticking it to the metallic air conditioning vent, and pulling on it a few times. Satisfied, she looped her leg around the cord and let it drop down into the darkness below. She didn’t let go of the vent, but as the seconds ticked by with the rush of her blood in her ears, Sumire let more and more of her weight hang from the suspended wire, and the magnet itself. She had utter faith that her equipment would hold her weight, but the air conditioning vent itself presented an unknown. She let the last of her weight hang from the magnet and cord, sinking down towards the ground. The crates loomed above her, as she went, and by the time she hit the floor with a clack of her shoes on linoleum, she felt utterly dwarfed by the wealth present in the room. Sumire gave herself time to bask in it, just for a moment, before she stepped up to one of the shelves, and ran her hand along one of the crates. One part gallery, one part museum, the building held items of all sorts. She gripped the wood of the shelf beneath her fingers and shifted back and forth, checking for any signs of jostling. When none made themselves known, she dropped herself to the ground, then leapt up at the stacked shelves, clambering up them. Her quarry lay on the top shelves, somewhere in the storage. She scrambled up the shelves and crates, perching herself up on the top levels. Before she could move from her lofty height, and stalk the rest of the shelves one by one, the door to the storage room opened. Sumire flattened herself against the boxes and watched from on high, her eyes piercing the thick veil of shadows with ease. Two security guards padded into the expansive room, their flashlights beacons that sliced through the shadows. They walked along the stacks, shining their lights down each one, but never lifting them up. One of them stopped when they found the collapsed fan, and the wire hanging from the ceiling. Then, he traced his beam of light upwards at the hole in their air conditioner, and reached down to his radio. “Central,” the man’s gruff voice pierced the silence. “This is Murphy. She’s here. Send him in.” Sumire’s heart spiked. She expected to work to a time limit, but would still be away when the police showed up, pillage in hand. Whoever this man spoke to on the other end of the radio was already there. The man turned around and whistled to his compatriot, and they both retreated through the doors. Sumire waited for a while before sliding herself across the crates as slow, and as quiet as she could muster the will to. Before she made it halfway to the end, the doors opened again, and this time Sumire saw a man with sparkling gold hair and a button-up suit walk into the room. She balled her fists and scoffed when the man swaggered in, hands behind his back, and black tie slanted to the left in a devil-may-care fashion. He stopped, and motioned behind him for the two men to shut the door. They did, and locked it for good measure. He waited for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and clapped his hands. “You’ve gotten sloppy, Sumire.” The thief grinned, and slunk her head back down behind the crates. “I’ve gotten bored,” she countered. “There’s a difference, Lyses.” She let his name drip with contempt, and pulled herself over the box, and down the side of the unit. She climbed down to the third rung from the top, peering at him from a gap between crates. He began walking between the stacked crates of artwork, periodically checking left and right. “The thrill of stealing finally wearing off?” he asked. “Finally run out of money?” Sumire laughed. “No, the opposite. Besides,” she dropped another rung and began creeping along the shelf to keep him in sight as he moved. “It was never about the thrill of stealing, but of others hunting you down for it. That’s why I make things so obvious,” she chewed on her lip. “I like the hunt.” “Yes, leaving calling cards and showing mercy,” Lyses made a face and shook his head. “That’s not what we trained you for.” “You trained me to infiltrate,” she replied. “When I got out, there wasn’t a lot of legitimate means to use that skill.” “Got too good at it, huh?” Lyses asked, turning to the left. Sumire ducked down and let herself go down to the first rung up from the floor, before dropping down silently. “More like the security got too bad,” she said, displacing so he couldn’t track her voice. “Like this place. No cameras, sensors, or patrols.” Sumire made a gagging noise. Lyses laughed and turned, looking up at the ceiling, and walking backwards for a while, scanning the area for any trace of movement. He knew she could see him, but his own eyes weren’t made for seeing in the dark. “You know that the security was meant to lure you in, right?” Sumire hummed, pressing her back up against one of the crates at the far end, and smiling. “That’s what everyone says when they underperform,” she purred. “To be perfectly honest, this is the most fun I’ve had in months. It’s not often you get to reunite with an old flame.” Lyses scoffed and kept walking. Sumire dared to peek out at him from the end of the row, smiling when she saw him walking backwards and scanning every part of the room that she wasn’t in. She dared to dark across his path, sprinting to the other side of the row in three graceful strides. “I would ask how you found me,” she called out to him, “but I know it’s pointless.” “We never lost you,” he said. “I figured as much,” Sumire sighed. “Why let me get away with so much if you were watching me?” Lyses smiled into the darkness of the store-room. “Leverage.” “Ugh,” Sumire retched somewhere in the darkness. “I hate that word. Everything’s leverage with the Office.” Lyses kept quiet as he traced down the length of the warehouse with purposeful strides, keeping them level and calm. He said nothing, forcing her to speak once more from the shadows. “Well, come on,” she said, sighing. “You may as well get it over with. What do I have to do to get rid of this leverage?” “Someone important thinks you’re the best,” he said with a smile, “and they’re offering a hefty sum for your one-of-a-kind talents.” She gasped, from somewhere off to his left. “Appealing to my vanity, are you?” Two clicks of a tongue, this time echoing like they were coming from his right. “Shameful.” Lyses held out his hands. “Not if it works.” “What if I refuse?” she asked. “Then there are about a hundred rifles trained on this building from any and all vantage points,” he said, allowing the implied threat to hang in the air. Sumire hummed in thought. “What’s the job?” “Stealing something one of a kind,” he said. She made an appreciative noise. “I’m listening.” “There’s a Kaidon hosting an art showing, of sorts,” he began. “Inviting Human and Sangheili artisans from across the galaxy to come display their most prized possessions. His piece will take center stage.” Silence hung in the air for a few moments. “What is it?” He smiled. “We don’t know. All we know is what it looks like, and how to identify it.” He stopped in his tracks when no reply came, and he fluffed his arms in agitation as the seconds drew out longer, and longer. “Well?” he asked. “I’m thinking,” she said. “Think faster,” he shot into the blackness. “You can’t rush art,” the thief said, “so don’t rush me.” “They’re willing to pay,” he offered. “Money’s not a concern,” she said with a dismissive haughtiness that grated on Lyses nerves. He took a steadying breath. “They’re willing to make all your charges go away.” “What’s the fun of stealing if someone isn’t hunting me?” she laughed. He turned around again, directing his gaze back up towards the roof. “They’re willing to let you keep any equipment they give you for future jobs.” “Ugh,” she made another disgusted sound. “High-tech ONI gadgets just feel like cheating.” “Fine, then,” Lyses said, reaching up to straighten his tie, and smooth down a stray lock of his golden hair. “This is a piece of artwork so valuable, and so priceless, that if you steal it, it will topple the Kaidon, throw his vassals into disarray, and create a power vacuum broad enough to embroil the planet in conflict for decades,” he said, pointing at the ground for emphasis, and turning on his heels as though he were speaking to a gathered assembly. “Not only that,” he continued, holding up his fingers and pinching them together, “but you’ll be facing covenant security measures, with no way to prepare, no way to circumvent them, and no way to steal the item without being seen.” He laughed and shook his head. “It’s an impossible mission, with absolutely no chance of success, and a certainty of being captured or killed. Only a fool would take it.” The warehouse went silent for a while. The lack of any snappy comeback, or witticism made Lyses pause, until he heard soft clacking of shoes on the floor from behind him. He smiled, and turned around to face a smiling woman with shocking white hair and a half-cocked smirk. “Now that’s more like it,” she said. Lyses tilted his head to one side and echoed the expression, holding out one of his hands towards her. “Are you in, Spartan?” She considered his gesture for a while, before stepping up to him with practiced steps, clacking against the linoleum floor. She grasped his hand, never breaking eye contact, and shook with a firm grip. “I’m in.” |
