From the Top (I)

Let's begin at the beginning. You took this job for the usual reasons: bills to pay, mouths to feed, rent to burn in a landlord's furnace somewhere. The fixer was professional, your fellow bandits charming behind arbitrary code names. You were brought in because you're small, small enough to fit through the industrial air vents on the roof. Not the first time your size has gotten you places, and probably won't be the last. The job itself was fairly standard, insofar as any organized crime was standard. Rooftop vents and a pair of bolt cutters would get you access to the top floor; from there you would find the fanciest office available, use your misspent youth to break in, then leave Glitch's creation plugged into the back of a computer. Repeat for a couple offices, just to cover bases, then make your exit before anyone was the wiser. Muscle was on overwatch on the roof, Eagle was keeping track of timetables, Glitch was on standby for tech support. Keep it simple, and the client would have their bounty in a week.

Unfortunately, no plan survives reality.

You drop from the first vent you find onto a break room table, only to find that it's not in a break room at all. From above the speckled tile, coffee pot, and fridge all disguise the fact that, just out of sight, two of the room's walls are missing. Beyond the linoleum border is smooth hardwood, dully glowing with moonlight from beyond the windows. Support columns break up what would otherwise be a wholly empty interior spanning the entire floor, with spotless windows making it seem as though you could step right out into the cityscape. You can't stop yourself from murmuring, "What the fuck?"

"Talk to me, Bendy." Eagle's voice in your ear brings you back to the job at hand. You give your head a quick shake to scatter the last of your surprise.

"Good news bad news," you begin as you give the space another once-over, this time with a professional eye. "Good news, nobody's around, guaranteed. No cameras, no bodies, nothing."

"And the bad news?"

You gently prod at the hardwoods with one foot, feeling the fabric of your sneaking shoes glide along its varnished surface. "The whole top floor's a ballroom."

"A ballroom? Hang on..." You hear papers shuffling. "Nothing in the blueprints about a ballroom up there. They must've been doing some construction work off-books. Where are you in the building?"

You walk up to one window, looking down on the streets below to orient yourself. "Looks like I'm in the southwest corner."

"Blueprints say there should be a stairwell in the opposite corner of the building, any chance they left that in?"

A few steps to get a clear line of sight finds you the answer. "Looks like they've got some velvet ropes up over there, could be something."

"Understood." Eagle pauses as you start across the floor, stepping carefully so you don't slip. "I'm getting a bad vibe from this, but not enough to call the job off. See if you can find a way to the next floor down and find some offices as planned. If anything—anything—goes wrong further, be ready to bail, okay?"

"Got it." You can't tell if the tension in your back is from the duct crawl or the exposure of the dance floor, but it isn't relieved by discovering the ropes are cordoning off a trapdoor. It opens noiselessly onto the top of a stairwell, fluorescent lighting briefly forcing you to squint before you descend. You carefully close the door behind you, then gingerly take each step to the floor below.

There's a key reader next to the stairwell door, but as luck would have it you don't need to call in Glitch for this – the door is kept millimeters from closing properly, allowing you to simply pull it open and slip through. This floor is also blessedly conventional, with regularly spaced cubicles and offices tucked along the walls. You keep low and make your way to the first office door, navigating by the scattered safety lights. The tumbler lock gives way easily before your selection of picks. It's a moment's work to spot the computer, find an open port in the back, and insert the simple device Glitch had prepared. "One down," you announce to the team.

"Janitor should be coming through soon," Eagle says as you return to the work floor. You duck under an empty desk just in time for the lights to come on, burying yourself in what shadows exist behind an office chair's wheels. You can do nothing but wait as a voice inexpertly sings its way around the floor, occasionally punctuated by the thunk of plastic wastebins.

The janitor's voice is getting steadily louder when Muscle's gravely voice cuts in over your earpiece. "Something's going on over downtown."

"Nothing on social media or any news sites yet." Glitch's reply wavers with the uncertainty of someone used to knowing what's going on.

"Mm. Eagle?"

"Downtown's a ways away, whatever's happening shouldn't affect us." Eagle's voice is a soothingly rational counterpoint. "Still, with the night we're having... Bendy, one more office and get out. We'll have to hope we get lucky with two."

You're busy staying shut the fuck up with a chair digging into your ribs to dodge the janitor, but you tap your earpiece and hope the intent gets through.

The wait stretches out. You consider trying to settle into a more comfortable position, when suddenly the janitor's lower body rounds the corner of the cubicle wall. You freeze, mouth wide and breath carefully metered to remain silent as they step in. They bend down towards the trash can, and you briefly panic—Is this cubicle not actually empty? Will they see you?—but their eyes are locked on target as they prod the plastic liner. Satisfied with whatever they see, they straighten back up without ever glancing your way. Their legs lead a wheeled bin away, and you slowly unstick all of your muscles. By the time their erratic singing is fading, you can breathe normally again, and you've shifted so you're putting pressure on fresher parts of your body.

At last, you see the lights go out. The elevator chimes in the distance, and seconds later the wandering voice is abruptly muffled. "Clear," you grunt through your comms as you shimmy out of your hiding spot. You take a moment to lay on the floor and stretch, working your joints loose as best you can. "Copying from before, one more office then I'm out." Eagle replies with a confirmatory grunt.

The nearest door leads to a fishbowl meeting room, as does the next one down the wall. The third door looks to be a corner office, however, so you set to work picking the lock.

"Downtown stuff's heating up," Muscle calls. "I'm seeing a lotta bodies flying in. Do we know what's going on yet?"

Glitch is the one to answer. "The Herald's reporting it as a turf war between the Skulls and the Roses. CCD on the ground is overwhelmed, seems everyone decided to escalate. I guess they called in some backup from the other districts?"

"More capes means more chance for this to spread." You can hear Eagle drumming the table in thought. "Bendy, how soon 'til you get out?"

The final tumbler clicks at last through your tools. "Just opened the next office," you reply. "Should be quick."

"Then get the doohickey plugged in and get out of there."

"Copy." You glance out the windows, spotting the telltale flashes and darting shadows of a superpowered dust-up a few short miles away. The computer is tucked into one corner, and you have to crawl under the wraparound desk to reach its back ports. An intrusive thought rises, and you wonder if you're the first woman to be on her knees under this desk – while also wondering why your brain picks the worst times to ask such things. It's all you can do to bite your tongue as you make your way back to the door.

It's at that moment that your ex-girlfriend flies through the window.

Hang on, there's more context. Once more, from the top.