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The night of the break out. We were sitting in a stolen van, to which I was vehemently objecting on the inside, that was parked nearby the chemical plant. We had a plan all written out, but as I've said many times before, written plans usually don't go the way we make them. The idea was to blend in as workers on the night shift. We were to head inside and locate where Wicker was being held, obviously against his will, in one of the plant's many employee bunk areas. This was a big place, and it was common to have worker lodging on site, even through the risks faced at housing people in a location that could potentially level a city block and make the rest of it uninhabitable. I knew he was under some form of 'house arrest', since I'd done a little digging before the heist went down, using my FBI credentials to dig around in the plant's files. His boss didn't want him leaving, and the contract clearly stated that he was under the jurisdiction of the plant, therefore he had all the authority to hold an employee with threats of police action and so on. We'd made sure to pick a night where his boss was in, busy with some paperwork. After we found him, we were to escort him back out of the plant and to the safety of the van. Sounds easy, right?

Well we were about to find out how wrong we were.

I stepped out of the van, clad in regulation blue coveralls. Brandon joined me, also clad in the same. We didn't wear helmets, but I had a cadet cap I'd found lying around, and Brandon was wearing his old bandana. We looked just like workers reporting for shift. I nodded to Brandon and we set forth for the plant. As we gained distance away from the van, he tightened his bandana slightly.

"God this feels weird around my antlers. Good thing they never asked to why we weren't going to wear helmets."

I smiled. Being weird did have its disadvantages. At least the cap fit. We approached the main entrance and, of course, there was a guard. He stopped us with a wave of his flashlight.

"ID please?"

The two of us pulled out badges, obviously fake, but doctored to look real. Grease's doing. She was a dab hand at computer imaging when not underneath a car. The guard gave them a once over and ushered us in.

"Go on in. Staff bunks are down in the East wing."

That was where Wicker was being held. Right on schedule. I thanked the guard and we walked right in. We weren't carrying much, just a small backpack each, both of which contained a small submachine gun. One of the newer ones, the Vector, interesting little thing that I'd only seen in Call of Duty. It was supposed to be a bullet hose, but I left that assumption to be answered if I had to use it. The guns had machined silencer-suppressors on their barrels, which I doubt would do much considering this wasn't a video game, but Icarus had stressed it. These guns, to me, were a last resort. We walked briskly towards the staff bunks, smiling at any other workers we bumped into. We were stopped by a guard once, ID was shown, and we were let off, but my heart didn't stop pounding until we were well away from him. As we reached the East wing, Brandon whispered to me.

"Say, you notice this place has an oppressive air?"

"Yeah, no shit. Feels like something out of 1984."

My reference was not in passing; there were cameras nearly everywhere I looked. Getting out of here without being noticed was going to be extremely difficult, especially with a supposed prisoner in tow. I pulled the brim of my cap down over my eyes almost unconsciously.

I hated being watched.

We rounded another corner and there were the staff quarters. Nice enough looking place, out front there was a simple recreation area, with vending machines, a pool table and a foosball table, a few computers and a TV. Past that there was a small kitchen, for employee use only, and down a small hall were the bunks. In one of these little rooms was our man, held under duress. I stopped Brandon and took him to sit on one of the couches in the rec area, making it look like we were unwinding from the walk. I took off my cap and ran a hand through my hair.

"Alright, now somewhere in here is our guy."

"Being held against his will, gotcha. But how are we gonna find him?"

"Hmm. Maybe his room is constantly guarded or under surveillance. Look out for a place that has extra security and we might possibly have our guy."

We agreed to go together. Two lost workers looking for their own bunks. Maybe we could get lucky. If we couldn't find him after half an hour, we agreed to meet back at the rec room to form plan B. The both of us stood at the entrace to the dorms, looking in. I could already see a camera at the end of the hall.

"Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, mate."

"Then let's get going."

I bid him farewill with a tip of my hat and set off, straight ahead. He immediately turned right and disappeared down that hallway. I kept my eyes open as I walked down slowly, darting left and right and looking into rooms. I knew I was being watched, and from the looks of things I was looking like a very lost employee. New on the job, possibly, or first time on a night shift. Didn't know where his dorm was, or if he was assigned one, and rightly so. I had no idea where I was going. Five minutes into my ramble and I'd lost myself. I couldn't even find the entrance back to the rec room. There were so many halls and dorm rooms I was lost. There weren't many people though, those that I stumbled into were either heading to bed or already asleep in their dorms. I sighed to myself and made to exit another hallway when I bumped face first into a security guard.

"Can I help you sir?"

The man wasn't from around here, his accent was vaguely Texan. Very vaguely. I shook my head and scoffed.

"I'm just lost pal."

"Well do you have a bunk number?"

"Nope."

"You new here pal?"

"Yeah!"

I showed him my ID.

"Fresh, this thing is. I thought I'd come early, they're showing me around tomorrow."

"Huh. Well okay then. I guess you can get a bunk anywhere ya want, really. Just make sure you take note of its number. You're gonna have to report it to your supervisor so he can key it into our system."

He nodded and smiled. Friendly one, he was.

"Right, well I guess I'll better be off. Oh, before I go, any rules about the dorms I should know about?"

The guard shrugged. I saw the nametag pinned to his navy blue shirt. It said 'Huey'.

"Well there's the usual stuff. No booze, no drugs, no prostitutes, we catch you jerking off there's consequences, yada yada, no gambling, no unauthorised materials. Oh, and no visiting the dorm at the far end on the left."

Paydirt. Feigning ignorance, I lifted my cap and scratched my head.

"Only that dorm? Why?"

"We've got a crim there. He's on house arrest until the proper authorities can process him."

"Ah."

Huey smiled again and tipped the brim of an imaginary hat and I returned the gesture.

"Have a good night, Carson."

My name on the ID.

"You too, Huey."

He turned and left and I stood there, unsure of what I should do next. I decided to figure out where Brandon was, and I found him roughly five minutes later. We went back to the rec room where he bought a Coke from the vending machine.

"So, you found anything?"

"Yeah. You bump into a bloke called Huey?"

"Guard?"

"Yep."

"Then you know where Wicker is."

"Yep."

"Good. Now we need a plan."

I'd ditched my backpack in a random dorm room a while back, even memorised the number so I knew where it was. 302B. Brandon still had his with him.

"Right, well, we know where the sod is. Didja catch any cameras during your little journey?"

"Yeah. At the end of every hall, in the middle of each, and at the corners of the dorm area. Complete coverage."

"No shit. So what should our game plan be?"

"Well our friend told us that the dorm right at the far end is a no go, so that's our target. It should be guarded and sealed off, possibly by a combination, keycard or magnetic lock. The guard might have our key, or it might be controlled from an access room somewhere else."

"Right, options?"

I showed him my fist and raised my index finger.

"One: we take our time to figure out the best way of getting him out. That'll come later."

Next came the middle.

"Two, we coerce the guard to let him into our hands, or at the very least unlock the door. Then we won't have alarm bells ringing all through this place."

Last came the ring.

"Three, we use force all the way. Knock out the guard, blast open the door, run out to sirens and whatnot. Bail and hope we don't get chased."

Brandon sat back in his chair and gulped his drink greedily.

"Alright, those sound good. You're learning."

"Only from the best."

He grinned and shook his head.

"Nah I'm washed up. Out of practice. But those are sound. What should we go with?"

"Hmm. Well, looking for that security room would take time."

"And a whole lot more gear than the measly setup we've got."

"Right, so that's plan one out the window."

"Plan two?"

"We'd have to distract the guard somehow, grab his keycard or whatever, unlock the door, and get him out."

"That would take some doing, and then we're not even sure that this security door is one of those, and not some bloody mag lock controlled by a button from a security room."

"That just leaves one plan."

"Force?"

"Force."

I sighed. This was exactly why I never had faith in any written plans, because this shit always cropped up during an op like this.

"Well we have to do it with some sort of finesse, right?"

"Right."

Brandon leaned back and stretched. Then he set his empty can down on the table and rubbed his gloved hands together.

"Y'know what? I think we can manage this with some level of finesse and not bungle it like total numpties. Here's what we'll do. I'll go first, since I have my gear with me and you don't. I'll try the nice approach, but as soon as I see that the door is a mag lock with no key, I'm going loud. Once that happens, I'll neutralise the guard, grab our guy and meet you out here in the rec room. Meanwhile, you grab your kit and take down as many cameras as you can, make sure they have as little eyes on us as possible. Once we're together again, we get out to the van. Take out anything in our way, but we make sure to leave them alive, aye?"

"Right. So we're leaving a whole busload of witnesses that won't be able to work ever again, got it."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Shit, so this is what it feels to be on the other side. It feels damn bloody 'orrible."

"I know. Let's just get this over with, then I can figure out a way to give Dylan and Alex the Guardian story and we can get the hell out of Dodge. Or Boston, as it were."

"Right. I'll go first. Count down from fifteen, then go."

He stood, purpose in mind, and strode off. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pull on the black balaclava that was provided to us earlier courtesy of Grease. As soon as he left the rec room I started counting down.

Fifteen.

In the hallway, Brandon took off his backpack and held it in a hand, walking straight down towards the cordoned off area.

The cameras observing this scene tipped off the guard in the surveillance room, who radioed to the man standing at the cell of the convict.

Ten.

The guard in the dorm readied himself for a possible confrontation. Brandon appeared right in front of him afterward, brandishing his fists and demanding him to unlock the door. Naturally, this was refused, so he resorted to the next best thing.

A blow to the face.

Six.

Brandon quickly searched the downed guard for any sort of key, finding none at all.

The surveillance room guard stood and shot rapid-fire instructions into his radio that mobilised all guards on scene.

Four.

Frustrated, Brandon unzipped his backpack and was about to pull out his gun when he spotted the lanyard the downed man was wearing.

It held a card.

He yanked it off and held it in front of the reader on the door.

It beeped and showed a green light.

One.

Brandon pulled his balaclava down over his face and went right in.

I stood and broke into a jog towards 302B. It wasn't far.

I heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the halls behind me.

Security coming.

Minus four.

Brandon managed to unlock Wicker's handcuffs and stood him up, gun in hands.

I wasn't at 302B yet.

Minus ten.

Guards herded into the rec room and took positions surrounding the exit door.

I reached the dorm and pulled my Vector from the bag and tossed it aside. Exiting the dorm room I met up with Brandon, Wicker in tow. I pulled on my own balaclava, emblazoned with a pair of arrows on the sides of a skull. His was a simple skull, adorned with flight goggles and a bulls-eye.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

We strode towards the rec room. I could hear the commotion. I checked my gun and flicked off the safety.

Right, time to see what this thing could do.

When we turned into the rec room, instead of stopping, I merely put my finger to the trigger and swept the area. Bullets flew from the gun just like a hose, peppering the area, shattering glass, ruining the vending machines and making all the guards dive to the floor. I kept my pace forward, lobbing volleys at guards who dared raise their heads, while Brandon stuck close behind me. We covered the rec room in a matter of strides, and once we were out, Brandon took over covering me while I reloaded the weird gun. I grabbed Wicker by the wrist and broke into a slow run, gun in my other hand.

"Yo man, did Icarus send ya?"

That would've been Wick talking to me. I barely noticed through the adrenaline rush.

"Yeah. I'm Civic. That's Riley behind us. We're breaking you out man."

"Righteous. I knew he'd come for me. Crew ain't complete with a man who knows how to blow shit up."

I regretted talking to him. Instead I focused on the journey. I sprayed down a pair of guards that'd appeared out of a side room, not really aiming for them, moreso the walls and floor. It had the intended effect of pushing them away from our route and into Brandon's path. He kept them down while I moved forward, retracing the short but winding route back to the exterior of the plant. In five minutes we were back out and running the dirt path towards the gate and freedom. I hosed down the guard in his box and vaulted the road barrier, Brandon and Wicker doing the same. By then the van was already waiting for us with side door open, so we bundled in and sped off into the night, chased only by angry guards. I took off my mask and panted softly, cooling off while I ejected the magazine from my gun. Brandon sat beside me, Wicker was leaned against the back doors, and Dylan was across from me. Icarus drove, and he was grinning at us in the rearview mirror.

"Top notch, gentlemen! No explosions, nothing big, that's how we do it! Consider yourselves proud members of the Ghosts, you two!"

He laughed to himself and Wicker joined in.

"Hey man, these are class acts you got here man. Did you find them?"

Icarus shook his head and gestured at Dylan with his thumb.

"Nah man, Booker here found 'em."

"Booker?"

"Yeah. From the old crew that I told you about."

"Ah. One of the veterans, eh? Joined by the best?"

"Only the best, Wicker." Dylan, smiling as he shook the former's hand.

"Y'know, Icarus told me a lot about ya. You still carry those ladies of yours?"

"Yep. They're resting at home though. Maybe I'll introduce you to them some day."

"Oh that's okay, I think I'd be better off without. Word goes that they've got quite the temper!"

He chuckled and shook his head.

"You've heard many things, friend. Icarus, get us back to base. Wick here needs to get himself reacquainted with the outside."

"Damn right. I've been in there way too long."

---

Back at the garage, Wicker tucked into a cheeseburger and fries while we sat down to discuss the next step of our plan. Joining us were the rest of the gang, clustered in a loose circle round Bishop's table.

"What's next, Icarus?" Wilhelm.

"What's next? Well, now that Wick here is back, we are going to prepare for the biggest fireworks show in Boston's history!"

He spread his arms theatrically, eliciting an 'Ooh' from Grease but sighs and groans from everyone else, including me and Brandon.

I didn't have it in me for cheese.

"I hope actual fireworks aren't involved." Dylan.

"Oh, trust me, if I had those, I'd use 'em." Wicker.

"Well, in any case, we need Wicker's help because we are going to put together a light show so spectacular, you'll be able to see it from the Miskatonic!"

"That's pretty far. Where's this show going to be held?" Me.

He grinned and stabbed a finger onto the map laid out on the table.

"Right here. Heart of the city. Paxwell Banking and Trust."

We were hitting a bank? Good god.

"Wait, why are hitting them again? Didn't you guys score a hefty take from that truck that's sitting behind us?"

"We did, Civic, and we're using those funds to, well, fund our preparations. You see, we're hitting Paxwell because the people who own the place, the Jenkins clan, they owe us. Remember what they did?"

Most of the Ghosts in the room nodded and murmurs grew. I leaned over to Dylan with questions more than I had answers.

"Who's the Jenkins?"

His face was grim.

"The Jenkins clan are a bunch of Irish mobsters straight from the mainland. Set up shop here, never left. They were the ones that crossed us previously. Killed Rock and Slick, mained V and broke up the Ghosts."

Well then.

"Shit. So this is all a revenge plot?"

"Looks like."

The room settled down as Icarus spread his hands, palms facing us.

"Look, I know we've all had run ins with those Irish in-breds before, and we're all sick of them. That's why we're doing this much preparation; to strike back at them for what they did to us. So the people we've lost wouldn't have died in vain. We do this in their memory! For the Ghosts that died to them!"

There was scattered cheering. Granted, we were a group of less than ten people, but the atmosphere in the garage was electric. Icarus did have a way with crowds. Tight-lipped, I glanced at Brandon. His pale countenance told me everything.

"But we still don't know the full plan yet, Iccy." Grease this time, chewing on a wad of bubblegum. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Alright, here's what's gonna happen. This'll take place in stages, so everyone's involved. Stage 0, preparation stage, easy bit. We need to scope out the place. I know Grease is good at it, but with a building this big we'll need more sets of eyes, both outside and in. For this, I think it'll be good to have almost everybody involved except our more important folk, which would be V and Wicker. Bishop, you're not exempt, reason being that having you right inside gives you a good idea of how to plan this thing out properly. Now, I've already done a very barebones scouting out of the joint, and here's what I've got."

He laid out a series of photos on the table, slightly fuzzy, as though taken on the fly.

"We've got a main door out front, obviously, which leads into the main lobby. That's where the tellers all are. Now, the doors are covered with security, namely a metal detector, a bag check and a short screening. After that, it's free reign. The first floor is where the tellers are, again they're out front just past the security. To the right of the tellers is some office area that I didn't really get to see cause it's employee only and I didn't have gear. To the left, and the fun bit, that's the vault. If I recall correctly from what one of the tellers told me, the vault houses safe deposit boxes and an assortment of other goodies. Second floor is more offices, including the bank manager's office. Along with that, above the vault is a set of minor offices and corridors that are tightly controlled by security."

"Damn. Sounds like a maze." Wilhelm.

"Trust me, Will, when I say we're not bothering with a lot of this stuff. Now, my plan is three-prong. Stage one involves the truck we appropriated. Now, hopefully on the day itself, Wicker will have enough of his homemade blasting powder to make a huge dent in the front. We'll be hitting them on a weekend so expect tighter security. Casualties will be a guaranteed, so don't be too heartbroken. What will happen is that one or two of us will feign a delivery out front. We'll disappear and leave the truck at their doorstep, and when someone goes to investigate, ba boom."

He made an explosion noise and tapped on the front door on his drawn plan of the building.

"Stage two is when we show up. Before stage one commences, hopefully, we'll be able to take up positions within the bank itself, under disguise, with various forms of equipment. I happen to know someone within the bank, a forger, as it were, who's willing to smuggle our arms inside for a little fee. When stage one does commence, we mask up and take control of the entire bank. There's gonna be lots of screaming, maybe a few guards shooting at us, but that's no problem. Stage three is the easiest bit. I made sure to plan this on a specific date, because I know the Jenkins' clan schedule. They'll all be there on this date, having a meeting on their latest or something or other. Whatever the case, the entire Jenkins clan is gonna be there, and stage three is to ensure their extermination. After that's done, we enter stage four. To add deception to the killing, we break into the vault, steal whatever we can carry. That way we can make it seem like the killings were secondary. Then we disappear. End of story. We gather back here at the end of it, total up the take, then divide it amongst outselves equally. No one gets more or less."

I sat there, stunned, while the rest made affirmations or agreements. I glanced over at Brandon, who was wringing his bandana in his hands. Seated next to him was Dylan, equally stunned. What I'd just heard was the guaranteed crime of the year. This would go down in record books as the biggest heist in Boston history, probably, but it was huge, and the cop in me was absolutely protesting at it. This was absolutely insane.

What had we gotten ourselves into?