I'm so busy trying not to shudder that I almost run smack into a woman coming out of the bathroom. I mutter an apology, sidestepping to let her pass, but she just waves me off, already teetering back towards the dance floor on impressively high heels. The flashing lights are starting to give me a headache, and my ears are ringing from the constant thump of the music. I've been here for hours, and while I've picked up some potentially useful tidbits, I still feel like I'm missing something. Something big.

I need to go deeper. I need to get into the back rooms, the offices, the places where the real business happens. But how?

As if in answer to my unspoken question, a door near the back of the club opens and a harried-looking woman in a Crescent staff uniform emerges, her arms full of what looks like cleaning supplies. She leaves the door propped open with her hip as she wrestles with her load, and in that brief moment, I catch a glimpse of a hallway stretching back into the depths of the building.

Bingo.

I scan the club, looking for any way into the back areas. That's when I spot it: a nondescript door near the rear of the club, marked "Employees Only." It's my best shot at finding something useful.

But how to get past it without arousing suspicion? I need a distraction.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do. It goes against every instinct I have as a hero, but sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Or in this case, start a fight to infiltrate a criminal organization. I make my way to the dance floor, weaving through the throng of bodies until I spot my target: a big guy with a mean look in his eye, clearly spoiling for a fight. There's dozens of them, so I really just pick the baldest one.

"Sorry!" I yell over the music as I 'accidentally' bump into him, hard enough to spill his drink down his shirt.

His reaction is immediate and predictable. "What the fuck?" he roars, shoving me back.

I stumble, bumping into another dancer behind me. "Hey, watch it!" they shout, giving me a push of their own.

I let it go, turning myself into a human pinball. Very quickly, within about 15 seconds, arguments start. Another thirty, and someone throws the first drunken fist, thankfully not at me. I take a tumble and get stepped on a little bit, but that's okay. The dance floor erupts into chaos. Shouts and curses fill the air as people start shoving and throwing punches. I duck and weave, crawling a little big ignominiously until I can stand, slipping away from the melee I've created.

I position myself near the employee door, waiting and watching as security guards rush past me towards the fight. In the commotion, no one notices as I slip through the door, letting it close softly behind me.

Immediately, the sound of the club is muffled, reduced to a dull thumping that I can feel more than hear. The hallway stretches out before me, dimly lit and lined with doors. It smells like cleaning products and stale cigarette smoke.

I tap my ear, activating my earpiece. "Jordan?" I murmur, keeping my voice low. "I'm in. How's everything looking on your end?"

There's a beat of silence, then Jordan's voice crackles to life in my ear. "Sam? Shit, hang on-" a rustling sound, like they're adjusting their position. "Sorry, I couldn't hear a fucking thing with all that noise. You're in the back? Good job. Tell me how you did it later. How's it looking?"

I start down the hallway, trying to move quietly. My sneakers squeak on the linoleum, sounding impossibly loud in the relative quiet. "Lots of doors," I report back, my voice barely above a whisper. "No signs or anything. I feel like I'm in one of those mazes they use for mice experiments."

Jordan snorts. "Knowing the Kingdom, it just might be. Be careful, okay? Those doors could lead anywhere."

I nod, even though they can't see me. "Got it. I'll just-" I pause, hearing voices approaching from around a corner ahead. "Shit. Someone's coming."

"Act drunk," Jordan advises immediately. "Start mumbling to yourself, maybe sway a little. No one questions a drunk person stumbling around where they shouldn't be."

I take their advice, starting to weave slightly as I walk, letting my steps become heavier, less coordinated. I start muttering under my breath, a steady stream of nonsense. "Where's the bathroom? I swear it was around here somewhere. Or maybe that was the kitchen? Why are there so many damn doors in this place?"

Just as the voices round the corner, I let myself stumble, catching myself against a wall with a loud thump. Two men in suits appear, deep in conversation. They pause when they see me, eyebrows raising.

I look up at them, blinking owlishly. "Oh, hi!" I say, my voice a little too loud, a little too bright. "I'm looking for the bathroom. Or maybe the exit. I think I'm lost." I dissolve into giggles, hiccuping a little for good measure.

The men exchange a look, then seem to come to a silent agreement. "Bathrooms are back that way," one of them says, pointing back the way I came. "Big sign, can't miss it."

I nod vigorously, then wince, pressing a hand to my head. "Right. Yes. Sign. Thank you sooooo much." I push off the wall, staggering a little as I turn myself around. "You're so nice. This is such a nice place. I love it here."

I can feel their eyes on my back as I weave my way back down the hall, still muttering to myself. I let myself stumble a few more times, occasionally reaching out to touch the wall as if for balance. It's not until I hear their voices fade behind me that I let myself breathe normally again.

"Nice job," Jordan says in my ear. "Very convincing. I almost believed you were actually drunk."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks. I've been practicing."

I continue down the hallway, leaning against doorknobs as I go. Most of them are locked, or, as Jordan so subtly put it, "electronically impeded". Even if I could pick a lock, which I can't, I wouldn't be able to get through. I start to feel a prickle of frustration. What's the point of sneaking back here if I can't actually get anywhere?

"Hey, Jordan," I murmur, after trying and failing to open yet another door. "I think we might have a problem. Everything's locked up tighter than… well, something that's locked up really tight."

There's a crackle of static, then silence. I frown, tapping my earpiece. "Jordan? Do you copy?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

More silence. Shit. Something must be interfering with the signal. Some kind of electronic shielding? It would make sense, given how paranoid the Kingdom seems to be.

I'm on my own.

I keep moving, my senses on high alert. Without Jordan's voice in my ear, I feel exposed, vulnerable. Like at any moment someone is going to jump out and demand to know what I'm doing back here.

But no one does. The hallway remains quiet, deserted. I start to wonder if maybe I'm being too paranoid. Maybe this is just a normal back area, nothing sinister or secretive about it. There are spots on the wall that look like they used to hold a door there, once, maybe during a prior renovation, but are now just bricked over with slightly-unmatching patterns of brick.

Then I see the door.

It's at the end of the hallway, set a little apart from the others. And unlike every other door I've tried, it's not fully closed. There's a sliver of light spilling out from the crack, and I can hear the faint hum of electronics from inside.

Jackpot. "The bathroom!" I call out, just loud enough that whatever security devices - the angry red eyes of the cameras on the ceiling - are watching get to hear me. I glance around without turning my head, making sure the coast is clear, then sway towards the door, my heart pounding. This is it. Whatever's behind this door, it's important. I can feel it.

I reach for the handle, my palm sweaty. Please don't be locked, please don't be locked, please don't be-

It turns. The door swings open silently, and I slip inside, pulling it shut behind me.

I find myself in an office, dimly lit by the glow of computer monitors. There's a desk, cluttered with papers and half-empty coffee cups. A filing cabinet in the corner. And on the far wall, a large map of Philadelphia.

I approach it, my eyes widening. There are markings all over it, red circles and hastily scrawled notes. I recognize some of the locations. City Hall. The Zoo. A few high schools, including my own. And down by the waterfront, several spots marked along the docks.

What the hell?

I fumble for my phone, pulling it out and snapping a quick picture of the map. Getting caught by cameras be damned. This is a smoking gun. My hands are shaking, making it hard to focus. This is exactly the kind of thing we've been looking for. Proof that the Kingdom is planning something, something that involves the entire city.

But before I can process this new development, I hear voices in the hallway. Coming closer.

Fuck.

I shove the papers back onto the desk haphazardly and lunge for the door. I crack it open, peering out. The hallway is still empty, but the voices are getting louder. I can't make a run for it, they'll definitely see me.

Shit shit shit.

Think, Sam, think.

I look around wildly, searching for a place to hide. There's a small closet in the corner, but it's too obvious. Under the desk? No, they'll look there for sure.

My eyes land on the filing cabinet. It's one of those big, multi-drawer ones, the kind that looks like it could hold a body.

Or a curled-up teenage superhero.

I don't let myself think too hard about it. I wrench open the bottom drawer, wincing at the screech of metal on metal. Please be empty, please be empty…

It's not empty. But the files inside are packed loosely enough that I think I can cram myself in there. It's going to be a tight fit, and extremely uncomfortable, but it beats getting caught red-handed.

I start pulling out handfuls of files, stacking them as neatly as I can on the floor. My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure they must be able to hear it in the hallway. Hurry hurry hurry…

By the time I've cleared enough space, the voices are right outside the door. This is it. No more time.

I hoist myself into the drawer, bringing my knees up to my chest and tucking my head down. It's even more cramped than I thought it would be, the metal sides pressing in on me from all angles. I have to bend my neck at a weird angle to fit, and my legs are already starting to cramp. But I'm in. I'm hidden.

I hold my breath as the door opens and two sets of footsteps enter the room. They're still talking, something about shipments and timetables. I strain my ears, trying to catch any details, but it's hard to focus past the thudding of my own heartbeat.

Please don't look in here, I chant silently. Please please please don't look in here. I squeeze myself, trying to rustle one of the surveillance bugs - one of the last ones - out of my pocket. Gingerly, I manage to place it underneath some of the few papers remaining, sliding it into a spot where I don't think it'll be found, under the folders. Then, I squish myself a little more, trying to channel Connor.

"…telling you, we need to move up the schedule," one of the voices is saying. It's a woman, her tone sharp and annoyed. But it's not Maya. "The last thing we need is another fiasco like the courthouse."

"I know, I know," the other voice says placatingly. A man, his voice deep and rough. "But we can't rush this. Everything has to be in place before we make our move. One wrong step and the whole thing falls apart."

The woman sighs, and I hear the squeak of a chair as she sits down heavily. "I still don't like it."

"It's a necessary risk," the man says. He sounds tired, like they've had this conversation before. "We have to coordinate with too many people to keep everything in our heads."

They keep talking, but I'm finding it harder and harder to focus on their words. The air in the drawer is getting thin, stale and hot from my own panicked breathing. My muscles are screaming from being contorted into this unnatural position for so long. I'm starting to feel lightheaded, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.

Then, like a gift from the universe, I hear a phone ring. The woman curses, and there's a rustle of fabric as she digs it out of her pocket.

"What?" she snaps into the receiver. "No, I told you, I'm in a meeting." A pause. "What do you mean, she's here? Well, stall her! I don't care how, just do it. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She hangs up, and I hear her stand. "I have to go deal with this," she tells the man, annoyance dripping from every word. "Don't go anywhere. We're not done."

He grunts an acknowledgment, and I listen to the click of her heels as she stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Okay. One down, one to go. I just have to wait until he leaves, and then I can make my escape. Easy peasy.

Except he's not leaving.

I can hear him shuffling papers on the desk, muttering to himself as he works. The minutes drag by, each one feeling like an eternity. I'm starting to worry that I really will pass out, or piss myself, or something else equally mortifying.

Just as I'm about to give in to despair, I hear a knock at the door. The man sighs, and I hear his chair scrape back as he stands.

"Come in," he calls.

The door opens, and a new voice enters the mix. Another man, younger-sounding and slightly out of breath. "Sir, we have a situation. One of the bouncers found a wallet on the floor, says it belongs to a regular. He's getting antsy, demanding to speak to a manager. Real tall type. Like, seven feet. Brown hair. You know him?"

The older man curses under his breath. "Not anyone I know. Bet it's one of Maya's. You can't handle it yourself because…?"

"I tried, sir. But he's not backing down. They say he won't leave until they gets his wallet back, and he's making a scene. We need to deal with this before it attracts too much attention."

A long, tense pause. Then, a heavy sigh. "Fine. I'll be right there. This better not take long."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Two sets of footsteps, moving towards the door. The creak of hinges, then blessed, blessed silence.

I count to ten, slowly, making absolutely sure they're gone. Then I start the arduous process of extricating myself from my hiding place. It's even harder than getting in was. My muscles have locked up, joints stiff and uncooperative. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as I slowly unfold myself, inch by agonizing inch.

By the time I'm standing on shaky legs, I'm drenched in sweat and trembling all over. But I'm out. I'm free. I don't waste time celebrating. I lurch for the door, cracking it open and peeking into the hallway. Coast is clear, for now. But who knows how long that will last?

I slip out of the office, easing the door closed behind me with a soft click. Then I'm moving, half-stumbling, half-running down the hallway on legs that feel like jelly. I retrace my steps as best I can, taking turn after turn, praying I'm going the right way.

Then, I round into a hallway that I don't recognize. I turn around, trying to get to a different fork, and immediately slam into a wall of flesh and cloth, met with the crinkling of a paper bag. A dissolved hole in the brick frames his body, vaguely human shaped, slowly reorganizing itself back into a solid structure.

Mudslide adjusts his necktie with two hands, one on the knot, the other on the cloth. I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Small," he croons. "It's my lucky day."