The plan had seemed simple, in theory. Get the fob, get into the building, sniff out Sparkplug. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, right? Well, as it turned out, simple didn't always mean easy. Especially when you were dealing with a bunch of teenagers trying to take down a drug-dealing thunder god.

First up had been Jordan's grand plan to pickpocket a key fob from some unsuspecting Dorchester resident. I mean, it had sounded like a foolproof idea, right? Just bump into someone, slip your hand into their pocket, and boom, you've got yourself a ticket to the top-secret villain lair. Except, as it turned out, pickpocketing was a lot harder than it looked in the movies.

Jordan had spent hours practicing their technique, using Spindle as a reluctant guinea pig. They had tried every trick in the book - the "accidental" bump, the distraction method, even the old "pretend to tie your shoelace while swiping the goods" routine. But every time, Spindle had caught them in the act, giving them a reproachful look that said, "Really, Jordan? Is this what we've come to?"

After a few days of fruitless attempts, Jordan had finally managed to snag a fob from a distracted businessman outside the Dorchester. They had come strutting back to the hideout, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Piece of cake," they had declared, tossing the fob in the air and catching it with a flourish.

But their victory had been short-lived. When they had tried to clone the fob, they discovered that it had some sort of built-in security feature that prevented duplication. Apparently, the Dorchester took their residents' privacy very seriously. Who knew? We had needed to spend another couple of hundred dollars getting an actual RFID cloner instead of just trying to plug it into a card reader on Jordan's computer. Or something like that. I hadn't really understood what was going on, but I had let it move over and through me regardless.

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, they cracked the code. The fob was cloned, and we were one step closer to our goal. But the victory had felt hollow, somehow. Like we were just delaying the inevitable.

Next up had been Derek's turn to shine. With the cloned fob in hand, he had infiltrated the Dorchester, ready to put his super sniffer to the test. But as it turned out, tracking down one specific scent in a building full of people was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. A really smelly, sweaty haystack.

Derek had wandered the halls, his nose twitching like a bloodhound on the hunt. He had gotten a few odd looks from the residents, but he just flashed them a charming smile and kept on sniffing. It was kind of impressive, actually, the way he could turn on the charm when he needed to. I had assumed he was just 100% curmudgeon 24/7 but he can at least turn it off long enough to evade suspicion, it seemed. Once you were in the building enough days in a row, people just started assuming you lived there. Even if he couldn't wear his leather coat inside.

But even with his enhanced senses, Derek struggled to pinpoint Sparkplug's exact location. The building was a maze of scents and sounds, and every time he thought he had a lead, it turned out to be a false alarm. A particularly pungent trash chute, a chain-smoker's apartment, even a room where someone was clearly cooking with an obscene amount of garlic. But no Sparkplug.

It turned out, having to sniff every hallway of 32 floors without being noticed was kind of hard.

As the days dragged on, we had started to get restless. We knew we couldn't risk intercepting any of the Jump or Fly shipments leaving Sparkplug's place. If he got even a whiff of us sniffing around his operation, he'd clam up tighter than Fort Knox. And that was the best-case scenario. Worst case, he'd start involving other criminals, or worse, putting civilians in danger. We had to be smart about this, had to find a way to catch him off guard.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

That's when Jenna came up with the idea of focusing our surveillance efforts on the top floors of the building. It made sense - a guy like Sparkplug, with his fancy car and designer suits, wasn't going to be slumming it in some middle-floor studio apartment. No, he'd be living it up in the penthouses, the cream of the crop.

So we had adjusted our strategy, sending Derek to scope out the top floors while the rest of us kept watch from a distance. We took turns staking out the building, hiding in plain sight as delivery drivers, maintenance workers, even a lost tourist or two. Anything to get a closer look without raising suspicions.

And then, finally, we caught a break. Derek picked up a scent, faint but unmistakable, wafting from one of the penthouse units - 3028. The smell of ozone and burnt rubber, the telltale sign of Sparkplug's powers. That, plus his actual BO. Which, according to Derek, also smelled like ozone.

We had our target. We had our plan. Now all we needed was a moment.

We spent the next few days going over every detail, mapping out entry points and escape routes, rehearsing every possible scenario. Jordan and Spindle worked on modifying Kate's glove according to my ideas, trying to bring my hair-brained scheme to reality. Tasha and Marcus pored over the building's schematics, looking for any weaknesses we could exploit. Even Kate pitched in, using her Mayfly gear to do some last-minute recon with what remained of the drone fleet, and buying me a hammer for breaking windows with. How thoughtful.

As for me, I trained. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, running drills and sparring with anyone who would stand still long enough. I knew I'd only have one shot at this, one chance to take Sparkplug down before he could light me up like a Christmas tree. I had to be ready, had to be at the top of my game.

Finally, the big day arrived. We gathered at the hideout one last time, going over the plan and checking our gear. There was a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mixed with dread. We all knew the risks, Derek and I more than anyone else. But we also knew that we had to try, had to do something to stop Sparkplug, to cut off the rotten vein he was feeding into our city.

As the sun began to set on May 30th, we made our way to the Dorchester, each of us taking up our positions. Derek and I headed for the roof, while the others scattered around the perimeter, ready to provide backup if needed.

And that's how I found myself slowly ascending the side of the building, draped in a blanket with Moonshot by my side, a drone buzzing above us to provide cover. It was a bizarre sight, I was sure, but it was the only way to get close without being spotted. Well. I'm sure some people will see a drone carrying a blanket and notice it, but that's not exactly uncommon these days. I felt like a baby kangaroo. What are those called, Joeys?

As we rose higher and higher, the city sprawling out beneath us like a glittering jewel, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. It was like all the fears and doubts that had been plaguing me just melted away, replaced by a steely resolve. I glanced over at Moonshot, saw the determination in her eyes, and knew that whatever happened, we would face it together.

We reached the roof just as the last rays of sunlight were fading from the sky, the shadows lengthening and stretching across the concrete. I checked my watch - 8:20 PM, 2 minutes to sundown. 22 minutes until Derek would transform, until all hell would break loose.

I took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline beginning to pump through my veins. This was it. The moment of truth. The point of no return.

I looked out over the city, at the millions of lives that hung in the balance, and I knew that failure was not an option. We had to succeed, had to stop Sparkplug before he could do any more damage.

And with that thought burning in my mind, I turned to Moonshot and nodded. I could hear Derek's voice through my earpiece, a low rumble that was almost drowned out by the pounding of my own heart. He was at Sparkplug's door, ready to set the plan in motion. Less than two minutes to show time.

Back in the present.