And so, quite cathartically, I found myself back in the world of crime.
It took less than a week.
I could try and defend myself by pointing out that I was fighting for the ‘good guys’ now, but I think the sentiment would be wasted. At the end of the day, even if I was putting away bad guys, this was probably the wrong way to go about it.
Small steps, people. Small steps.
I stashed my equipment in a satchel I found under someone's desk. I made sure to empty their forgotten belongings beforehand — some hair ties, lipstick, the brownest banana I’d ever seen, and a feline hairbrush.
Locked and loaded, I left the GTA building in the waning evening light. People milled around, completing their evening chores and probably their morning chores too, given the stifling temperature earlier in the day.
One thing I’d found jarring about Haverbark was the lack of children, or at least the lack of noisy children. Teen wanna-be gangs didn’t stand around outside their favorite stores or markets, drinking this world’s Kool Aid and harassing people for money. Young ones stayed inside, or at school, or wherever they were locked up, rather than playing out in the streets, riding bikes and collecting knee-scrapes (read: war wounds).
Oh well. Earth had been like this for the last two decades — now everyone past the age of twelve had to be either an entrepreneur, drug dealer, or prodigy — even better if you started straight out of the womb.
Amongst my blathering mind, I came across the first intersection after leaving the GTA.
Schirfer Street.
I pushed on, passing a row of identical green houses all sporting the same crusted leather rocking chairs on their worn porches.
Kalnud Terrace.
Nothing to report here.
My trek remained fruitless until I had trundled all the way into town, weary and concerned about my lack of direction. If I wasn’t careful, I would miss out on prime-time robbing hours.
Then, I was blessed by the Haverbark Town Map.
My savior was a bedraggled old map pinned up on a board protected by a thin sheet of glass. The edges of the map had wilted with the years and attempted to curl, but the glass held it flat and preserved the parts of the map I was there for.
I searched around for a while, and in my growing nervousness I probably looked over Halten Road about a thousand times. When I finally found it, I was delighted enough to feel actual, genuine intimacy towards the Haverbark Town Map.
I avoided kissing it, thinking for a moment about the tirade of unwashed hands that would have brushed over the glass.
The road from the GTA ran north-east to south-west in a lazy straight line to the center of Haverbark, whereas my target sat at the tippy-top of a street due north of the city center — about two intersections west of me.
I hustled along now, resisting the urge to use my [Anaerobic Endurance] skill. The fifty-minute cooldown was harsh, and I wanted to have it available in case a quick getaway was needed.
I couldn’t believe I was thinking it, but once life settled a little, I was definitely going to start an exercise regime. My [Aerobic Endurance] sat at level 2, giving me a 5% movement speed buff.
If I ran day after day after day, who knows how quick I’d be?
Halten Road was as ritzy as you’d expect from a street of the über rich and powerful. From the base of the road, I could see Granton’s mansion sitting right at the apex — the most prominent jewel on a crown so packed with gems that it had to fight to stand out.
On my left ran a monolith of marble and pillars and straight white edges adorned with sea-blue accents. There was no garden — its inhabitants, of which there had to be many, merely stepped off the street onto a few meticulously aligned pavers before heading indoors.
On my right, a sprawling front-yard boasted fountains and hedges so high that the actual house was obscured except for an oval window peeking over the top, drawing the eye to a sparkling chandelier lighting up the fast-approaching darkness.
I hadn’t thought Haverbark to be an overly decadent township, but it seemed there were at least a few families who had done rather well for themselves. Depending on the profession, these could've even been guild headquarters, not just residential housing.
Before I knew it, my sticky-beaking had brought me within a couple hundred meters of Granton’s abode. Unlike some of his wealthy brethren, Granton had an expansive garden, naturally walled in by rolling hills and knolls that gave his property a battlefield kind of feel, like an ancient castle that has stood impenetrable for thousands of years.
Tonight, I’m going to turn the impenetrable — well — penetrable. God, that sounds bad.
The hills worked to my advantage, providing a convenient place to nestle myself in with my satchel. Seeing no reason not to get to work, I double-checked [Domain Thinking] to make sure I was close enough for it to work.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Domain Thinking (10):
{Bird’s Eye View: For 5 minutes, produce an accurate bird’s eye view image in your mind’s eye of any 250 square meter space within one kilometer of you. 1-hour cooldown}
Perrrfect.
I had far more leeway than I needed to take the shot, but I realized now that capitalism and the human desire for space had cursed me — 250 square meters would only cover about a quarter of the house.
Goddamn these rich folk and their giant living rooms.
My plan would need some amendments. Counting the floors, the mansion was four storeys high. Assuming each floor would require four uses of [Bird’s Eye View] to map out, it would take sixteen uses to map out the whole place. With the one-hour cooldown in mind, I would be here until lunchtime tomorrow — precisely the worst time to rob someone.
I briefly tried to bargain with myself — perhaps lunchtime would be a good time to break in, no one would expect it! But no, there were some very good reasons why it was a terrible idea.
I settled on a new plan. I really only needed to find Granton’s study or storage room or someplace he’d store his contracts and bank records. Kitchens, living rooms and bathrooms were all useless to me — although I did read somewhere that Donald Trump stored some documents in his shower, so perhaps a brief inspection was warranted.
I’d use [Bird’s Eye View], map out the place with my pencil and paper, pray whilst the skill was on cooldown, then jump in and jump out once I found a place of interest. Granton would see his Knowledge EXP going up all night, aside from a few small intervals that I could blame on stretching my legs or eating.
And so, it began. I wasn’t sure how to activate the skill, so I whispered it under my breath, concentrating on the south-east corner of the top floor.
[Birds Eye View]
Oh, that’s weird. That’s sooo weird.
Every time I shut my eyes, I saw the inside of Granton’s living room and a portion of the hallways between rooms. A fire blazed in the corner, suggesting someone was home, and moments later, a butler came in and threw a log on top, stoking the flames. Even when I opened my eyes to orient myself, I could concentrate hard and produce a kind of ‘overlay’ on my vision. I shook my head, feeling queasy.
Realizing my five-minute duration had begun, I pulled out my pencils and a sheet of paper. At the top, I wrote ‘Fourth Floor’, then scribbled in a rudimentary drawing of the prominent features of the room.
Couch, fireplace, coffee table, whiskey table. It was a sparse drawing, but everything else was just ornamental. The man loved his artifacts.
I paid special attention to the entries and exits of the room, noting down how I might enter the house, and how I would navigate it once I was in. The hallways were thin, but there were enough rooms that I could hide from the butler if he came around — I just had to pray that the floorboards weren’t squeaky.
As I finished noting down the last details, the skill deactivated. I sat there, blinking and scrunching my eyes for a moment before deciding it was over, then I reviewed my work.
The windows on the fourth floor were a no-go — too high, and even without a nagging fear of heights, too difficult to get to. If this were a video game, there would be a conveniently placed ladder or one of those crisscross wooden things with vines weaving through it.
Those things always held your weight until the last precarious second.
It was time to start praying. I still had Granton’s permission box toggled on, so I lay down on the grass with the satchel on my chest, then I hugged it and prayed. Rendar wasn’t particularly esurient tonight, which meant offering up some rice with butter and soy sauce. The EXP flowed, nonetheless.
The hour most certainly did not fly by, and the moment the cooldown was finished, I was eager for my short break from praying. This time, I targeted the north-east corner.
[Birds Eye View]
Despite not being able to directly see that part of the house from my southern refuge, the skill worked just fine — only a slight overlap with my previous projection. I was now looking into a bathroom, antique room, and spare bedroom all made up with a russet bedspread and a dainty yellow tea-set.
Nothing to see here, unless Granton fancied prying open the mounted bear head’s jaws to retrieve his confidential stuff.
And so, my night’s routine established itself. Pray, poke around, pencil it in.
I’ll spare you the shock of finding Granton’s mock laboratory on the third floor — the guy was into some peculiar science. It didn’t bode well for me if I were caught.
That was my fifth use of [Bird’s Eye View], and on the sixth, I was rewarded.
Not only did I find his study — very regally decorated — but connected to it in a dark rectangular space was his storage room. For obvious reasons, there was no fireplace here, but the skill projected a lackluster glow such that I could see the tops of boxes.
Bingo.
I’d seen the butler again during my fourth search. He wandered around every now and then to stoke the fires, but other than that, he disappeared to some room downstairs that I hadn’t encountered yet.
Dawn threatened to come in and ruin my night’s work, so I took five minutes to review my sketches as they stood. My depiction of the fourth floor was basically useless — I didn’t plan on going up there. I was left with my half-finished version of the third, where the hallways led off to unknown areas. I’d only identified three windows; one in the lab, one at the north-end of the hallways, and a corresponding one at the south-end.
And so, I was doomed to freestyle this bad boy.
I gathered my worldly goods, stuffed them in the satchel, then darted between cover, crouching low and feeling like the entirety of Halten Road was watching me.
On the north-west corner, I found my opportunity. A balcony jutted out from the brick wall, covered by a triangular roof like a bird house. Four wooden poles supported it, and below lay a damp flower bed of peonies and amaranths. I climbed in, taking care not to trample the flowers.
I was a thief, not a monster.
I’d never been a sporty bloke — you may recall my distrust in my spinal integrity — so climbing was not my forte. But this was my best shot, so I grabbed on with both hands, and swung a foot up onto the first notch of the pole.
The poles were shaped like massive wooden pepper grinders — a large bulb at the top, then a gentle hourglass-shaped curve punctuated by stubby ledges around the circumference. These ledges made for the best footholds, and I held on for dear life when I couldn’t make use of one of them.
I made good progress, and when I neared the top — don’t ask me how high, I wasn’t looking — I poked my head over the porch floor and found tentative handholds. I gingerly took my feet off the pole and hung only by my hands, preparing to swing up a foot.
A clear glass door separated the porch from the room inside — likely the master bedroom, considering the size of the bed and the ornate yet lived-in surroundings. The dim light in the room disturbed me, like how I’d imagine a vampire’s castle in the winter.
I scanned a bit more, feeling the tug of fatigue in my biceps. To the right of the porch was a small window sitting at about head height.
At the window, was a face.
Looking at me.
Licking its lips.