Worming through Mantis City is a lot easier when you don’t stick out like a sore thumb. That’s kind of obvious in retrospect, but it’s the most prominent thought in my head as we casually pass by storefronts and apartment buildings.

The ‘living sectors’ are… chaotic. The best way to describe them would be like a tunnel system, but above ground. It sounds paradoxical until you live it. Tall buildings towering over you, with overpasses and bridges interconnecting different areas. They’re so woven together that they function as a mesh, hiding the sky like a screen door keeping out sun-bugs.

“So,” Ed starts, his voice oddly relaxed for the tense situation we’re stuck in. “We camp out in the pawn shop and take note of who’s comes in and out, yeah? Ain’t seem too hard.” Ming glances at him furiously, before taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Uh-huh, yeah, yeah. Problem is it isn’t my plan. The fucker’s yanking us around like we’re on a leash!” he mutters angrily.

Thankfully, he had thought to wait to shit-talk our ‘benefactor’ until after he turned the radios off. Turns out, our genius planner didn’t realize the radios had an off-switch. And also didn’t realize he’d need one. “But hey, I got everything under control. So we ain’t gonna be able to use the radios, cus he’s patched in- keep them in your bags ‘less things go really screwy.”

“Wouldn’t we be screwed anyway if things go topsy-turvy? I mean, supervillains knowing our faces would be… terrible.” I chime in worriedly. Of course, I’m only concerned for their safety. It’s not like I wouldn’t be defeated by some two bit hack, after all.

“That ain’t gonna happen, Megs. Anyway, start paying attention. That’s our turn, right into the Charms District. Follow my lead. Don’t look anyone in the eye, don’t look like an easy mark either. Walk with purpose, not like some sorta gawking tourist, alright?” he chides me, and I school an expression I wasn’t even aware I was making as I took in the sights.

“... Fine, will do.” I mutter, following him through a big archway decorated in neon lights that marks the entrance to the hive of sin and debauchery that is… Charms. It’s equal parts cheap and mind-blowingly gaudy, even the entrance a lightshow to cover up the dull grays and rotting underbelly you’re walking into.

A greeter dressed in a sharp suit at the archway sits in his little booth, shouting at us in a typical salesmans’ tone. “Be entranced by the lovely sights just beyond our entrance! Gawk at the sultry queens that strut along our streets, or try your hand at-”

I tune him out as best I can, trying desperately to ignore the clash of sounds and colors surrounding me. My breathing slows, the whirlwind of bustle and neon colors fading into a dull backdrop as I just keep my head down and follow Ming. At that moment, what I’m about to do hits me.

They’re supervillains, dozens of them, what are the odds one of them doesn’t notice us? There are plenty of metas with the skillset to find us, and that’s not even accounting for the various henchmen working for King Midas in his casino…

But when it finally clicks how bad of an idea this is, I’m already too far in to stop moving. My feet step forward, one in front of the other, and everything turns crystalline-clear right as Ming announces ‘We’re here!’ to me and Ed.

We all move in, the italian-looking guy at the front desk taking one look at us and then shrugging. He drags a sign from under his desk, planting it on his table and leaving to the back. We all plop down onto the three cushioned chairs in front of a wooden circular table, surrounded by knick-knacks and various other memorabilia. They both slide their backpacks under the table carelessly, but I gingerly lay down mine and pull the zipper open for quick access. Never know when things could go wrong, after all.

I don’t even bother taking in the scenery, instead glancing at the glass window that shows us our prize. The casino borders the edge of opulence and teeters on the fine line between it and gaudy, incredibly eye-catching golden walls framed by black stone accents and topped by a silver curved roof. To signify King Midas’ ownership, a giant dollar sign overlaid on a spade -his gang’s symbol- hangs suspended over the entrance, dangling on top as bright, colorful lights spill out of the entryway below. People slip in and out of it in a constant stream, men in freshly-ironed suits with briefcases in hand paired with beautiful women in sparkly dresses. But… what I’m going to have to spend my time watching is a lot duller.

My gaze shifts to the plain alleyway directly to the right, practically invisible with how much people’s gaze is drawn to the main event. Ming snaps to get my attention, though, so I don’t have any more time to contemplate.

“Game face. I’ll be on comms. Megs, you catalog everyone coming through. Anyone you don’t know the name of, describe. Any new details about ones you already know, write it down. Simple job, don’t need to be verbose like all your papers. And Ed? Make sure she doesn’t miss anyone.”

He accompanies his words with a notepad slid to my side of the table, a pencil quick to follow it. “Yeah, sure. But, uh, Ming? Don’t we have a while till they start coming in, anyway?” Ed asks, and the idiot in question pauses with his headset halfway on his ear. “Yeah, I know, somebody might come early or something! Just let me talk to Dealer, alright?” he barks out, before clicking on the headset.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

His intermittent yammering serves as the backdrop to our stakeout, only making my anxiety spike. My fingers tap on the desk rhythmically as I stress-doodle thoughtlessly, glancing up every twenty or so seconds until I hear the screech of Ed's chair moving closer to me. I glance up at his goofy grinning face, his wide eyes directed at the corner of my paper.

“What’s that?” he asks, and my eyes refocus on what I’m absent-mindedly sketching out. It’s… some sort of machine, that’s for certain, but I can’t quite tell what it is. A big, bulky backpack with what looks like a tube-shaped plasma ball is hastily doodled, two thick pads with handlebars on the back connected with thick cords… a defibrillator? That’s my best guess, but… well, when I really think about it, I could probably rig that to…

“Look, you morons! People!” Ming practically shouts at us, shocking me out of my thoughts and making Ed snap out of his wonder. We both glance up at the same time, and sure enough…

Someone slips through the shadowy alley, prying open a starkly plain wooden door and slipping in. I don’t quite catch anything but a hint of a dark gray cloak as they make their way inside, but I scribble it down onto the page anyway.

“Relax, Ming, it’s fine! I logged them going in.” I say, accompanied by Ed’s voice chipping in as well. “Kind of hard to see, though. Wish we’d brought binoculars.”

Ming glances over at him drly, rolling his eyes and emphatically gesturing to the place they’re slipping in from. “The only place in this shithole that doesn’t have lights is the alleyways, for pretty fuckin’ obvious reasons. They don’t want us seeing inside. Since they’re coming in through the other way, they’ve got all the muscle on that side. Nobody expects people to be looking from the worst possible angle.”

I half-heartedly mumble my agreement as I write down the people I see flicking into the alleyway and leaving into the casino just as fast. Things continue for a couple minutes like that, and the wildly diverse costumes slipping into the alleyway almost becomes mundane after a couple of hours.

But right in the middle of the somehow boring stakeout, Ed’s hand clamps around my shoulder and turns me slightly out of nowhere, a muffled squeak escaping me as he leans closer and whispers. “Megan, heads up, people!” he says, Ming already burning a hole through the door with his eyes before it slams open. Three men strut in like they own the place, and with their insignia, they probably do.

The one in the middle is lanky and thin, dressed in a black-and-gold trenchcoat with a crooked, unevenly brimmed fedora perched on his head. His pasty white skin and gutter-brown eyes are the only thing visible under it, shaded by darkness. There’s not even an inch of skin uncovered, his whole body hidden in his coat. Over his nose and mouth, there’s some sort of filtered mask- a bulky, black thing with a valve on the side and a vent next to it, with an opening for some sort of input that screams ‘serious tech’.

The other two flanking him are a pair of burly, olive-skinned men with bulging muscles and nasty snarls, matching each other in a way that makes me think they’re both brothers. Their heads are completely shaved, both in matching black jackets with gold trims. Cargo pants and work-boots are under that, the thick shoes punctuating their steps as they stomp into the store.

The one thing common with all of them, though, is the trademark spade with an overlaid dollar sign stamped right where a breast-pocket would be on their uniforms. Midas’ troops.

“Where the fuck is Mikey? He should be open right now, shouldn’t he?” the left brother starts in a deep, gravelly voice. The three come in closer, glancing around the shop until their collective vision locks onto us. I, in my best attempt to look natural, just keep doodling as they loom.

“Quiet, Brad.” he says, cutting the left guy off before he can say anything else with a ‘knock it off’ gesture. “Ey, kids. You seen Mikey? Big nose, olive skin, stripy shirt?” the middle man hisses out, his voice haggard and almost strained-sounding. Ming glances at him, tilting his head up to look the guy in the eye. As he moves in a bit closer, a potent stench comes with him- a sickly, tart smell that makes my nose prickle and my tongue burn.

“Not a lick of him.” he responds, his voice carrying with it an underlying edge that, by the stiffening of the bodyguards’ postures, wasn’t unnoticed. My breathing quickens as everything stands dead silent for a couple of seconds, before the man breaks into a sharp, hyena-like laugh. “Right. Boys?”

The rightmost one speaks first. “Couple a’ kids just hanging around in a pawn shop at this hour ain’t normal. But a problem for us? They’re just street rats.”

“One clueless lug, one overconfident twig, and one mousy girl. What could they possibly do, huh? They’re not even strapped. Just leave them, I think.” the second one chimes in to match him, his eyes scanning over all three of us while he does.

Ming visibly trembles with boiling anger at the insult, while Ed just lets it roll over him. Me? The rudeness doesn’t mean anything when I know I could die at any moment. It’s like spiders crawling along my spine, little feet tapping and worming underneath the skin. The room feels cold, too cold, as the middle man’s gaze trains on me. Or… no, not me. The paper behind me. Full of intricate designs, but in a big, blank splotch on the center…

A list of names. I don’t even know how he manages to read it so quickly, but as soon as he spots it, I know we’re done. The look in his eye, of satisfaction, imparts that message on me in an instant. “They’re lookouts.” he says, dangerously calm.

In a flash, the two men at his side draw solid-black pistols from their holsters and train them on the Ming and Ed, while he gets right up in my face. I can feel cold breath venting out from the side of his mask, blowing across my cheek with every word he says. “Fork it over. Now.”

I hurriedly snatch up the paper and hand it to him, my hands shaking as I do it. He takes a good, good look at it, and then just folds it up and sticks it in one of his coat pockets. I barely even register the words he says as they come out, and he repeats them in a much harsher tone when I don’t immediately respond.

When my vision stops swimming and shaking, I focus on his hand. My grenade is clutched in it, and he’s looking down at it with a gleam to his eyes. “Crafty, kid. Maybe I could use that. Boys, get these ankle-biters tied up and toss em’ somewhere safe till the gig in our casino is done.”

The pair nod, and I tremble. The Mechanism could handle this, could triumph over these- these henchmen… but for some reason, when I call her name… she doesn’t come.