"Squad B," I continued. "Will be responsible for infiltrating the vault and securing loot. Squad B will be Berthold and Durella. Which leaves..."

I trailed off as my eyes locked onto Leif and Gemma. Leif was blowing smoke rings, attempting to slip them onto his fingers after every puff. While Gemma aggressively carved expletives into the table with a knife seemingly manifested from nowhere. I was reluctant to place the two on a team together, but unfortunately, I had to assign roles on abilities, not personalities.

"Gemma and Leif..."

"What?" "Who? Oh, right, me."

"You two will be a part of Squad C. Do you know what that means?"

"Not a clue," Leif admitted.

"We're Team C... so we kill all the cunts?"

"Incorrect," somehow, I appreciated Leif's candid answer over Gemma's bloodthirsty one. "Team C, as in both of you, will be responsible for the robbery of the cess being collected at the party. However, remember that your objective, more than any other team's, is negligible. Money is great, but my friend's life and the vault's contents far outweigh whatever you would earn stealing those taxes."

"We all have the same objectives here." Bert continued. "It's essential that we all understand the priority of our goals. Otherwise, we'll end up dead or worse."

"There's just one thing I don't get," Daburu asked.

"You can just make whatever you want? Why do we even need to do a heist? Just make us a bunch of gold."

"I don't 'make whatever I want. I can reshape materials, but I have to have them in the first place." I paused. "Maybe you're right. Making some gold isn't a half-bad idea."

It took me two days to assemble the clothing and tools for our mission taking place in less than a week. But I had to admit, I was more than excited. My childhood dreams were filled with heist movies, overcomplicated plans, and preplanned double crosses. So I was surprised when my dreams as an adult were similar, but there are some things you just can't break out of.

Bert woke me from those dreams the night before our job, explaining some new details that had come up that he had to discuss with just me. I was weary at first, but I figured there would be little point in tricking me now. Berthold dragged me to an overlook on the northern end of Dulcrois. From this point, you could see everything from the rotating building sections to the tops of the walls surrounding the city.

"Mercy, I'm really sorry for what I-"

"Don't start. And don't call me that. Only my friends can call me that."

"What I did was selfish and wrong. I know that. But I had no intention to leave you there,"

"No, you'd just sell me for entry, then break me out later to conveniently need me to break into some rich fuck's basement. I would say you're one of the luckiest guys, but we both know that's a lie. You planned all of this."

"You're right... about everything." Berthold threw his back against the railing. "Mostly the unlucky part. It's my house, you know? I'm the rich fuck."

"What?" I took a step back from Bert.

"Well, I was. I mean, my family was. Everyone in my family is born with a gift, Mersault. Ten men's heightened strength, intellect, and senses perfectly weaved into one form. It can be trained, enhanced, and mutated until it reaches a level far past its original state. Everyone was born with this, except for me."

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Berthold flourished his arm as one arm blossomed to two, repeating until eight jettisoned off from his elbow. Then, with a quick wave, eight returned to one.

"I got the ten men part. But the weaving left a lot to be desired. They gave it about thirteen years, but when my abilities never evolved into the family standard, they decided they had waited long enough. I was caught eavesdropping on a conversation where my mother, father, and sisters all spoke of getting rid of me. They tried to cover it up, claiming that none of it would actually be real and it would allow me to 'blossom outside of the public's eye.' I ran off before I could test how real they wanted their plans for me to be."

"You think I'll forgive you because of a sob story?"

"I don't want your forgiveness. I'm giving you the truth like I should have done from the get-go." Bert took a deep breath. "There's something in my family's vault. Something powerful that requires little control to use. It shatters upon use, but with its destruction, provides any change, anything you want about yourself. Do you want to bring back a hairline? What about increasing someone's gift exponentially? Or..."

"So you want to change yourself, so you can join your family again?"

"What? No, fuck them. I want to change myself out of spite. I want to take something valuable from them, then turn myself into what they always wanted me to be. Then, the perfect son will want nothing to do with them."

"It sounds like even though you left, you're still doing what they want," I said.

"Yeah, I guess you just can't break out of some things."

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"That has got to be the funniest story I've ever heard!" Daburu laughed, spewing chewed-up bits of shrimp onto the storyteller and its listeners.

The partygoers around us said nothing, but the looks of disdain were clear across their faces.

"If you'll excuse us," I offered, grabbing Daburu by his sleeve and pulling him away from the crowd.

"Wait, I wanted to hear the rest of his joke!" Daburu protested.

"His joke?" I spat out in an aggressive hushed tone. "That man was describing the genocide and subjugation of his people, which he wasn't present for because he was fighting a one-sided war. What is comedic about that?"

"It's called irony," Daburu replied with confidence. "Look it up."

"Okay, Daburu, new plan." I took a deep breath, regaining my composure. "You don't interact with anyone if anyone asks; You're my brother who was kicked EXTREMELY hard in the head by a horse when you were a child. If I ask you something, you can respond. Otherwise, you need to keep your mouth shut."

Daburu nodded in response, visibly fighting the urge to respond with violence.

Outside of extreme social faux pas, we blended well into this event. The DeBrazier lavish mansion was filled with guests from every walk of life. The only thing they all had in common was an extreme level of wealth, which we tried our best to imitate.

The event was a masquerade, something the lavishly wealthy also enjoyed. To avoid unnecessary attention, the six of us wore simple black domino masks that lay flush against our faces.