Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (e manga reader .txt) 📕

“Bleach.”

“What kind of anime names itself after laundry detergent?”

“Who cares?” Dutch cuts off further argument.

Jesse ducks his head and whispers, “It's because the original Japanese title described Ichigo's hair, which is orange, the colour it would be if a normal Asian with black hair bleached that black hair, as seen in volume  one of the manga.”

“I heard that!” Chase shoots him a glare, “Anyways, we have to figure out where to go. Apparently, we don't even have so much as a hovel to our name, or at least the Black don't, in these parts. Skip says it's in India.”

“You're kidding, right?” Jesse groans, “Why have the safe house halfway across the globe when the stupid thing's somewhere around here in Washington?”

“Wait, this is DC?”

“Yep, the capital of the United States is about to get heisted,” Jesse announced proudly, earning a hit across the head from Chase.

“Kick it down a couple notches, would you? The last thing we need to do is attract attention before or after.”

“What about during?”

Chase glances at me as he answers my question, “Attracting attention during a heist is good. It's called 'Diversionary Tactics'.”

“So what do we do with stuff when we snag it?”

“'Snag it',” Chase muses, “Now that's a good code word for what we do. Sinisterly innocent.”

“Well? What do we do with the stuff?”

Chase grins, “I'll show you when we get the merch. Promise.”

“So what are we grabbing?”

“No idea. Skip's always afraid that someone will hack our Link, so details like that don't crop up when even a single person is separated by nothing more than a thin wall. So, unimportant stuff like where we're spending the night, and chatting it up during or after a heist is Kosher, also relocating everybody after a Slide, but other than that, everything gets carefully said outside of the link.”

“Yeah, because telling hackers where we are when we're most vulnerable is a brilliant idea.”

“You shared a room with Ky last time, right?”

I shrug.

“So you should know- Ky's a person who doesn't sleep well. She's like a vampire, sleeping is almost something done for kick and giggles, not out of necessity.”

I smile slightly to myself as I remember our  conversation in the dark about the boogey-men and how I had scared them off with my theoretical pyrokinesis.

Oblivious, Chase continues, “If anything planning to harm us thinks that they're getting within a mile of our base, they've got another thing coming. Ky could hear them coming even if we lived by a busy landing strip.”

“Cool. So what's the heist?”

“Like I said, no idea. We'll find out when we join up with the other three.”

“Where?” Jesse asks, “Ky's wondering.”

“The Trek Diner.”

“Aw, come on,” Dutch complains, “The one with the flying saucer out front that you can get your picture taken with?”

Chase grins, “The very one.”

“That thing's popping up so much lately, no matter what dimension we come across that I'm starting to think that it's run by the Black, as an apology that the safe house isn't close by.”

“I think it's more they just want to take good care of their sliders. Nothing wrong with home-cooked meals every once in a while.”

“Shove it, Chase,” Jesse starts, siding with Dutch, “It's creepy, admit it. Something like that should not have the exact same-looking people in the same area. The only thing that makes it obvious that we aren't in the same dimension as the last one that had that place is the fact that there will be  a waitress we don't recognize.”

“I'll admit, it does seem weird, but remember, there are plenty of other places that are inhabited by the same people across thousands of dimensions, it has nothing to do with the fact that their decisions led them there, it just means that they would make the same choice with or without the war. The White House is still in Washington, even though the order of presidents or monarchs in some dimensions changes all the time with the architecture.”

“Why are you even defending it?”

“Why does it matter?” I explode. They all turn to look at me. “It exists, trans-dimensionally or not. There's bound to be some overlap, since dimensions can come from the same branch and have minor differences. I mean, it's not like just one dimension has Abe Lincoln as president in their history, or have World War I end in defeat for the Germans. No offence, Dutch.”

He shrugs, “None taken.”

“So really, it might not be the Black's doing. Y'all make it sound like they control the dimensions, what goes in and out, what happens. If that's true, what do they need us for, huh? They could just take the stuff they wanted, and disappear without a trace.”

There's a moment's silence, and I start to think that I've just made myself look like an  idiot when Chase breaks out into a grin. “You know what, Petite?”

I don't say anything, but rise an eyebrow at him. The grin widens, “You definitely belong.”

After ten minutes of walking, with the streets slowly getting more run-down, we reach a small diner that has a flying saucer painted metallic grey, with a dummy barely visible through the foggy glass of the cockpit.  A sign in blinking lights, some of which have been shot out, reads “Trek Diner”. Chase grins at me as he holds the door open for me, cutting in behind, in front of Jesse who kicks him.

The place is small and quaint. Red leather booths line the window front and sides. In the back corners are circular booths, made to fit up to twelve people it looks like. The walls are decorated with movie posters for sci-fi alien invasion movies, along with “real photographs” of extraterrestrial sightings, with plaques beside each one describing things like the date, photographer, and what the picture was supposed too be about.

“Hey, it's ten o'clock,” Jesse exclaims, “All-you-can-eat pancake breakfast is still on.” Looks like Jesse's a Yo-Yo, swinging between sides and never making up his mind. He got over his suspicions pretty fast.

“Always thinking with your stomach,” Chase chides him before pushing through the virtually empty restaurant to join the red-head at one of the larger booths.

Skip glances up as we all slide into the booth, “This brings back memories.”

Chase grins, “Except we beat the two love birds this time, and made it back the same time Jesse did.”

“And there's no annoying flashing lights,” Dutch adds.

“Hello, did you guys forget the sign outside?” Jesse chirps, “There's plenty of flashing lights, they're just in a different place.”

“So, we're in a booth, there are flashing lights, because the wiring's faulty, and at least one of us already has a drink,” Chase deliberately shoots Dutch a look as he says the last bit. “And yet, so many other things are different.”

“The place we're meeting at still represents a smaller bit of the over-all culture.”

“Oh, so is that why we're here, Skip?” Jesse mocks, “Because it represents a minor culture within the over-all set-up?”

“C'mon, Jesse, you know it's because of the food. It's one of the constants; Trek Diner will always have good food.”

“We didn't come here for the food,” Skip interrupts the light banter, “We came here because it's a safe place to discuss our mission.”

“Which is happening where? Tokyo?” Jesse jokes.

“We're going to Tokyo?” Ky asks as she slides into the booth, followed by Amaar.

“Well, look at who decided to show up,” Chase greets them, “And no, Ky we're not. We're sticking around this area, raiding the- oh, come on Skip! We've been over this! You can't just shut me out like that after a tasty little morsel of information.”

“I can and I did. Don't steal my thunder.”

“Or what? You, Poseidon, and Hades will get together and cause the next war by using mortals as soldiers?”

“No, that happens if his lightning is stolen, not the thunder.” Jesse grins at his clever remark.

“Idiot, lightning causes thunder,” Dutch says, “So stealing thunder means that the lightning bolt was stolen.”

“Are you guys discussing Greek mythology in a modern setting again?” Ky asks. She turns to me, “They did this right after they all went out and watched that movie about the lightning thief. I never understood the point of it. Wars are great, they separate the weak from the strong.”

“Most people want to avoid war.”

“Well then most people are weak.”

“Back to the issue at hand,” Skip interjects, “We've got a target, and a location. Brandee, on a scale of one to ten, how good are you at hacking remotely?”

“That depends on the security of the place. A person's personal computer is child's play, while the FBI have dozens of firewalls and alarm triggers and honeypots.”

“Honeypots? What is this, golf?”

I shoot Jesse a look, “It's a nickname for corners that are built to keep the hacker distracted, thinking they're getting further into the system, when all they're doing is chasing their own tail while the target has ample time to crosscheck where the hack came from, send a team over, and apprehend the criminal.

“It'd be a lot easier to be at the computer being hacked.”

“Alright, we'll see if we can set that in some how. Our target,” he produces a file from his bag, “Is the Dom Pedro Aquamarine on display at the Smithsonian museum of natural history. It weighs approximately four and a half pounds, and could easily fit into any one of our backpacks.”

“Great,” Jesse mutters, “Because crystals are totally worth our time.” He took the file from Skip and started looking at print-outs of floor plans.

“Anyways,” Skip continues, ignoring him, “The crystal is now in the Smithsonian, in storage while a close-matching replica is on display. The problem is, the file doesn't specify which one we need to grab, so-”

“So we're pulling a double,” Chase finishes, “Why not just cut our resources in half?”

Skip shrugs, “It doesn't take a genius to redirect some lasers.”

“But it's going to need to be synchronized,” Jesse mutters. Everyone shifts to look at him. He sighs and elaborates, “Alarm systems. Whichever one you trip, that whole wing gets shut down. The real one's in a storage vault below that wing. We need to time it so that each crew has the maximum amount of time to get out.”

“What if there aren't any alarms?”

“Don't be absurd, petite,” Chase chides, “Of course there are alarms. There's stuff in there worth millions of dollars.”

“Make them not trust the alarms,” I suggest, “The thing runs on electricity.”

“They have a back-up generator.”

“Doesn't matter.  The point is that the system's flawed. They expect it to be wonky once in a while. All we need is a dummy run. If the crystal has it's own independent system, you play with  that. Even if it's a fake, shit hits the fan if  it gets stolen.

“And if it's not independent, then you target something else on the same circuit. That way, security won't tighten unnecessarily on the crystal”

Case raises a hand, “Alright, what are you not telling us about yourself here, petite? You sound like a pro. This can't seriously be your first heist.”

I shrug, “After I watched this one movie, I kind of tried to see if their ideas worked. That you could plan a heist out to the most minute detail without carrying it out, and get a away scott-free theoretically, worst case scenario included.”

“Nerd.”

I punch Jesse. Skips' already nodding, “Sounds good. How do you find out what kind of system it is, independent or open?”

“Grab a security guard and torture him for all the information he knows,” Ky suggests with a vicious grin.

“No, that's plan B,” Chase replies, “Plan A is a trip to the library of Congress, or somewhere equally as useful.”

“Actually, you do a mild hack.”

“Mild? Is there such a thing as a spicy hack?”

“Shut up, Jess, I'm serious. All I need to so is have access to one of their computers, ten minutes of un-rushed time, and presto. The job gets done.”

“Why not just hack the system and shut down all alarms during the heist?”

“Because if the