“I don't know about this…”

“I’m doing her a favor.”

“You'll use that to justify anything.”

“Remember when we stole 80 grand in gems and your justification was hunger?”

“Touche.”

Spike didn't normally go on jobs with the crew. Dragons tend to attract attention, and that's exactly what we normally wanted to avoid. He normally drove the van, did repairs, plan things. He had connections. His channels ran deep. You know that corny line “I know a guy who knows a guy”? Well, Spike is that second guy. Most times, he was best kept behind the wheel or at a keyboard.

On the flipside, he had some of the stickiest fingers out there. As good of a manager as he was, he was an invaluable asset to have on certain jobs. He had a knack for break-ins and the similar. That's half the reason I asked him to help me break into Rainbow’s house. The other half was that we hadn't spent much time together since Mythos first fell apart.

“I'm doing this with or without your help,” I said. “So either head back home or start on the lock.”

“Sure, mom,” said Spike, rolling his eyes. He expertly maneuvered his pick through the keyhole, jiggling the pins into place.

“Well, technically, you are my baby dragon,” I pointed out. I heard the faint click of the lock. “I found you as a hatchling, so, in the eyes of the law, you’re probably considered my son.”

“Just… Shut up and get what you came here for,” said Spike with a hushed tone to his voice. “Which, by the way, remains a mystery to me.” I silenced him by pressing a finger to my lips, then stepped through the back door.

The kitchen was a mess, unsurprisingly. Dirty dishes, grease stains on almost every surface, and cigarette butts littering the floor. I silently snaked through the mess and into the adjacent living room, Spike just behind me. Dash was asleep on the couch, facing the TV with cocaine clinging to her nose and her mouth open wide enough to send echos of her snoring throughout the house. I tapped my nose, then pointed to Dash, and finally the duffel bag over my shoulder. Spike nodded in understanding, then went around the room in search of coke.

I took the moment to survey the room, particularly a series of photos on the coffee table in front of Dash’s couch. Each one displayed some scene of her and a girl a few years younger than her. At oldest, she was sixteen. She dressed like Dash did before I took her under my wing; baggy jeans, dingy tank top. She even seemed to have styled her hair in the same messy, windswept way. Only difference was the color, this girl deciding to go for a solid purple instead of the rainbow of colors. There were six pictures, and they were the only ones in the house. That meant that Dash really cared about this girl.

I put the photo down, then searched the room for cocaine. We found a bit, roughly $1,500 worth of blow. I was far from surprised, but still a bit annoyed. After checking upstairs and the basement, I motioned to Spike that we should start heading out. As we left, I saw the photos again. I tried to figure out how a trainwreck like Dash could ever have someone they care about that much. And, judging by the look on the other girl’s face, the feeling was mutual.

“Medusa, let’s go!” came Spike’s whispered shout. I nodded, grabbing one of the photos on my way out. I bagged it and followed Spike out of the house and to the van.

After stowing away the coke at one of our drop points, Spike and I convened back at our main stronghold. It was a tiny little laundromat hidden away in a northwestern corner of Canterlot City. Terrifically unnoticeable and perpetually closed for maintenance, it was a modern day Nassau. The place where the magic happened. Once I walked into the laundromat, I headed for the back, to a large dryer that was marked with a sign labeled “out of order”. Beneath the machine was a keyhole of sorts, except it was molded for Spike’s claw. I had molds made of this “key” ages ago, so other crew members could get in when he was busy with other matters. That was back when there were other crew members, I suppose.

Spike unlocked the dryer, which let him push it up and on its side. Doing this revealed a hole with a ladder, down which we descended. The hole was about ten feet deep, and then it went into a straight hallway for another twenty five. It felt good to be home, especially after all that time of waiting for the heat to die down. We strolled down the long, many-doored hallway in silence. If Spike saw me steal the photo, he kept it to himself. He knew that he would find out in due time.

It didn’t take us long to make it to the large double doors that separated the hall from the Planning Room. I pushed open the door and stepped into the circular room. On the furthest side from the door was a large screen that Spike used to show us maps and plans. In the center was a large table, with a map of Canterlot City etched into its surface. We called it the War Map. There were computers and phone lines on tables belting the wall, where Spike, our resident hacker, did his thing. There were also two couches near the back, and a table with a glass chess board. Spike and I often played while planning some of the longer jobs or after a successful heist. I fell onto the couch, gesturing to the board. Spike sat opposite of me, and moved his white pawn forward.

I imagined that it would take Dash no longer than thirty minutes to wake up. Ten more minutes to realize that her coke was gone. Another sixteen for Dash to walk over here, twelve if she ran. That would give me enough time for three to five games, depending on how focused Spike was. I never verbalized that prediction, because it only really mattered to me. Spike didn’t need time to get his story together. He was loyal, loyal enough to be able to lie for me perfectly. He also knew better than to ask questions at a time like this. So, we played in silence, Spike trying his hardest to delay his inevitable defeat at a game he couldn’t ever win.

In the middle of our fourth game, the door burst open, and Dash ran in, rambling incoherently.

“Check,” I said, moving my piece and ignoring Rainbow.

“Yo! Twi! I'm freaking out right now!” Dash rushed over, her casual street clothes even messier than usual. “Someone broke into my house!” I turned from my game, almost knocking over the board in the process.

“What?” I demanded. “What did they take?”

“My coke!” She sounded like a child who had lost a toy. “I'm panicking here, this hasn't happened before! I don’t know who it is, either!”

“Don’t you live in the ghetto?” asked Spike. “Could’ve been some thug or something.” Dash shook her head with some degree of certainty.

“Nah, my people know better,” she said. “I have rep on that street. Nobody is breaking in without some serious consequences.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t someone from an enemy gang or something?” I asked. “Or maybe from your gang? The Bolts can’t be happy that you left.” Again, she shook her head.

“They don’t even know I’m out yet. Seriously, Twi, this is freaking me out! Why is it that I get robbed as soon as I start rolling with you?”

“Oh boy. I didn’t expect them to notice you yet,” I mumbled.

“What?!”

I moved my rook across the board, then tipped Spike’s king in victory. I stood up and started pacing, giving the illusion that I was deep in thought.

“I have some… business associates,” I said carefully. “Since it’s mutually beneficial that the Mythos Crew does well, they keep a very close eye on who we let in. They probably don’t approve of who we decided to replace Moondancer with.”

“The hell is Moondancer?”

“The original owner of that mask you like so much,” said Spike. “Before you, we had two others. Lyra and Moondancer.”

“What happened to them?” asked Dash. Perfect. She was forgetting about the coke.

“They took one for the team, got themselves arrested so Spike and I could escape,” I said. “They haven’t given us up, so Spike and I are trying to finance a breakout.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head, trying to convince her brain to stop shutting down on her. I couldn’t quite tell if her panic stemmed from drugs or just paranoia. Although, I suppose if someone does as much coke as Dash, everything stems from drugs in one way or another. Regardless, my ploy seemed to have worked. She was calming down.

“So you know who did this?” asked Dash.

“I know who probably did this, yes. But there’s not a whole lot I can do about it,” I said. “They’re kinda untouchable. For now.” Just as I predicted, Rainbow left that one alone. She had nothing to say and, for once, she kept her mouth shut. That was good for me. That meant she would be relatively easy to trick, at least for a while.

“Should I be scared?” she asked.

“Nah, these guys don’t wanna hurt you,” said Spike. “Just spook you. We’ll deal with them in due time.”

Dash sighed, then pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. She patted her pockets in search of a lighter. Spike spat a little plume of emerald fire, igniting the cigarette for her.

“Thanks,” she said as she placidly puffed on her cancer stick. “Alright, since I’m here, let’s get some shit done.”

“Spike, the details, if you would,” I requested. Spike nodded, then walked over to a laptop sitting on the map. He maneuvered through his files and opened up his planning documents, which were then displayed on the big screen.

“We’re going to be stealing guns approaching two hundred years in age,” said Spike. “So they’re valuable. I estimate that one good rifle will be worth $1,600 to $3,000 a pop. Our guy, the Historian, will pay 250 for all the guns we can carry, but he says fees are negotiable.”

“If they're worth $3,000 dollars a pop, why would we take 250?” asked Dash, which was quite possibly the dumbest question I've heard. “That's a hell of a loss.”

“That's 250K, Rainbow,” I sighed. “Split three ways, that's about $83,333. Some of that will have to go offshore, but it'll all be yours. Just not all at once.” Dash spat out a swirl of smoke, then flicked her cigarette onto the floor.

“You had me at ‘250K’. When do we move in on this?” asked Rainbow, stamping out the cigarette. I grinned, then looked over Spike’s shoulder at the map he had up.

“Well, I think we've put enough time and distance between us and the jewelry store,” I said. “Three days to case, two to get our tools together, one to meet with the Historian… Next Sunday?”

“Monday,” said Spike. “I wanna know the guard patrol. How do you want to do this?”

“I vote that we kick in the front door,” tried Dash.

“Oh, that's cute,” I chuckled. “You think you get a vote. We're doing this quietly. Spike, check the roof for access points.”

He pulled the map to full screen, displaying it on the big screen. Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a laser pointer. Spike pointed the red beam at a corner in the northwest of the building.

“Skylight here. We can pop it open and rappel down,” said Spike. He pointed to the eastern part of the building. “Alternatively, we can go through a maintenance room on the roof. There's probably a way in from there.” I peered a little closer at the screen.

“What about there?” I asked, pointing. Spike turned the laser to the area I was looking. “That looks like a ventilation shaft.”

“It is. Fans and stuff are in the way, we can't get through it,” said Spike. I smirked deviously.

“Perfect,” I said. “That's our ticket in.” The crew looked at me curiously.

“Uh… You got a plan for those blades?” asked Dash.

“They're not a problem.”

“I dunno, Twi,” said Spike. “Fast-moving pieces of sharp metal blocking our entrance is kinda a big problem, I think.”

“Oh, it is. But that's not our entrance.” I grinned widely. “We're moving in on Sunday, and we're going right through the front door. Just like Dash said.”

“Why the ventilation? Why not the skylight or the maintenance room?”

“They’re imperfect solutions. Easy to get in but hard to get out. Plus, if we rapelled down through the skylight, a guard could catch us with our pants down.”

“I see. So how did you manage to get past the fans without disabling them?”

Twilight laughed fondly to herself. Of the many heists she had pulled in her years, the Museum was one of her absolute favorites. She always had a thing for silent jobs, to sneak in and out without anyone even knowing she was there. To her, that was the epitome of theft. To swipe what she wanted right from beneath the owner’s nose. It was exhilarating.

“That was never the plan,” said Twilight. “Going in through the vents created more problems than it solved.”

“But you told Ms. Dash that they were your ticket in.” The prosecutor had a stiff, superior air to him, as if he knew something that Twilight didn’t. Twilight was confident that this wasn’t the case.

“Yes. It was our ticket in.” Twilight leaned forward. “But you don’t get into a theater through a ticket. That’s just what gets the door open.”