The drive to central Camelot had taken another solid hour. To get to the Blueblood manor took the better half of another. Twila had finished her book, failed to start up a conversation with Chylene, and finally settled for biting at her nails to try and work out her nerves.

It made little sense how jittery she was feeling. Before the bank robbery in Manhattan, she’d been completely collected. Somehow she’d bound all her feelings--the doubt, the fear, the guilt--to some deep pit within her, far away from being consciously felt. Though her dreams were clear evidence that her subconscious was a different story.

Now her hands wanted to shake, she could feel the back of her dress was slightly dampened with sweat, and she kept wanting to twirl her hair like a teenager.

Though biting your nails is hardly any better, she berated herself.

Really? This is what I’m telling myself? she asked in reply.

You should’ve gotten in the limo with Pinkie. She’s probably half-blitzed off of champagne by now.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “That would be disastrous!”

“Is something wrong, Twila?” Chylene asked. She seemed calmer than Twila was, but still fiddled with her dress.

“Oh, just now realizing it might have been a poor decision to order champagne,” she said, deciding to have another quick glass before leaving the limo. She raised the opened bottle towards Chylene. “You sure you don’t want some? What is it they say... A little Kvaat courage?”

“Um...Twila, I don’t drink,” Chylene admitted awkwardly.

Giving herself a light tap on the forehead, Twila said, “I’m sorry! I forgot. I’m just...” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure, Chy. I wonder if this has anything to do with finding out my brother is still alive.”

“Well...” Chylene looked out of the window, then back at Twila. “I think we have time. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m glad he’s alive, obviously,” Twila stated. “But... I don’t know. I think maybe some part of me had accepted this situation--as terrible as it is--as reality. It was just us and Spike, you know? No real authority to rely on if things truly got out of hand.” She frowned, trying to focus her emerging thoughts. “We’ve all gone through some pretty amazing things before, haven’t we, though?”

The pink-haired woman smiled nostalgically. “Mhm...and I don’t have many regrets. I hope you don’t either.”

Smiling, Twila replied, “It brought me the best friends a girl could ask for, how could I? The six of us...we managed those on our own, more or less.”

Chylene paused, thinking over past times, both good and bad. “Yes, but...doesn’t this feel a little bit different? I don’t feel as safe as I did Twila, not anymore.” She clasped her hands together, letting out a stuttered sigh.

Twila gave a solemn nod, saying nothing. The world was a different place for all of them now. And in so many ways, how could any of them ever feel safe again?

Finally, she said, “I suppose that’s it. Even though I’ve accepted all the facts, it doesn’t change how they make me feel. And how badly I wish Lew was here. Even you and the others, Chy... You give me a strength I wouldn’t know on my own. But tonight... All the planning can’t prepare us. It’s a different sort of game.” She looked out the window, seeing and feeling the limo come to a stop. “With far more desperate stakes.”

Chylene undid her seatbelt when the limo came to a stop and stared out at the crowd outside. “Y-Yes...you’re right.” She swallowed, looking back at her friend. “But we’ll do it together...yes?”

Giving the nervous girl a confident smile, Twila assured her, “Together, yes. Let’s enjoy the party, shall we?”

The doors were opened by the driver, revealing a spectacle Twila hadn’t seen since the Grand Glittering Gala. Now, as then, she carefully stepped from the limo to the plush red carpet set before them. The countless flashes of cameras blinded her for a moment, as she heard the cries of the reporters grow more excited.

“It’s Twila! Twila Shields! Over here, over here!”

“The Queen’s student herself!”

“Front page material, for sure.”

Ignoring them, she turned and gave Chy a hand. For a moment, the pair stood, letting them get the pictures they would take no matter what the girls had to say about it. Chylene whimpered, but endured being in the spotlight.

“Where’s the others, I wonder?” Twila heard someone say. “A group shot would be great--especially with Mr. Blueblood!”

“Riiiiiiight here!” Pinkie came bounding down the red carpet, fully embracing the attention.

Right behind her came Rarity--she had worked her magic with her makeup. Thick blue eyeshadow complimented her more moderate blue eyes, and her eyelashes had been touched up effectively as well. She’d chosen a deep red lipstick and something that gave her the vague sense of sparkling on her attractively pale skin.

She posed beside Pinkie, adoring the cameras even more than they adored her. Twila grabbed Chylene’s arm, taking the welcome distraction as she pulled the pink-haired woman up the carpeted staircase. She wove her way through the surprisingly dense crowd of socialites.

“Drake, are you there?”

“Reading you loud and clear, Books,” he said. “TV is all a-buzz on you guys. The newsreel looks good--or rather, you four look good.”

Chuckling, Twila teased, “We four or someone in particular?”

Spike coughed a few times--unconvincingly--and replied, “I, uh, t-think that’s a loaded question. Moving on!”

“You’re right. What’s the status of Stetson and Bolt? Did they acquire the basket?”

“We’re a-OK for a picnic. Had a bit of a scare, but they pulled through.”

She let out a small noise of frustration. “Those two--how do they always find trouble so quickly?”

“I’d rather know how they always get out of the trouble they find--I’m never that lucky. Can’t even win a scratchers ticket,” Spike mused.

“I told you to stop wasting your all--” She stopped herself. “We’ll talk about that later, young man. Right now, I’m looking at a much bigger crowd than I expected. What’s the deal, Drake?”

“Hold on, I’ll flip to a different newschannel. This one is just talking about all the different big names in attendance, mostly focusing on you.”

“Quickly, Drake, please?” Twila said, a bit impatient. Most of her earlier nervousness had faded--at least in an active sense. It seemed that with the mission at hand, she was able to ignore it. But it still itched at the edge of her consciousness, like a fly in the summer.

“Channel nine has it--apparently Blueblood won’t open the doors yet. Hmm. Seems he might be doing it to stir the crowd up a bit, get them anxious now so they’re more impatient during the auction. So they’ll spend more.”

“Not his plan, clearly,” Twila said, pensive. “If he was that cunning, he’d not have gone broke in the first place.” She turned, searching for Pinkie and Rarity. She saw Pinkie, a smile on her face as she shook hands and even hugged every other person on her way up the steps. Waving until the baker saw her, she asked Chylene, “Do you see Rarity anywhere?”

“Um, she’s over there...” She pointed at the glamourous woman, soaking up the attention. “With all the flashing cameras...”

Sighing, Twila grumbled, “Why am I not surprised. Drake, can you tell Gems to stop being a diva for a moment and join us, please?”

“Roger,” he replied.

Rarity seemed disappointed and unwilling to leave the attentions of the reporters, but at last--after one particularly racy pose--she excused herself and joined Twila, Pinkie, and Chylene at the top of the steps. The manor was a bit unusual for a central Camelot residence in that it had been built slightly away from the main street. They were standing in the loose crowd probably about fifteen feet from the large, ornate double doors.

Sensing the general uneasiness of the crowd, Twila whispered to the others, “Maybe this wasn’t such a smart plan after all--if Blueblood pushes it too much, the crowd will just get insulted and leave.”

“I’m sure he’s simply preparing as ostentatious and self-absorbed an entrance as he possibly can,” replied Rarity harshly. She had never truly gotten over her embarrassment at seeking to marry the spoiled nobleman.

“Maybe there’s gonna be fireworks!” Pinkie exclaimed, bouncing up and down, anticipating the festivities. She couldn’t help but be excited. A party was a party, after all, even with Blueblood.

“Mmm,” Twila sounded, distracted. Though she was about average height for a Torani woman, this meant she was a few inches shorter than most men. She was trying to scan the crowd for faces she recognized, to little success.

“Oh my... I didn’t expect this many people,” Chylene mumbled, shying away from the crowd. The murmuring of a few hundred voices began to add up and her words were mostly lost to the noise.

“I know what you mean. I certainly hope the doors open soon,” Rarity said, looking at various people in the crowd herself. The taller woman had a slightly easier time with it. “I want to mingle, I want to dance!”

“You wanna dance? Well you can dance with me! We can show everyone our moves!” Pinkie hummed a tune to herself, swaying from side to side.

Still distracted, Twila asked, “What are you two talking about?”

“The ball, Twila. Surely you’ll dance? It would be good for you to find a nice young man. I’m sure there’s at least one or two here tonight.”

Twila shook her head, replying, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

“But it’s been forever since either of us have been to a gathering like this! We deserve to have fun while we can, don’t you think?” the tailor asked, eagerness shining in her eyes.

“What was that?” Twila asked. “It’s getting a bit loud.”

She raised her voice to speak over the crowd. “It’s been forever since I’ve visited a party of this calibre, and I want to have some fun before dealing with that creep, Blueblood.”

Opening her mouth to reply, Twila was interrupted by the sound of mic feedback. There was a trio of taps, drawing everyone’s attention to the balcony a floor above the doorway.

The man standing there was dressed in pristine whites, with some grey to offset changes from torso to legs, in a style that was a few seasons out of date, a clear example of his financial issues. He wore a long cape and a feathered cap, cocked to one side. It had been a short-lived phase based primarily in historical Torani nobleman garb. Rarity had refused to do any work while the style persisted.

Though his teeth were bared in a smile, it seemed dim--as if it only shown inwardly, rather than radiating to the crowd. He tapped the microphone in his hand again, saying, his voice smooth, but as a flat stone rather than comforting silk, “I do believe I’ve been summoned. Well, here I am. But who are you?”

It was an hour later when Dash and Jack finally came to the vault. They hid the van in an alleyway about a block off and climbed onto a roof. They stood at the edge--Jack reaching into her satchel once more and pulling out a pair of binoculars. She looked down at the streets, trailing her way along until she found their target.

It was a small metal warehouse, pressing against the hill, which had been cut flat, Blueblood’s mansion overlooked. There was a shutter and a door entrance, both were locked, Jack assumed. Cameras lined the three visible walls of the building, offering no real blind spots from street level. According to the schematics Spike had given them, the inside was much the same.

“Drake,” Jack quickly called up. “We’re sittin’ an’ lookin’ at the cameras on the outside. Ya got any more magic in those fingers yer willin’ ta show us, or I gotta do it the ol’ fashioned way?”

Spike let out a negative murmur, then replied, “I’ve been working on it for a few hours now--those cameras are tied into a private signal. Without blacking out the block, I’m powerless.” He chuckled a bit at his joke. “And even that probably won’t work, because the vault is sure to have its own generators.”

Jack lit up a cigarette. “Fair ‘nough. Reckon this’ll get me some target practice, at least. Thanks anyway.” She breathed out, handing her smoke to Dash. The athlete took a drag herself, then looked over the small attache case she had hauled up here.

She flicked it open, revealing the stock of a high powered rifle, along with a few other parts lined up in neat rows on top of soft foam. Handing Jack’s cigarette back, she began putting the gun together, screwing on a silencer to the barrel, clicking the stock to the body of the gun, and putting on the scope. A few more moments and she had pieced together a sniper rifle on a tripod. She handed the weapon over to Jack, who nodded and went prone, resting the gun’s legs on the concrete roof.

The farmer took aim. While she was a far better marksman with handguns--her being left handed and right eye dominant was a problem sometimes--Jack knew she could make the shot.

She fired off a round, the noise still loud despite the silencer. It connected with one of the cameras above the doorway, rupturing it. Sparks flew, briefly showering the area with light. Jack took three more shots, busting the other cameras that might have caught sight of their approach, then knocking out one of the solitary lights fighting against the darkness towards the top of the roof. Jack moved her head away from the gun.

“Let’s go, pal. They’re gonna notice that pretty damn quick,” she said, rising from her prone position and hoisting the gun along. Dash nodded, grabbing the empty case and walking with a faint limp towards the building’s fire escape.

They hauled ass to the warehouse, Isabelle whipping the van into reverse and parking by a shutter. The two quickly swarmed out of the vehicle and approached the door. Dash saw a keypad of a similar make and model as the one she encountered at the shipping depot. Without preamble, she plugged in her flash drive.

“Gonna need another batch of ICE cream, Drake,” Isabelle said.

“Only if you stop with the puns,” he replied flatly.

“What? I don’t get to make bad jokes? I think they’re pretty...chill.”

“I swear...” Spike mumbled under his breath. A few seconds later, they heard the click of a lock releasing. “Hmm. Door’s not opening. I think it’s blocked by something.”

“Deadbolt?” Jack guessed.

“Probably.” Dash frowned, adjusting her mask. “Think you can kick it down, thunder thighs?”

“Told ya not ta call me that,” Jack hissed. She looked over the door. It was a solid piece, metal and probably reinforced. The farmer winced. She could try, but man, if the latch holding the deadbolt didn’t break, this was gonna hurt like hell.

Just as she reared back her foot, she heard the sound of something clicking on the opposite side of the door. It opened, revealing a scrawny young man dressed in a worn brown workshirt. He stared intently at a clipboard, briefly glancing up. He froze on seeing Jack’s mask. The farmer didn’t waste time; she lunged forward and grabbed the man by his shirt, then swept her leg behind his and tripped him to the ground.

“Move an’ I shoot,” Jack snarled, holding her piece with one hand. He meekly held his arms up, cowering on his back.

“P-please,” he begged, staring through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “I-I got family.”

“We all do. What are ya doin’?” she asked, slightly lowering her gun.

“T-the cameras shut off. I wa...was j-just checking them. T-thought there might have been a sh-short in the wiring andI’mjustamechanicpleasedon’tkillme!” he begged, his words turning frantic.

“How many guards are further on inside?”

“I don’t know!” the man choked out. “Don’t shoot!”

“Think! How many guards?!” Jack shouted, pointing the gun hard at his face.

“A-at least fifteen!” he wailed. “Maybe more be-because of the a-auction.”

“Security systems,” Dash spat out while entering the linoleum-tiled room. She swept the area, gazing over a counter with a single, solitary computer monitor on top, along with a clipboard detailing movements of the dozens of artifacts in Blueblood’s possession. The lithe woman moved on, glancing past the counter on the right, where a set of windowed double doors led into a hallway that was devoured by darkness.

“What?!” he exclaimed, looking over towards Dash.

“You’re a tech guy. You’re going to disable the security systems for us.”

“I can’t!”

“Can’t or you won’t, motherfucker?!” Isabelle sharply questioned, stomping towards the feeble man.

“Can’tcan’tcan’t!” he quickly shot off. “Every security system is ran by a different guy. I’m just the camera man and repairs!”

“Then yer takin’ the camera’s offline. After that, yer gonna direct us to yer friends.”

“They’re not here. I-I’ll take the camera’s off, b-but I can’t do anything about the pressure plates or laser grids.”

Jack took a step back from the man, meeting Dash’s masked gaze. “Can ya do it from that computer over there?”

“Yeah! Y-yeah! I can! W-w-w-will--”

“Stop fuckin’ blubbering and get on with it!” Dash barked, holding her gun towards the man. She jerked it up. “Stand.”

He meekly rose, his shaking hands still above his head. They marched him to the terminal, where he started clicking away on a set.

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” Isabelle warned.

“N-no, I won’t.”

He opened up a few password protected folders, finally coming to an executable file. Opening it, he then punched in a rather unflattering username involving female genitalia, and a DOS based program loaded up. He ran a few commands, then nodded, swallowing heavily.

“A-alright. The c-c-camera’s are shut down.”

Dash turned to the man. “Guess you’ve outlived your usefulness now.”

“What?! But I--”

“But nothing. Your life is on a razor now. You’re going to go prone, and we’re going to tie you up. If you so much as squeak while we’re taking care of business, I’m personally coming out to shoot your motherfuckin’ thumbs off. We clear?”

He whimpered, nodding urgently. They quickly tied up his form and left him behind the counter, then hit the double doors. As they shut behind them, Jack offered a small glance Isabelle’s way.

“Did ya have ta be so rough with the guy?”

“We’re playing a part, bro. If the guy’s pissing himself, then that’s one less guy that’s not gonna risk sounding the alarm.” Dash cooly shrugged.

“I guess,” the farmer weakly concluded. “Either way, we need ta get a mosey on--someone might be waitin’ fer the fella ta report.”

Isabelle pulled out her second pistol and nodded. “Let’s move, Stetson. I got your back.”

“Know ya do, sugar,” Jack muttered under her breath. Together, they ran down the inky-black hallway.