It was just after lunch, two days after they had made their final decisions, when Ichabod, Rorshin, and Contort left their safehouse and clambered into a taxi. All three of them were clad in black trenchcoats, Contort wearing a biker's helmet, Ichabod wearing a silver jester's mask that covered his entire face, and Rorshin stuffing his beard in a ski-mask. They were quiet on their way, the world rumbling overhead, their journey marked by shadow intermixed with myriad lights, false dawns that blazed pinks and greens and blues.

They took the taxi past the gate, once more swiping a credstick to get into the business district. It was a cloudy day, but not a rainy one. That boded ill, in Ichabod's mind. Heists were always done best in the rain, both to conceal the runner as they disappeared into the night, and for good luck.

But there was no rain above. Not even the rumble of thunder. An oddity, in this part of Neos.

They stepped out of the taxi near one of the smaller office buildings, still a skyscraper in its own right, but a dwarf compared to the others. The Tower of Eden loomed tall a mere block away, tree-like and godly, it seemed to stare at Ichabod as Rorshin and Contort started making their way down the street.

For a moment, Ichabod continued to stare.

Then, he stepped away, following after his guildmates.

***

They set up shop on the mid-level of New Shan. In the business district, the bars up here advertised themselves as higher class, more professional in their services. The music was a mix of classical pieces, though Neos had never known a period of woodwinds and orchestras, instead importing them from Doremi. They sat down at a bar overlooking the Tower, making sure to remain inconspicuous. After ordering their drinks (to calm the nerves), Rorshin whispered a few words of power, plucking a feather from his beard and crushing it in one weathered hand. An illusion spell, plucked from an owl, to better camouflage them, put them beneath others' notice.

Music continued to play through the tinny speakers of the bar. Contort smiled.

“Got to admit, at least G won't have to listen to this shit,” he said.

“And we won't have to listen to her snark about it all day,” Ichabod added, smirking.

“Right,” Contort said. He rolled his shoulders for a moment.

It was only one in the afternoon. G-Wiz and Becenti's meeting with Agrippa was not until seven. Yet it was either waiting at the safehouse, or waiting here. Here, at least, allowed them to physically watch the Tower for any sign of danger, for any sign of change.

“Look,” Contort said, “See, there?”

He pointed vaguely. Ichabod took off his sunglasses, glass eyes squinting.

“I dunno if you can see them or not,” Contort said, “But there are a couple of ravens wheeling around.”

“Macabre's power,” Ichabod said, “Well, not unexpected.”

He glanced to Rorshin.

“How's the spellwork coming?” he asked.

“Well enough,” Rorshin said, “I am identifying to see what defenses Charnak has erected.”

He was merely staring at the Tower. Ichabod supposed that was enough. He was not a witchman.

***

“I look ridiculous,” G-Wiz said.

“You look fine, Galatea,” Becenti said.

Of course, he was wearing one of his custom-made suits. Myron Becenti was either wearing a white, stained A-Shirt, or a three piece. Nothing in between. G-Wiz had seen his closet exactly once, and, after being disappointed at a distinct lack of actual skeletons in there, found that he was nothing but business professional. As such, he looked comfortable in his suit, adjusting one of his cuff-links, which was in the shape of a stylized man holding a flute in his hands.

He stood in stark contrast to G-Wiz, whom they had quickly cobbled together a suit from the various shops around the city. It was uncomfortable. Restricting. The jacket felt too large on her, like she had stolen her dad's work clothes. She felt her dress pants whine as she stretched.

“I don't like it,” she said.

“It's only for a few hours,” Becenti replied, “Just enough time for us to get in, talk to Agrippa, get out.”

“I don't like that we're not taking my zumbelaphone,” she said.

“You know the rules with these people,” Becenti said, “No weapons. No sudden movements. I don't suspect there will be much danger.”

“And if there is?” G-Wiz asked.

“Well, I've seen you give people a run for their money with and without your keytar,” Becenti said, “It will be rough, but we've been in rougher patches before.”

It was so obviously a lie, by the way that Becenti's smile seemed plastered on. It was disturbing to see him without his usual bitter stoicism.

“It's going to be that bad if we mess up, huh,” she said.

The smile dropped.

“Agrippa's a dangerous man,” he said, “If we mess up, stay behind me. I'll protect you. And you leave me behind, if it comes to it.”

“No,” G-Wiz said, “If we go down, we're going down together.”

Becenti didn't respond to that, instead looking out the window for a moment. He produced a small wooden cube - the spell that Rorshin had given him, one half of the magic required for their part of the heist. He popped it into his mouth, swallowing it whole.

“Well,” he said, “It's only if it comes down to it. We talk smooth, we talk business. We're just there for one thing, and one thing only.

“Agrippa's voice.”

***

Vicenorn was there with them as they sat down in the taxi. They had made a few modifications to the entire affair, putting in a table for the back seat so that Vicenorn could set up an array of computers and monitors. He sat there, looking a bit uncomfortable, as the taxi rumbled through the city. He had spent the last day or so hacking into it, overtaking its usual mechanisms and automatic driving programs and replacing it with his own. It wasn't pretty work. He would have liked more time for it. But Charnak, Rorshin stated, was close to finding them. It was now or never.

He took a deep breath as he analyzed one of the Spiders. It was already connected to the security system, drilling into it. All five monitors showed cameras in the Tower. Agrippa was certainly a paranoid bastard, with cameras practically down every hall, above every door. He would need to be careful, when the time came.

“Right,” Becenti said, “Remember, Oris. Drive around the place. Try not to look conspicuous.”

“I know, Myron,” Vicenorn said, “You be careful, too. Don't let Agrippa run 'round you, now.”

“If his father couldn't, he won't be able to,” Becenti said, “But nonetheless, I will be cautious.”

They went through the gates. Becenti's hand shook slightly. G-Wiz was breathing deeper, trying to calm her nerves. The car rumbled slow, endlessly slow, as it meandered down the street and through traffic.

Finally, it arrived at the entrance, once more, to the Tower of Eden. Becenti and G-Wiz stepped out. It was a rainless evening, though nonetheless they took their umbrellas, G-Wiz holding hers close to her chest as though it were her keytar.

Without a word, the two of them walked up the steps to the entrance. After a few moments, Vicenorn drove off, letting the taxi go on auto-drive as he looked through the cameras of the Tower. There they were, now, walking into the garden in the lobby. Once more, the attendant approached them. Once more, she guided them towards the elevator.

***

“A problem,” Rorshin said.

Contort and Ichabod looked over at him. Rorshin's teeth were clenched, his fingers twirling and writhing like the legs of a dying spider.

“What is it?” Ichabod said, “Did they find them out?”

“No, not yet,” Rorshin said, “I don't believe so, anyways. Not through magic. No, I've finished analyzing the spellwork that Charnak's put on this Tower. Becenti must have activated something. Or Galatea. Probably her, considering-”

“So what's up with it?” Ichabod asked.

“A general magical detection spell just billowed through the Tower,” Rorshin said, “If we go in as planned, from the bottom floor and beelining towards the elevator, we will be caught. If I use spellwork, anyways.”

“And that place is locked up tight,” Ichabod said, “Never mind the security cameras, there's ravens there. Security teams, too. Random employees getting off of work, or just walking in for a night shift.”

He grimaced.

“We need that magic,” he said.

An uncomfortable silence settled on them. Contort awkwardly sipped his drink. Rorshin was rapping his fingers against the table. His eyes kept glancing over to the Tower, just as much as Ichabod's. The cybernetic man was taking a deep breath, rubbing his forehead.

“Call it off?” Contort asked.

Ichabod ignored him. He downed the last of his drink with an ugly sneer. Adjusted his sunglasses. He could imagine Becenti and G-Wiz going to meet Agrippa, making the motions of signing a deal with him. Perhaps hinting towards the game they were playing here by complete accident, Agrippa listening to them, picking apart their reasonings and drawing his own conclusions.

“...How much of the place is covered by the spell?” he asked.

Rorshin glanced back over at the Tower, his eyes eyeing it up and down.

“The first fifty floors, I would say.”

“Is it weaker at the top?”

“I would suppose so, yes.”

“...And you have your teleport spell, yes?”

Rorshin nodded.

“I do,” he said.

“...Get us to the top floors,” Ichabod said, “We'll go from there.”

“What, no plan?” Contort asked, “No idea of where we're going to wind up?”

“We'll discuss it when we get inside,” Ichabod said. He clicked on his communicator.

“Wait, why there?” Contort asked, “Why-”

Rorshin tugged at a sleeve, pointing. There were ravens in the sky, though they were getting close to the bar. One of them was poking around just outside the entrance, hopping by the glass door, beady eyes glancing this way and that.

“Spellwork won't hold forever,” the druid said, “Especially to animals. Best we hide in the bathroom.”

They got up as one, and headed towards the restrooms. There was already an occupant in there, slouched against one of the urinals, which reeked of vomit, a spilled glass of blue vodka in a limp hand.

Ichabod, after a moment, locked the restroom door. He put a hand to his wrist.

“A Team, to C Team,” he said.

A few heartbeats passed before Vicenorn spoke up.

“C Team to A Team, over.”

“C Team, spell's in most of the place,” Ichabod said, “We're going higher up.”

Another pause on the line. Ichabod grimaced as he heard Vicenorn sigh.

“How high up?” he asked.

Ichabod looked at Rorshin.

“Floor fifty-seven,” the druid said.

“C Team, starting at fifty-seventh. Going down.”

“...Alright,” Vicenorn replied. Then, after a few moments, “You're good. Place is secure.”

Ichabod looked at Rorshin. Rorshin nodded.

“In five,” the druid said, “Five...”

Contort stretched.

“Four.”

Ichabod's fingers flexed for a moment. He took a deep breath.

“Three.”

Rorshin was counting down, his eyes closed and rolled to the back of his head as he willed what little nature there was in the area into himself.

“Two.”

The drunk man at the urinal let out a dazed cough.

“One.”

For just a moment, the wind picked up. The thunder roiled across the surface of the cloud layer. The ravens, for a split second that stretched an eternity, forgot of Macabre's existence, forgot of the sapient forces that had bent this plane into one of steel and greed. The world breathed a green sigh.

For just a moment.

And then, the three of them were gone. The drunk was alone in the restroom once more.

***

The elevator that took them up to Agrippa was quiet. The attendant had her fake smile plastered on her face, staring at the both of them, her eyes only able to be described as vacant. Becenti considered her for a few moments, his mouth lined in his usual frown. G-Wiz was scratching at her hand, her fingernail digging at the skin of her palm. Her heart hammered as the elevator went higher and higher, a subtle shift in her stomach the only sign of their ascent.

It was like teleportation, with transportation like these. She remembered the first time she had heard of an elevator. On Doremi, all towers had staircases, and a note played on each step, a light piano that had set G-Wiz on edge as a child. Partially why she eschewed towers entirely and became an Electron.

Partially why she left her home entirely, and joined the Amber Foundation.

The attendant continued to smile at them. Continued to stare at them with those dull eyes, as though she had lost her soul somewhere long ago, or it had been replaced with an artificial facsimile. The thought disturbed G-Wiz, and she pushed it out of her head.

There was enough to be disturbed about right now.

Finally, after what felt like hours, an eternity, the elevator slowed down. Dinged. Opened up to reveal a dark hallway, which the attendant guided them through to Agrippa's office. She opened up the door to the man’s lair. G-Wiz had never been, walking into a dark umber room with light, filtered through water, rippling on the floor. Statues flanked the four corners.

The hair on the back of G-Wiz's neck stood on edge. Every cell in her body told her, screamed at her, begged her, to GET OUT. For a half second, she forgot the etiquette of society, some primal part of her brain taking over, and she made to turn around.

Becenti steadied her with a firm hand on her shoulder, a firmer shake of the head. G-Wiz relaxed.

“Myron Becenti,” an oily voice came from the desk at the end of the room, “Welcome back to my garden.”

Julius Agrippa was half-shrouded in shadow. Becenti had told her what to expect, but she still felt an odd sense of revulsion at the sight of the man. He was wearing a dark red suit today, his hair hanging on either side of his head in blond sheets. His eyes were sunken, as though he had not slept in a very long time. One long, thin hand, like a milk-colored stick bug, traced lazily on the desk.

Hanging above him was the G'Rash Haro. Raptor-like, it floated of its own accord over Agrippa, its lion's head staring at them. The eyes, they weren't cat-like. They were...

Almost like a serpent's. Unblinking. Uncaring. Ice made flesh.

“Agrippa,” Becenti said, “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

“Anything for a guild such as yours,” Agrippa gestured, “Sit, please. Would you like anything to drink?”

“Water, thank you,” Becenti said.

Agrippa's filmy eyes slid to G-Wiz. She felt a shiver run up her spine as he stared at her.

For the first time, something glinted within him.

“Just water,” she said.

“Very well,” Agrippa said, “Excuse me if I indulge myself.”

He clicked a button on his desk, leaning in.

“Abigail? Water for our guests. A bourbon for myself, if you please.”

The eyes shifted back to Becenti.

“Mr. Becenti,” Agrippa said, “If I knew you were bringing such a pretty young thing, I would have dressed up a bit more professionally.”

“This is G-Wiz,” Becenti said, “My guildmate.”

“'Sup,” G-Wiz said, trying to put on a strong front.

“The pleasure is mine,” Agrippa said, and he looked her up and down, “All mine...”

A low hiss rumbled from the G'Rash Haro. Agrippa shook himself, as though out of a stupor, turning his attention back to Becenti.

“Yes, to business, then,” he said, “Like I said, the deal is simple enough. You begin storing your records, your guild archives, on Neos. Within this very Tower.”

“And what do we get in exchange?” Becenti asked.

“Safety,” Agrippa said, “As I told you before, we intentionally put ourselves in as the name of the client when we submit your records to the High Federation on your behalf. This makes any clientele anonymous. It also means you can accept... well, any sort of job, without repercussions.”

“I see,” Becenti said.

“Many guilds use us,” Agrippa said, “The Weatherfolk, for one. The White Feathers. The Exodus Walkers.”

“That's all a bird's eye view of your company's setup,” Becenti said. He leaned in, “But I want to get into the nitty-gritty.”

“You?” Agrippa asked.

“...Well, not me,” Becenti replied, “But we've been in contact with our guildmaster.”

“Wakeling.”

“Precisely. She wants more details,” Becenti said.

“More details?” Agrippa said, “Odd, all things considered. I was under the impression you had come here on her behalf to finalize a deal with my organization. That you were her voice, both crystal and clear.”

Becenti nodded at that.

“I am her voice, yes,” Becenti said, “As am I her right hand. If what you say to me is agreeable, I am prepared to sign a contract with you. I have the authority. But I am not a simple man, Agrippa. I want to know every detail, every dotted I, every crossed T.”

G-Wiz, despite herself, felt impressed by Becenti. They needed to delay Agrippa as long as possible, get as much of his voice as they could. By delaying him, by making him drone on, they were achieving just that.

Becenti was good.

Agrippa gave the old man a whimpering smile.

“Very well,” he said, “The details, then. The guts and soul of what we here at OzTech do. From the top, then.”

He leaned in.

“Shall we get started?”

***

There was silence. Far below, Vicenorn was clicking buttons on the computer, on his arm, his mind rushing as he turned the cameras around the fifty-seventh floor off, replacing them on the security screens with recordings from earlier in the day. Anything to not immediately tip off the Tower's defenses that the team had gotten inside. He was biting the inside of his cheek as he worked, sweat beading his brow. His artificial heart was hammering like a mallet to an anvil. He clicked on one of the cameras. It showed nothing – all of the office workers had gone home a couple hours before. No one was pulling a late-nighter, so far. He sighed.

The Spiders had worked.

***

The spell did not go off with a flash of light. There was little, if any sound, and only then the subtle sounds of brushing leaves, the undergrowth shifting ever so slightly. One moment there was nothing, the next they were, as though a predator who had been camouflaging revealed itself from seemingly nowhere.

There was none of the pomp of the Tower here. None of the gardens, the false natural world that Agrippa had set up in the lobby. Cubicles lined them on either side, with computer monitors at each desk. Each was decorated with posters, photos of family, a couple of figurines. OzTech's mundane side, the red blood cells of the corporation, the busywork that kept it alive, the online spreadsheets and accountings and calls to the various departments.

Ichabod kept low to the ground, gesturing for the others to do the same. All three of them sneaked through a line of cubicles. Ichabod held up a hand as they got to the end of the row. He stuck his head out, looked left. Looked right.

Nodded. He guided them, a three-man snake, to the end of the room. A couple doors were there. One read 'Conference Room 45-C. The other simply read 'Janitor.'

Ichabod chose the former. He took a deep breath.

Then made a break for the door. As though it were difficult, but his heart was pounding nonetheless. He opened the door up, sneaking inside. He heard the other two pile in after him. Ichabod caught his wits, easing the door shut, making sure to keep the knob turned as he did so. Like a surgeon, he produced the Cutter from his left arm, cycling through its implements before settling for a long, thin wire that he inserted into the lock.

With a red blip of light, the door locked itself up.

“Make sure the blinds are still up,” he said.

Contort nodded. He crossed over to the table, looking it over for a moment before clicking a button on its surface. The room dimmed, just a bit.

“Good,” Ichabod said, “Most of the places should be closed up anyways. Only a few office workers here. A few janitors, though cleaning bots do most of the work nowadays.”

“No one to listen in, then,” Contort said.

“Precisely,” Ichabod replied. He took another deep breath, steadying his nerves, “Right. Wanted to have us be together for a second to go over our next steps.”

“We find the nearest elevator, and go down,” Rorshin said, “Do not over-complicate the simple.”

“If I could go for the simple, I would have,” Ichabod said, “But it's not, hence why we're in a conference room.”

He turned on the hologram of the Tower's schematics, hovering it an inch over the glass table.

“This is us, here,” he said, and as he pointed a blip of light appeared in the Tower's middle, “Not exactly what I had in mind. But we can make it work.”

“The nearest elevator is...?”

“Not here,” Ichabod said, “We can't take an elevator here. The only elevators that reach into the lower levels are on the ground level, or close to it. They start on floor twenty.”

“Geez,” Contort said, “So we take an elevator to the twentieth floor, and then we make our way down.”

“Not an option, either,” Ichabod said, “Remember, there are still a few people here. A couple of security drones, as well, that use the elevators to go up and down. Even using the one to get to the bottom level is risky enough.”

“And you can't hack it?” Contort asked.

“That's what I'm going to do when we get to the right elevator,” Ichabod said, “But there are a couple of problems. The first is that doing the prep work takes time, almost half an hour. That's half an hour where I have to be in one place. We'll need to be mobile for most of this, to avoid any security patrols. And they do pass the elevators in that time.”

“What's the other reason?” Contort asked.

“The system here is self-learning,” Ichabod said, “Once it realizes there's a hole, it'll patch it up. I won't be able to hack into the elevators a second time. Or rather, I would be able to, but it would take me longer, and I would be a sitting duck, and-”

“Alright, I get it,” Contort said, “So we, what, go down the stairs?”

“Precisely,” Ichabod said, “It will take longer, but we'll be mobile. I've memorized most of the security drone's movements about the place.”

He tapped his head.

“More than just gray matter up here. We should be able to sneak past them. Avoid them. Do everything in our power to not be caught. We can't hide from them. I know that.”

A second deep breath. His hands fell to the table as he steadied himself.

“God willing, I know that.”

***

Contort was the first of them to check, opening the door ever so slightly, looking this way and that. No one around.

“Alright,” he said, “Let's do this.”

They moved out as a unit, rushing down the hall. Taking a left. A right. Ending at a door that led to the stairwells. Peering down, they could see that the stairwell went all the way down to the first floor, a vertical, rectangular tunnel that made their heads spin staring down at it.

“Careful, now,” Ichabod said, “We go down the first few flights. On the forty-ninth floor, we go inside the door. Avoid the security team making its sweep. Go.”

They tried to keep quiet as they went, but none of them could deny the sounds of their footsteps against the faux-stone of the staircase. They felt, after going down the stairs, the temperature rise up, the damp coolness of the Tower replaced with something warmer and drier.

“The spellwork of Charnak,” Rorshin whispered.

“How far does it go?” Ichabod asked.

“Down to the Tower's base,” Rorshin said, peering down for a moment. Ichabod resisted the urge to shove him over the railing, “A few floors below that.”

“But not to the data storage room proper,” Ichabod said.

“No, not there.”

“Good,” Ichabod said.

On the forty-ninth floor, Ichabod turned to the door. He unlatched it for a second, taking a deep breath, and opened it up. There was another line of cubicles, the same mundane backbone of empire. They took a few steps in, keeping quiet-

And froze as an office worker rose from one of the cubicles. He yawned, rubbing his eyes and checking his watch for the time. The three of them stole away into the row next to him, waiting. The man walked over and removed his computer from his desk, putting it into a bag, whistling all the while. After a moment, he stepped away, moving towards the stairwell. He opened the door.

“Whoops,” he said, “Pardon.”

“At ease, employee,” a metallic voice rang.

Ichabod's blood went cold. A security drone churned into the room, a deep hum emanating through the room, a floating black ball with a single red, glowing light in the center. Ichabod knew that, below that red eye, there were two perfectly round holes, from which it would launch plasma darts at would-be assailants. It was designed to kill, a war machine dressed up as office security.

It went past the desks where they were hiding.

Stopped. Turned around.

Ichabod signaled at them. He was pulling out his pistol, his face tightened up.

Contort went to the back of the row right as the drone came upon their line of cubicles. There was only a slight crack between the cubicle and the wall, which he squeezed himself into, shimmying into the next row.

The drone continued prodding forward into Ichabod and Rorshin's row. Ichabod took a deep breath...

Contort went down his row until he was behind the drone. With a shocking speed, he leaped at it, landing on top of it, eye facing the ground.

Ichabod went to work, rushing towards it, his left arm erupting into a series of tools that began peeling away the drone's top, connecting wires in his arm with the drone's.

One heartbeat.

The drone continued to struggle like a drowning man.

Two heartbeats.

The drone stopped thrashing.

Three heartbeats.

The red light went out.

“There,” Ichabod whispered, “Let out a dummy signal to the others, so they won't come over.”

“Sheesh,” Contort said, “Will it work?”

“For now,” Ichabod said, “But they're going to realize that one of the drones is offline. That it didn't let out a signal that it was under attack. They're going to want to look into it, and realize someone brought it down.”

Contort nodded, leaning back against an office chair, steadying himself.

“We need to be more careful,” he said.

“I thought you had memorized the drones here,” Rorshin said, “Their patterns. Their movements.”

“I did,” Ichabod hissed, “I did. The office worker, it must have prompted the drone to do a sweep of the place. To check to see if there was anyone else in the room.”

“Are you sure?” Rorshin asked.

“I...” Ichabod stammered, “I don't know. Either the info's out of date, or the drones are more autonomous than I realized. One of the two.”

“Hmm,” Rorshin said.

“We should be lucky, at least,” Ichabod said, “Drones like these usually set off SOS signals as soon as they realize they're down. But we were fast enough to stop it before it could send it out. But we can't let luck run this job.”

He re-holstered his pistol. His arm collapsed back into its usual, realistic sheen.

“We'll need to be more careful.”