“I am genuinely stunned that worked.” Jimmy said. He was beaming, taking in their surroundings. The room was lush, with thick cloth curtains draped from the ceiling around each booth for privacy. The bar itself was tucked away in a corner, manned by a single bartender who leaned across the shining hardwood with a bored look on his face. The majority of the space was dedicated to the various booths scattered around its outskirts and a simple dance floor in the center of the room, facing a stage.

  A somber jazz band crooned a song on stage while the room ignored them. Most of the people in the bar were sitting at tables, alone. There were a few eyes on Kurt and Jimmy as they entered, but even those quickly turned away in boredom. Both men had notification pings to attend to, but Kurt led Jimmy to the bar first, motioning with a downwards palm motion to keep a low profile.

  Once at the bar, they checked their new skills. Jimmy smiled at his. “That got me a new rank in Liar. Nicely done. Oh, Disguise too! Very cool. Not . . . you know . . . skills I use often, but still.”

  Kurt opened his display to take a look.

  Primary

  Planning Rank 1 (Interaction)

  “I love it when a plan comes together!” The A-Team - 1983-1987 & 2010

  Planning is critical to the success of most criminal endeavors. Increases NPC competence when involved in a plan by 1%. Decreases cost (if any) of resources required for any organized plan (determined by reputation; both player and faction).

  Secondary

  Disguise Rank 1 (Interaction)

  “Naked is the best disguise.” - Unknown.

  A well thought-out disguise can get you surprisingly far in criminal activities. Increases success rate of appropriate disguises by 1%. Reduces cost (if any) of disguise acquisition by 1%.

  “I sure am getting a lot of skills,” he said, as the bartender finally noticed them.

  Jimmy nodded, ordering his drink. “Whiskey sour, hold the fruit.” He turned back to Kurt. “Yeah, that’s how it is at first. You do any old thing and unlock rank one. You have to do a lot more for higher ranks, so the skill dumps will stop soon. Those specialist skills are a big deal to get, though.”

  The bartender glared at Kurt with annoyance. Ignoring him, Kurt scowled at the drink in front of Jimmy disbelievingly. “You can drink in this?”

  With a slurp and a satisfied smacking sound, Jimmy plonked his glass on the counter. “Hell, yeah. There’s all kinds of stuff like that — even hard drugs, if you really want. I’m told the effects are not exactly realistic, and they don’t last long, but you get stat exchanges and stuff. Some people have been using the game to help beat their addictions in real life, like prescription stuff or booze. It’s kinda cool.”

  “I thought we didn’t have stats?” Kurt browsed through a laminated menu.

  “Eh, kind of. It’s stuff like alcohol making you seem friendlier to NPCs while screwing up your aim. That sort of thing.” Jimmy enjoyed another swig of his drink, swirling the ice cubes.

  Finally looking back at the bartender, Kurt shook his head. “Uh . . . coffee?” This seemed to annoy the bartender even more, though he did set a white porcelain cup down in front of Kurt and fill it with steaming black liquid. Taking a sip, Kurt was pleasantly surprised to discover it was delicious; rich and dark with an abiding aroma. After he finished the small drink he felt a surge of energy pass down his spine and started fidgeting.

  “Oh, coffee is a good one. Hard to buy the stuff in real life anymore, but they base the flavor off actual coffee, not that Caff-Faux junk.” Jimmy threw back the rest of his drink and set it down with a clink of ice-cubes. “So. Where’s the jobs in this place?” This comment earned him a look of disgust from the barkeeper, though neither of them noticed.

  Kurt swiveled in his seat, looking out over the tables. After a moment, he nodded to himself. “Check it out. It looks like there’s a bunch of que— job . . . givers? Whatever, contacts. They all look pretty different, maybe that’s important?” Coming to a decision, he whapped Jimmy on the arm with the back of his hand and moved towards a table.

  A woman wearing an expensive-looking black dress was seated at the table, partially obscured by a curtain. She was engrossed in an old paperback with no cover, and barely looked up as the men sat at her table. Without waiting for them to speak, she reached down beside her chair, picked something up out of her bag, and then slid three small envelopes onto the tabletop in front of them. Each was made of different colored paper: one green, one red, and the final envelope was black.

  Without thinking, Kurt reached for the black envelope. As soon as he touched it, the woman removed the other two from the table, set a black telescoping tube in their place, and gave a sharp nod towards the door. Kurt took the tube and stood to leave, tipping an imaginary hat to the woman. She ignored him completely, turning further away in her seat. Kurt shrugged and moved back to the bar. Before he could even open his mouth, the bartender turned away from him and vigorously polished a glass. While Kurt scowled, Jimmy smacked him on the shoulder with the back of his hand, nodding towards the entrance. “Check it out.”

  Griff had walked in and was scanning the tables, looking closely at each face. Both Kurt and Jimmy reached for their firearms while turning away. “Is there a back way out of here?” The bartender turned around at Kurt’s question, but never got to answer. It was at that moment that Griff spotted them.

  “Hey, assholes!” Griff walked towards them as he pulled out his revolver and fired. Jimmy took a round in the stomach and grunted, trying to get his gun out of his pocket. Before either of them could retrieve their own guns, half a dozen NPCs stood and gunned down Griff. After the onslaught, they went back to their tasks as if nothing had happened, chatting amiably and sipping drinks.

  Kurt laughed appreciatively as Griff’s knees hit the floor, his revolver falling to dust before his body did the same. “Guess we know not to start fights in contact bars. C’mon, let’s get lost.” Jimmy picked at the hole in his suit jacket as it closed itself, threads reaching across the gap to reconnect. He didn’t seem to be in any pain.

  “Doesn’t it hurt to get shot?” Kurt questioned him as they left through the back door. He remembered his own close call with the taxi cab at his spawn point.

  Jimmy laughed. “Hell yeah, it does. For a couple seconds, anyway. Not as much for me anymore, though. It’s the kind of thing you get used to quickly and I have a lot of skills in that area. I get reduced damage and can take more bullets. I kinda get shot a lot.” He smirked to himself for a moment, shaking his head. “That sounds worse than it actually is, I swear.”

  With a snort of laughter, Kurt tore the top off the envelope, pouring the contents into his hand. It contained two small scraps of note paper and a single polaroid photograph. The photograph showed a painting, the details of which were too small to really make out. It looked to Kurt like an ancient battle scene, with many men riding horses towards each other in a desert. On the first scrap of paper was an address with an attached office number. On the second was another address with the word ‘delivery’ scribbled beneath it.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Looking over his shoulder, Jimmy snorted. “Nice. What are we supposed to do with that?”

  Kurt pointed at the picture. “I think it’s an art heist.”

  Jimmy blinked at the realization. “Not . . . uhhh . . . not what I usually do, but sure?”

  Kurt smiled. He slipped the items back in the envelope and pocketed it. “You’ve been playing solo too long, man. Let’s go find out.” They stepped out of the stinking alleyway and Kurt looked up and down the street. “Get us a ride?”

  “Oh, right. I’ll call for it.” He swiped at his wrist.

  Scanning the various vehicles moving by on the street, Kurt spoke over his shoulder. “Do you have anything more subdued? We probably need to be sneaky on this job. Or at least, you know . . . not orange.”

  Still messing with his phone, Jimmy waved his friend off, before moving into the alley and speaking. “Yeah, it’s me. Bring the car around, would you?” He paused for a moment. “No, the . . . what is it? The black one. How many black cars do I have? Okay, fine. No, shut up. Okay, yes. The black sedan is fine, just bring it here.” He turned away, exasperated.

  Kurt chuckled from his place on the curb. “So what kind of car are we getting?”

  “Shut up, dude, I have no idea.” Jimmy pursed his lips. “Probably a black sedan of some sort.” He stopped and glared at Kurt for a moment. “What is wrong with orange, exactly?”

  “Nobody else is orange Jimmy, we shouldn’t be orange.” Kurt shrugged, scanning the flowing traffic around them.

  Jimmy waited, staring at the road with visible effort and intent. “There. That one, right there!” He pointed. “People have orange cars, dude.”

  “Literally the first one I’ve seen since we got here, but sure, good point.” Kurt looked over his shoulder. “You’ve always kinda sucked at blending in, man.”

  When the car arrived, a young man wearing sports attire and a bright orange headband got out of the driver’s seat and tossed a key fob to Jimmy before jogging off down the road. The car was a black hearse with a bright white cross painted on the back window. Kurt laughed as Jimmy swiped at his wrist furiously, muttering obscenities.

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll get us a ride. Saw this in a movie.” Kurt stepped out into the street and raised his handgun, pointing it at a nearby driver. The NPC had been moving at a crawl in traffic, and when Kurt threatened him, he simply dove out of the car and ran away. Kurt shrugged. “That was easy.”

  They got in the car. “Yeah, big guy,” Jimmy said. “They have a handful of responses to being jacked. Just wait until one of them runs you down for trying that.”

  The car was a simple, light grey, four-door sedan, and carried a name that Kurt recognized from his enjoyment of older movies: a Toyota Camry. While it didn’t have the speed of Jimmy’s lowrider, it was much easier to drive and felt more responsive to Kurt. He swiped up his map, glancing between the windshield and his wrist as he input the address and was given a waypoint. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the map up onto the windshield and then swiped it down to a corner. Frowning, Kurt tapped at the corner to expand the map again. It was covered in swatches of color that bordered on each other. Most of the areas with a colored overview were large, but the odd occasional one was small. “Why is the map all different colors?”

  Jimmy popped the seat control, flopping backwards with a comfortable sigh. “That’s just turf. Don’t worry about it yet.”

  Kurt scowled, turning to glare at Jimmy. “Tell me when I’m older?”

  His friend chuckled. “Alright, alright. Turf is for factions. You can basically just claim it, and as long as nobody confronts you about it, it’s yours to operate in and do whatever you like. It’s not like you can’t go in somebody else’s turf, so it’s really not a big deal until you need to start washing big amounts of cash or running regular heists.” Jimmy paused, leaning up to look out the window. “Hell, you can even own a safehouse in somebody else’s turf. But yeah, you won’t need turf until you have a faction. The main benefit of it is cash washing. Once you claim turf, you can set up fronts in it for free and they’ll slowly wash your dirty cash to clean, which is kind of important. You need clean cash for most big buys, like safehouses or good guns.”

  Jimmy was cut off by the GPS pinging their arrival, and Kurt pulled up in front of the address they had been given. They had driven into the heart of the Downtown Cluster, into a grouping of skyscrapers and business complexes. The target building imposingly took up an entire block. Kurt peered up through the windshield at the tall cylinder of a building. He counted roughly forty floors before giving up and sitting back in his seat.

  Jimmy tapped his knuckles on the glass. “So what now?”

  Kurt slipped the car back into drive and pulled away from the curb while staring out the window at the building. “Let’s circle. I probably need a plan.”

  Pulling his SMG from inside his jacket, Jimmy extended the magazine and flicked the safety off. Seeing Kurt’s sharp look, he waved a hand dismissively at his friend’s concern. “Not gonna lie, I’m really hoping we get into a fight. Also, I’m starting to get a bad feeling about the colors on those envelopes.” He looked out the window, his eyes narrowing. “Pretty sure you shoulda picked green. Mmm, no, red. Red is probably fun.”

  Ignoring Jimmy, Kurt slowly drove into the building’s underground parking lot. As he cruised around the mostly empty lot, he noticed an employee section and drove past it while peering out the window. A simple chain-link fence separated the employee entrance from the rest of the parking lot, and an open door beyond the fence showed a staff room with lockers and cleaning equipment.

  Kurt pointed. “That’s our way in. We get through the fence and take some cleaner or maintenance outfits, then make our way upstairs. Looks like the office we need is near the top floor. Says 41a on the note. Figure that means forty-first floor?” He shrugged, as did Jimmy.

  “Yeah, could work. We need to go hit a pawn shop first, though. Get some stuff for this,” Jimmy said. He swiped through his phone before tossing a waypoint up on the screen.

  Kurt nodded and drove away, following the new way point to a run-down looking shop a few blocks away. Parking the car out front, he took in the storefront with a frown. The windows were protected by thick metal bars across the outside, in a formation so tight a brick wouldn’t get through, let alone an optimistic burglar. Various items were clumped haphazardly in the windows, mostly musical instruments in poor condition. The doorway was sunk into the building’s front and had a metal gate that could come down to block the way in or out as needed. Kurt had never seen such a fortified building.

  Not missing a beat, Jimmy walked up and swung the door wide, to the sound of a bell jingling. Kurt followed him inside.

  Behind the counter, against the wall, slumped a very unhappy-looking old man with stark white hair and a stubbly beard. He glared with open hostility at each of them and said nothing.

  “So, what is this place?” Kurt picked through some faded camouflage jackets while Jimmy went up to the counter.

  “Gun mods. See what’s unlocked for you.” He leaned over the glass, staring at what appeared to be nothing. Kurt approached and looked down. The glass case was mostly empty, containing only a magazine and a suppressor.

  Jimmy kept browsing the case beside him, looking at nothing and occasionally swiping at his wrist. After a moment of this, Kurt nudged him. “What are you looking at? This case is pretty much empty.”

  His friend smiled. “It’s different for me. I have way more weapon skills, and I have rep with this guy.” He waved casually at the store owner, who raised a middle finger back, a comfortable scowl on his face. “He’s in every basic pawn shop in the city. Never gets friendlier, either. Anyway, I have more unlocks than you. You probably have the suppressor and first rank of the extended magazine, right?” Kurt nodded, wondering what was so interesting in the case for Jimmy.

  After wandering the aisles shopping, they paid out roughly one thousand dollars to purchase their shopping list. Kurt bought the suppressor for his handgun. They also picked up a set of bolt cutters and some zip ties. Kurt looked to Jimmy to help pay, but the broad-shouldered man chuckled with a shrug.

  “Uh, yeah, not so much dude. I never carry cash on me, and I just sold out my clean money yesterday, so I’m broke.” Jimmy smiled. “Besides, this is your op. I’m just here to shoot stuff when it all goes to hell.” He looked away, his knowing smile firmly in place. “Which, it will.”

  “Those are easily the most expensive bolt cutters on the planet,” Kurt groused as he drove.

  Jimmy lifted them and clicked them together a couple of times. “Yep. That’s how it is, though. You can buy historically accurate battleships if you want. Like an actual ship of war with missile launchers and huge guns and stuff. It’s expensive, sure, but not as difficult to acquire as they actually were in this time period. Cruise missiles, though? Woof, super expensive, when you can even get ‘em. Loads of hoops to jump through for those. The game scales prices on stuff as part of its balance.”

  Frowning, Kurt drove down into the underground parking lot of their target building once more, backing the car into a parking space near the chain-link fence, blocking off the employee area. “So what? If something is useful, it’s expensive?”

  Opening his door and getting out, Jimmy laughed. “More or less, yeah. They make you earn all the best stuff. So let’s go rob this place!”