By Donovan Bertch
Originally Published in Unfading Daydream Vol. 3 #2
There are many ways one might spend a night out on the town. They could go to a bar, schmoozing and dining with the locals. They could see a movie, the latest blockbuster or some pretentious arthouse film. They could even just take in the evening ambiance, with a lovely walk around the town.
Of course, that’s how most normal people would be spending their night.
“Ugh. This sucks,” she muttered, trying to ignore how her shoes seemed to slide around on her feet. “‘Just order online,’ you said. ‘‘The off-brands look close enough and they’re half the price. What’s that? Only available in 8 ½? That’s fine, what’s another half anyway?’” She sighed, nervously plucking the band of her mask. “Good going, past me.” She glanced around. The eye holes she’d haphazardly cut out weren't going to win her any design awards, but they were good enough. Hopefully they’d be too busy looking at the grin to notice. She could tell that there was one guard on each side of the alleyway. A security camera loomed ominously overhead, rotating back and forth.
She adjusted her top hat, making sure it would stay put for at least the next few minutes. She adjusted a small backpack, hidden neatly underneath her suit jacket. She tugged at her black cape, making sure that it was as loose as possible-god only knew she wouldn’t want it to get caught in something. She brushed some dirt off of her slacks, making sure they were as pristine as possible.
She had to look her best in the end.
It was showtime, after all.
She took a deep breath.
The Thief of the Unknown, Phantom X, made her move.
---
Noire watched as the figure on-screen dispatched of the guards, handily disarming them in a flurry of movement. Something flew at the camera moments later. Noire could barely make the object out as some kind of card before the feed went dark. “I don’t believe it.” Noire rolled her eyes, mouthing along as the man behind her continued. “She actually took the bait. How the Devil did you know she would?”
The detective sighed. “Because it’s my job to know what she does.” Noire stood up, turning to face the man behind her. “It’s almost like I’ve been chasing X down for five years or something, Director.” Her voice grew in mock incredulity with every word. “It’s almost like that’s why you hired me.”
“...fair point,” Director Abrams conceded. His faded beige sportcoat seemed to ruffle as he crossed his arms. “All the same, you can’t blame me for being awed at your work. I know if I were a crook, even this ‘X’ fellow, I’d be suspicious if we only had two guards on staff.”
“See, that’s why you’re in...whatever you call this-”
Abrams bristled. “Curating, Detective Noire.”
“-yes, that, instead of in the world of thievery.” Noire brushed past Abrams, heading toward the security room’s open door. She leaned on the frame, holding her hand up to the flickering lights above. In it was a small card bearing a large X, adorned with a stylized top hat. “You have to think outside the box. X definitely does.”
The card had a surprisingly simple design, Abrams noted. He didn’t have much time to really appreciate it before (as best he could use the word “appreciate”) when the card sent the board of the Clausburg Historical and Cultural Society into a frenzy. The panic wasn’t unwarranted-the Phantom Thief X always got her prize in the end, and considering her current target was the newest crown jewel in the Society’s collection…
“...you can forgive a man his curiosity.”
“It’s simple.” The detective twirled the card between her fingers. “X doesn’t do anything if there’s not an element of chance to it. Most thieves just want what has the lowest opportunity cost for maximum profit. X is all about the experience. It’s a 50/50 split when it comes to something like this, for her-either this is the easiest mark she ever takes…” The card slid down Noire’s hand, into her coat sleeve. “...or the single most difficult. That’s what makes her targets so hard to pin down. They could be anything.”
Abrams put a hand to his chin. “You certainly know a lot about this villain-no doubt from your history with her,” he added quickly, with a nervous chuckle. “I find it hard to believe you’ve never even come close to catching the crook for good.”
Noire couldn’t help her grin. “There’s nothing particularly wrong with the chase, Director. Keeps me pretty busy.” Her face fell back into a stoic glare. “Is everything ready to go?”
Abrams nodded. “It’s as you requested. Are you certain we should have things this...basic, Detective? I can always send for more men, or perhaps-”
“No need.” She strolled out the door, taking a left into the nearby hallway. Abrams poked his head out the door as she walked. “Whether two or twenty, X isn’t the kind to back down from a fight. You’d need about fifty to bring her down-for about five seconds.”
“...v-very funny, Detective!” Abrams tugged on his collar, his bowtie suddenly feeling a little too tight for his liking. “That...that was a joke, yes?”
Noire ignored the ever-growing pleas echoing down the hall. She looked to her watch. 9:55. She slid the card back down her sleeve, giving it another glance. It read, simply:
When two ones and a zero meet
The grail of old I seek to greet
Its luster lost to endless sins-
“-it soon shall shine, as fate’s wheel spins.” Noire sighed. “Disappointing. At least leave a riddle instead of just a rhyme. Makes things way too obvious.” She stuffed the card back in her pocket as she approached a large sliding door. As the doors opened, she walked into the museum’s grand entryway. “I can’t really blame her for that, though. After all…”
A large chalice, adorned in glittering gems and glowing gold, sat in a lone case in the middle of the room. It rested on a velvet pillow, adorned with jewels on every side.
Noire smirked. “Some people in this world just have no sense of subtlety.”
----
“Oh my god,” X breathed, for the fifth time in the past two minutes. “Oh my god.”
It made sense for a museum to have hanging catwalks, she supposed. Those giant banners and chandeliers had to be put up somehow, and considering how high up the ceiling was, ladders just wouldn’t do the trick.
But that didn’t stop them from being the single most terrifying thing X had ever stepped foot on.
She took another step. The catwalk creaked, the platform shaking slightly under her weight. She grimaced. “Just a little more.” She shuffled her hand along the railing, her eyes scanning the floor below. Her quarry was finally in sight: the Grail of Galahad.
It was a bit of a misnomer, really; the cup was just one of many finds from an old English castle excavation a few months back. However, the poor archaeologist who found it made a bit of a slip, claiming that the cup could “very well be the Holy Grail that Sir Galahad himself found in Arthurian legend.”
Of course, this was meant as a joke.
The Internet as a whole didn’t quite seem to realize that.
Commentators quickly took to calling the chalice simply “the Holy Grail”, which eventually morphed into “the Grail of Galahad”-presumably because it was more catchy or less religiously charged, X supposed.
The point was:
Oversized, shiny, expensive, and historically relevant shot glasses were X’s bread and butter.
It was the perfect mark.
X reached into her jacket. “Now,” she muttered, “Time to use my handy-dandy…” She paused, patting the jacket’s inside lining. She reached around to the other side, her hand grasping at air. I know I brought it here, she thought, her mind racing. Where could it have-
---
Jacobs was not having the best of days.
He’d just gotten a nice, easy gig. All he had to do was stand watch outside an alleyway backdoor.
“It’s a clean hundred,” Alan had told him, “All you gotta do is look menacing. Trust me, nothing ever happens here-watch somethin’ on your phone if you get bored.”
In fact, that’s just what he was doing...just before some lunatic in a Halloween costume knocked his lights out. He barely made out a whisper of “Sorry!” before he’d lost consciousness.
He blearily opened his eyes. He didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed, honestly. He turned to his side. “Alan,” he muttered, “What the hell just happened?”
Alan was still out cold, splayed out on the floor. Of course. Jacobs turned his head, looking around for his phone. Maybe he could call some actual cops, and-
“...what?” He asked, blinking at the large, metallic hook-and-chain sitting peacefully next to his cracked phone.
---
“This is fine,” X grumbled. She looked straight ahead. A set of large, flat-topped chandeliers ran across the length of the ceiling, with the central one just above the Grail. She grinned beneath her mask.
“Here we go.”
Grabbing onto the railing, X pushed herself up, perching on the wobbling wall like a cat about to strike a wayward pidgeon. She made a leapt toward the first chandelier, grabbing onto its edge. The lamp swung back and forth, the sound of clattering pieces of glass echoing through the room. X stayed there for a moment, letting the chandelier settle into place. Once it had stopped moving, she gently pulled herself up. She grabbed onto the chandelier’s base for balance as she measured her next jump. The next few chandeliers were much more agreeable to X’s leaps and bounds, staying steady as she made her way to the center of the room.
Once she reached the central chandelier, however, a thought occurred.
She would need to get down to the case below.
The chandeliers were a good distance in the air.
And her grappling hook…
Well.
“Time for Plan B, then.” X took a few steps back from the chandelier. She pulled her arms out from her jacket sleeves, her shoulders carrying the weight of the jacket. She adjusted her backpack ever-so-slightly.
Then, she hopped off of the chandelier.
As soon as her feet left solid ground, X pressed a button on a strap on her left shoulder. A parachute popped out from her backpack, quickly unfurling before she hit the ground. She drifted the remaining feet down to the floor of the museum, stumbling slightly as she made her landing. As she slipped her backpack off, she wondered where her jacket went.
That was a good two seconds before the jacket landed on top of her, knocking her hat down in the process. The cape flipped forward, its red lining facing outward as it covered her head.
Smooth. Real smooth.
Sliding the backpack off and the jacket back on, X donned her hat once more. She moved towards the case. The shine of the gems on the chalice seemed almost ethereal up close.
This would normally be the part where some tripwire went off, X reasoned. Or, if she so much as touched the case, alarms would start blaring.
However, there was little of the sort as she tiptoed her way to her prize.
X was pleasantly surprised. As she pulled the case off of the Grail, she thought that maybe, just maybe, this would work out after-
She paused.
“...this is Styrofoam.”
“Aw, you got it just with a glance?” X heard someone scoff from behind her. “Ugh. I should’ve gone for the plaster. That might have been a tad more believable.”
A spotlight shone on X.
“Y-you didn’t think to pull out all the stops for me?” X asked, an almost legitimate sense of hurt permeating through her words. “I thought we had something special, Detective!”
More spotlights came on from across the room (Where did they even hide all of this? X wondered briefly). With the low visibility she had, the lights were like staring directly into the sun.
She felt something cold wrap around her wrist.
“I go through all this trouble of setting up a stake-out, with all these big tough guards lurking in the shadows,” Noire drawled, shaking her side of a pair of handcuffs. “And what do you do? You just come down and open the case. Where’s the laser cutter, or the plastic explosives? Where’s the panache? It’s like you’re not even trying anymore!”
“Effort and care are earned, dear detective.” A haughty (and slightly strained) laugh escaped the mask as X raised her hand into the air. The handcuffs on her wrist shook with each exaggerated gesture. “What exactly would you call that sorry show outside?” she asked, her voice growing louder (and with a touch more bravado, Noire noted) with every word.
“Bait.” Noire tugged on the cuffs. “And I’d say it worked just fine. It’s a shame, though. I was expecting something a bit more dramatic. Maybe a few more kicks and flips.”
A curious hum came from X’s mask. “Something…like this, perhaps?”
X lowered her arms, a pair of small spheres rolling out of her sleeves. Noire’s eyes went wide, and she moved to intercept.
She was a second too late.
The spheres exploded into plumes of smoke the instant they hit the ground, billowing through the room at a rapid pace. A chorus of coughs and wheezing breaths overtook all other sound, Noire’s included. She was close enough, however, to hear three things in particular:
A click.
A crash.
And a booming, boisterous laugh.
“Really, now. You hide the real deal with a cheap imitation, but keep the genuine article in a simple hidden compartment?” Through the smoke, Noire could see the silhouette of X wave the Grail in the air, a triumphant tone in the thief’s voice. Noire raised her own arm, a disappointed sigh escaping her lips. The handcuffs dangled off of her wrist. “It’s like you’re not even trying anymore,” X taunted. With a flourish of her cape, she vanished into the smoke.
Noire barked a quick, “Don’t let anyone in or out of this building!” A scattered chorus of “Affirmative!” (along with a lone voice complaining, “I think it got in my eyes!”) replied back. Noire dashed into the smoke, her mind racing.
It was clear that X didn’t have anything that would allow her to escape quickly-the video footage and the way she leapt from the ceiling was proof positive. As such, she had one of three options:
1. Up the stairs. The museum was about three stories tall, with a main floor, a secondary entertaining floor (for the local bigwigs), and an archives floor. A stairwell to the rooftop was at the far end of the third floor. It would be the most obvious choice.
2. The same way she came in. If she was able to knock out the rent-a-cops, Noire thought, she could very easily make an encore presentation. She had a few other men stationed in the area as soon as she passed through, but the odds of their success...not extremely high.
3. The last place anyone would think to look. X had to have gone over the building plans, any schematics she could, in order to have the perfect way out. But
...what if she didn’t want to leave?
As Noire entered the hall, she saw a figure heading her way. “Miss Noire!” Abrams stopped in front of the detective, heaving heavy breaths. “I swear, the thief just passed me by-I think she’s headed out the same door-”
“Director,” Noire replied, “Perhaps it would be best to check the video cameras first before we jump to any conclusions.”
“C-cameras?”
“Yes. You know, the ones you use to watch for thieves.”
“O-oh, yes! Of course!” The man turned back around, Noire following him to the security room. He rushed to the main console, pushing his chair to the side. He began sifting through buttons and looking between screens like a man posessed. “Let’s see...um. Main Hall...no, she’d be gone...um…” Noire watched the cameras as Abrams flipped through the screens. “I’m sure she’s here somewhere...where the hell would she have gone otherwise?”
Noire let out a long, heavy sigh.
“So, first things first. Abrams talks very professionally, with little ‘ums’ or ‘ers’ in his vocabulary,” she began. Abrams froze in place. “You have the vocal pitch down, but that’s only half the work. You need to make sure you know how your mark talks. If you’re impersonating a surfer from California, for instance, you don’t want to have him bust out a Victorian English accent.”
“I-I assure you,” Abrams stuttered, “I-um-haven’t a clue,” he stammered, “what you might be talking about!”
Noire held up two fingers. “Second, he’s only called me Detective since we started planning for tonight. He only called me ‘Miss’ the first time we met. If you’re going to go undercover, you’ll want to study your subject for more than a day.”
“Ridiculous! I watched him for a we-” Abrams slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening. He turned, attempting to walk past the detective. As he tried to move, however, he lurched, nearly sliding off his feet. He glanced to the side. His hand was cuffed to his chair.
Noire’s smirk grew. “Third-even when things seem at their lowest, you have to commit to the character…” She leaned over and grabbed Abrams’ chin, tugging at it. “Otherwise, the mask could come clean off before you even realize.”
The chin ripped open, like paper mache. The rest of the face soon followed, a loud tear echoing through the room. “Abrams” scowled as the last of his face slid off. Beneath it was a plain, white domino mask with shoddily-cut eye holes. Noire rolled her eyes, snatching the mask off of X and dropping it to the ground. “Oh, and don’t wear your mask under a disguise when you’re not used to it. It’s a lot less comfortable than you might expect, makes you jittery.”
“Aren’t you clever.” Unimpeded by the mask, X’s voice sounded quite similar to Noire’s own.
Her face looked similar, too.
Of course it would, though. It was her own.
Well. Not technically her’s.
Just the one she was using right now.
“It’s elementary, my dear.” “Noire” looked into her captive’s eyes. The detective’s reflection grinned maniacally back at her. “Heh. Elementary. I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“You’re the furthest thing from him.” “X” tugged at the handcuffs, wriggling her wrist. “Like, ever.”
“And you’re the furthest thing from a competent thief. For now, at least. You have the laugh down, though; I was thoroughly impressed at that.” “Noire’s” voice grew deeper, a more velvety tone. She loomed over the thief, reaching for the top of her own face. “I’ll give you an A for effort. I didn’t think you’d have it in you to make a disguise for your first heist. Or pull a heist at all, for that matter.”
She chuckled. “You know, after our little incident at the station, I thought you’d just go into hiding. Maybe move to another city. That would’ve been easier-find a new life to live while I live yours. It’s almost admirable that you’d try to take it back.” In one smooth motion, she ran her hand down her features. In their place was a blank, full-face mask with a rictus grin, a far cry from the dollar-store mask on the ground. “All the same, you’ve got a long way to go before you get on my level. Right now, though? You’re actually pretty good.” The snide tone that escaped her lips still somehow managed to sound the slightest bit sincere. “My congratulations on a successful first outing. I’m afraid it will be your last, however.”
“I won’t need to ‘go’ anywhere,” the former detective Noire growled, tugging at her chain. “This ruse won’t last forever-I won’t need to keep this act up for long. Once they know the truth, I’ll put you behind bars once and for all.” She sneered. “Then, I think, I’ll be ‘pretty good’.”
The former Phantom X chuckled, filching the hat from her captive’s head. “My dear Noire. Look how well that’s worked so far. If you were any good at your old job,” she noted, “You wouldn’t be so easily replaced.” She twirled the hat on her finger, glancing at the open door. The chaotic sounds from the main hall had faded, and she could hear footsteps darting back and forth. It would only be a matter of time before they made it in. “I will admit, you make quite the dashing thief without the mask. The look works for you. If I wasn’t borrowing your face,” X continued, “I’d almost tell you to keep it off-”
She felt a vice grip around her wrist.
The hat fell off her finger.
She looked at her other arm.
She tugged.
The chair squeaked a little as the legs moved an inch.
“I’ve always wanted to do that, if I’m being honest.” The former detective picked up her old mask and slid it into her jacket. Noire plucked her foe’s mask off before the other could react, placing the more professional one on her own face. “Oh, wow, this one’s much better,” X breathed. “I can actually see out of this.” X knelt down and picked her hat back up, sliding it back into place on her head. “You know, you look pretty good yourself when you’re not borrowing other people’s faces. Didn’t figure you had blue eyes.”
“Who said they were my eyes?”
X chuckled, then reached into her opponent’s jacket, rifling around. “There we are.” She pulled out a glittering chalice. “This will find its way back here, sooner or later. Knowing you, you’d just leave them with the styrofoam.”
The former thief laughed. “Now you’re getting it.” Noire pulled herself forward, the chair creaking behind her. She stared straight into the mask, her tone conciliatory. “I take it back. You could make a pretty good crook if you tried, you know.”
“I learned from experience-as did you, I’m sure.” X tilted the mask down slightly to look at Noire with her own two eyes. “With a little more effort,” she replied, “You might make a half-decent detective.”
“Just what am I now, then?”
“About a quarter decent.” X flicked her wrist. Another smoke bomb flew from her sleeve into her hand. “Be seeing you.” She slammed the smoke bomb down, a massive cloud filling the small room. She could just barely make out a cape fluttering in the air, before the thief darted out the door.
Not long after this, a cavalcade of footsteps followed. She quickly ran a hand across her face, her features shifting and rearranging rapidly. As the smoke cleared, Abrams ran into the room.
“Detective! I am so, so sorry! That dastardly fiend knocked me out before I could-”
“Save the apologies, Director.” Noire reached into her jacket, pulling out a small key. She unlocked her handcuffs, rubbing her wrist as she slid it out. “X has a way of getting the jump on us sometimes.”
“We have a squad tracking X down as we speak,” a guard piped up from behind Abrams. “We’ll have her in no time!”
“She’ll lose your trail in a few minutes.” Noire tilted her hat down. “But, it’s a good attempt.” She walked to the door, placing a hand on the doorframe. “Not bad,” she whispered. “Not bad at all.”
“What was that, Detective?”
“Nothing, Director.” Noire raised a hand to her face. “The chase begins again, I suppose. Now, let’s get moving.”
As they made their way outside, chasing the silhouette that darted (or more accurately, stumbled) across the city skyline, no one noticed Noire adjusting her eye to be a little less lopsided.