Smoke and Badge

The city reflected a wounded sky like a broken mirror. Rain had fallen earlier, and the streets shone beneath the cold, watching eyes of many windows and the intermittent brightness of neon signs. A figure moved with the cultivated hush of a phantom far above the labyrinth sprawl, where the sound of traffic melted into a far-off murmur. Feeling the cold soak through his thin gloves, Rhys held on to the sheer glass facade of Thorne Tower, the city's shining monument to corporate avarice. The city spread out below him, a magnificent scene of privilege and despair, light and shadow.

His dark outfit blended in well with the darkness as he flowed like vapor. With an economy of motion that verged on elegance, every handhold and foothold was tried and captured. Rhys wasn't just climbing; he was talking to the building, taking advantage of the maintenance crew's small carelessness and the architect's mistakes. Elias Thorne, a civic leech and industrial titan, perhaps entertained unaware guests or slept blissfully in the penthouse apartment that took up the top three levels. He was surrounded by wealth that was based on dubious premises. Rhys's stomach curled with a cold, familiar satisfaction. The excitement wasn't the main reason for this. It has to do with equilibrium.

Tonight, he was after data, not art or jewels. In particular, data that were encrypted and kept on a secret server in Thorne's lavish study were said to include information about the systematic looting of the Thorne Industries pension fund, which had destroyed thousands of regular lives only months earlier. Rhys was aware of lives. He recognized faces in the lower areas' struggling masses.

With a scarcely audible sigh, a last suction cup came loose, and Rhys slipped into Thorne's study's luxurious carpet through a carefully avoided window opening. The smell of aged leather and pricey fragrance filled the silent air. An unseen, lethal web of security lasers crisscrossed the area, carefully plotted from stolen designs. In a wordless ballet that only he knew, Rhys moved through them with the fluid elegance of a dancer, his body bending, sinking, and halting. His fingers skimmed over a concealed interface panel as he arrived at the clean, minimalist desk. After being purchased at great danger and money, decryption algorithms started working covertly on the server's strong defenses.

Rhys gave himself permission to pause and listen while the progress bar crawled. Thorne's thunderous laughter echoed faintly from another area of the apartment through the soundproofed walls. He pictured the man, florid-faced, silk-draped, and completely indifferent to the world beyond his golden cage. Rhys had witnessed personally the consequences of Thorne's ambition: aged workers being driven back into hard occupations, families losing their homes, and optimism fading like guttering candles. Righteous rage turned into a sword of chilly satisfaction. This was reclamation, not merely stealing.

Access is granted. On the tiny gadget in his hand, the words gleamed subtly. Rhys moved the important files onto a thumb-sized, fully protected drive. He started a cleanup procedure that erased the digital traces of his entry, leaving Thorne's system lighter but ostensibly unaltered. The task is finished. The city lights beckoned as he walked back towards the window. The distant, increasing keen of sirens broke the stillness as he was about to rappel down to a lower, prearranged rooftop escape route. Growing, but faint. Maybe usual security sweeps were more erratic tonight, or maybe someone, somewhere, had set off a silent alarm he hadn't expected. Already a luxury, time had just vanished. After clipping his descender to a safe anchor point, he looked back at the immaculate study before slipping back out into the city's enormous, vertical ocean.

As the bright fluorescent lights of the precinct bullpen pressed down on her exhaustion, Officer Anya Petrova, miles below, scratched her temples. It was 3:17 AM on the wall clock. She was sitting there doing a report on a case that left her with a bad taste in her mouth even though shift end had been a lifetime ago. A violent attack in which the well-connected offender got away with it thanks to a technicality that a costly attorney uncovered. Another rift in the city's eroding justice system. Nights like this tried Anya's confidence in the badge and the promise of safety and order it stood for. The system seemed unwieldy, slow, and all too frequently skewed in favor of men like Thorne who knew how to take advantage of it.

The stale harshness of her cold coffee reflected her emotions as she took a sip. Although she was devoted, astute, and steadfast in her beliefs, the magnitude of the city's corruption and the sense of continuously patching holes in a failing dam were draining. She yearned for victory, something genuine, something that could bring her back to some semblance of equilibrium.

Amidst the faint murmur of laptops and whispered discussions, the radio on her desk abruptly sprung to life. There has been a confirmed breach at Thorne Tower, 1 Thorn Plaza, according to all Sector Gamma units. A high-level security warning was raised. Suspect may be egressing or still on the property. The nearest units react.

Anya straightened, exhilaration taking the place of the exhaustion for a time. Tower of Thorne. Her industry. A verified intrusion at that stronghold? This was no haphazard grab-and-go. This was done in a professional manner. Perhaps... just might...

"Dispatch, this is Officer Petrova from Unit 7-Adam. Despite the unexpected thumping in her chest, she said, "I'm five minutes out, responding," in a clear and composed voice. Her thoughts were already racing through containment options, approach vectors, and the sheer boldness of striking Thorne Tower when she reached for her jacket. Thorne, Elias. A man whose name was synonymous with unassailable power, he was always just outside the legal system, spoken about in relation to everything from secret political transactions to union busting. Perhaps his stronghold wasn't so formidable tonight.

With lights flashing and the siren off for the time being to preserve the element of surprise, she made her way through the streets slippery with rain. Glistening buildings reflected the colorful filth of overflowing trash in the alleys below, creating a hazy image of the metropolis that served as a continual reminder of their fragmented reality. Ahead, the haughty Thorne Tower stabbed the night sky.

She cut the engine a block away as she pulled up and looked around the building's exterior for any unusualities. The majority of units would concentrate on stairwells, elevators, and ground-level exits. However, Thorne Tower would be an unusual target for access and egress. Her eyes moved up, following the glass and steel lines.

Then she noticed it. A shadow broke away from the structure high above, maybe fifteen stories from the top. Too rapid for anything unintentional, too fluid for a maintenance worker. With unfathomable speed, it descended in a controlled manner rather than plummeting. A black-clad individual is seen rappelling towards the lower rooftop of an older, nearby structure, a traditional brownstone that is dwarfed by the tower's size.

An electrifying, acute surge of adrenaline. She said sharply into her shoulder microphone, "Dispatch, Unit 7-Adam on scene," having already exited the vehicle and started to move. The suspect is seen leaving the west face at a level of about fifty and heading toward the rooftop of the adjacent structure. I'm starting the chase."

She ran toward the lane that separated the tower from the brownstone, her boots thudding on the damp pavement, her gaze fixed on the figure that had just fallen soundlessly on the nearby roof. With his head cocked as though tasting the air, he hesitated for a little while, possibly detecting her approach.

"Police! "Freeze!" Anya shouted, her voice producing an odd echo in the small area between buildings.

The figure remained still. Rather, he turned his head quickly and looked back. In the darkness, Anya could only see the appearance of dark eyes acknowledging her existence, not features. Then, a dark shadow against the bruised dawn sky, he flung himself across the gap onto the next rooftop in the chain with a coiled grace that made her breath catch. The pursuit had started.