The Cardinal Sin of Infiltration

Carlton Scythe was in a terrible place. He had been cursed by the Ivory Tower job. He has been unable to successfully break into anything since that tragic day. He needed money because his clients were no longer paying him. He abandoned paid security testing in desperation and resorted to actual theft.

But the curse remained. He was no longer in control. He was never apprehended until that Ivory Tower incident, and he was now unable to sneak in and go away anywhere without being discovered. He took the disastrous decision to take on a significant robbery in an attempt to regain his abilities, plunging right into the center of the robbers' underground world—the mob.

The task appeared to be simple: enter, exit with half a million. The catch was in the safe's construction; even with the right combination, opening it set off security systems and sounded alarms. It was an incident from his heyday. Carlton Scythe had previously completed similar tasks effortlessly and perfectly. He didn't this time.

When he tried to unplug the safe from its security system, difficulties started. He was aware of which wires to cross and when, as well as the exact order in which they should be severed. Although his planning was flawless, human mistake could still happen despite the best-laid preparations.

With complete authority, Carlton Scythe confidently cut the first wire, red. He almost hesitated when he chopped the second and third, both of which were black. Because both wires were the same color and fed into the same connecting port, uncertainty grew. He turned to a routine of focused, infantile decision-making.

He muttered to himself, "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by his toe." The black wire on the left received the rhyme. He slid his wire cutters into place, convinced that this was the proper decision. His hand slipped just as he was ready to snip, cutting the black wire on the right instead.

Anticipating the sound of an alarm, he froze. He decided that nothing would happen after a nervous thirty seconds of silence, and he started to carefully remove the wire cutters from the electronics box.

The alarm went off as soon as the cutters moved. With quick thinking, Carlton Scythe closed the circuit by clamping them shut once more. There will be someone soon, so he couldn't move them now.

He stayed motionless and carefully took a pocket knife out of his back pocket. He had little choice but to use it as a primitive wire cutter, which was riskier. He used his teeth to pry open the blade and pushed it into the wire box. He pressed his thumb on the far side of the wire while holding his breath.

Carlton Scythe pierced through the wire, anticipating footsteps. The sword continued to pierce his thumb deeply. The wound opened and the blood ran freely, but he hardly noticed that there was no alarm. He quickly put the electronics box's outside plate back together after putting the knife and wire cutters away. The alarm had gone off four minutes ago—someone must be around.

Footsteps resounded in the corridor as he rushed to the door. There was no way out. He looked around the empty room in a panic, but there was nowhere to hide. Hope faded.

The door opened with a squeak. Carlton Scythe looked on in horror as a man entered, who appeared to be a security guard. The guard came in, and he scurried behind the door.

The guard, who had been trained to check the room whenever an alarm went off, went directly to the safe and opened it, causing the alarm to go off once more. He took out a remote control, entered a code, and turned it off.

Unable to figure out what had caused the alarm, the guard looked through the contents of the safe. There seemed to be nothing lacking. Then he noticed blood on the wall and his eyes narrowed. Carlton Scythe realized he had left a trail when he looked at his bleeding thumb. The guard noticed more on the ground, a trickle that led to Carlton Scythe, the door.

It was not going well for Martin Wilkerson. He was certain that he would be committed to a mental institution again, and he was aware that the longer he stayed in the courthouse, the higher the risk. He needed to do something.

He came up with a plan: get away. He had to neutralize the guard first. The man's chances would increase if he was incapacitated. He would pretend to be really insane in order to do so; if they were going to institutionalize him, he would give them good reason.

The guard noticed him struggling, his motions unpredictable and uncontrolled, clattering noisily. Startled by this outburst, the guard warily walked forward to help the man who was throwing himself around the room. Martin Wilkerson continued, then slowed down till he came to a complete halt.

Martin Wilkerson had expected the guard's next move, and the guard had waited for such a delay. Martin Wilkerson continued to flail as the guard drew closer, entangling the guard in his frantic dance this time. The man, who was merely trying to protect him, was beaten with arms and legs until the guard collapsed, stunned.

Martin Wilkerson dropped his guard and ran for the easiest way out. He could walk straight through the door if he could pretend to be confident. Then he heard shouts coming from behind him. The guard was unconscious, and someone had discovered him running away. As he pushed toward the exit, his once promising strategy fell apart.

The fact that a guard stopped him was not shocking. Martin Wilkerson pretended to be confused.

"What are you discussing? Which guard?

"Sir, you knocked out the guard. What made you do it?

"No guard was knocked out by me." As if considering the question, Martin Wilkerson squinted upward and furrowed his brow in his finest bewildered attitude.

"Do you know, sir, how you managed to escape here without being stopped by a guard?"

"Where am I?" It wasn't a ruse this time. Martin Wilkerson honestly had no memory of what had happened.

The guard would soon look up and call for assistance, so Carlton Scythe needed to move quickly. He easily took a screwdriver out of his pocket. He jumped from behind the door, weighed it in his hand, and threw it.

Carlton Scythe had enjoyed flinging screwdrivers into the earth as a youngster, fascinated by how easily they became embedded. His lifeline now was those juvenile skills.

The screwdriver became stuck in the shoulder of the guard. It didn't kill him, but it slowed him down enough for Carlton Scythe to hit him. He lunged forward and gave the guard a forceful blow to the face. The man's nose cracked and he fell to the ground, unconscious.