Staten Island
I clung to the warehouse wall, my claws biting into the aged masonry as I perched just outside a grime-streaked window. My vision shifted through a sequence of kaleidoscopic colors as I scanned the interior of the building with the lenses of my goggles. Each setting sliced the shadows apart in a different spectrum. Night vision bathed the inside in sickly green, revealing rows of neatly stacked crates and cold metal shelving. The warehouse mainly appeared untouched, not just because the would-be thief hadn’t yet left their mark, but the wide-open space itself gave the distinct impression of being largely unused.
I switched to infrared, and instantly, my vision flared with lively shades of orange and red. The interior walls still clung to the day’s warmth, patches of residual heat where the sun had kissed the metal. But what caught my attention wasn’t the structure—it was the faint imprint of footprints, fresh but fading fast. Someone had been inside, likely still was, unseen and moving with purpose. I angled myself to follow the diminishing trail, but the footprints led toward the far side of the warehouse just outside my vision.
“Entering now,” I breathed out before rapidly tapping my communicator three times. A signal to Danny that I was going radio silent. Whatever ghost I was following, they possessed either advanced tech or superhuman abilities. Either way, I figured it best to err on the side of caution.
Slipping inside the building was second nature. A careful press of my claws, a shift of weight, and I was through the window and gliding across the floor, landing without a sound. I crept forward slowly, keeping to the shadow-touched walls, and following the glowing footsteps from afar.
It was one thing to catch an intruder in the act—another entirely to understand their goals. I knew better than most that people steal for all kinds of reasons. Desperation. Greed. Revenge. Orders from someone higher up the food chain. This all struck me as too methodical for desperation. And, in my experience, when your intent is revenge, you want your mark to know who is responsible. Whoever this was, they were doing a good job of staying anonymous..
Which left greed or orders. Both options seemed odd given the client’s business. A thief of this skill and ability going after a middling imports company didn’t track. You don’t waste that kind of talent on small game.
There was a flicker in my peripheral as the infrared lens picked up a signature. It moved quickly and without hesitation. I had a clear view now and crouched lower to blend further into the shadows. The shape was unmistakably humanoid. They looked slightly taller than me but of a much more solid build. I watched as the figure moved deliberately toward a row of crates near the far end of the warehouse. Even without visible features, their movements spoke of experience. There were no wasted motions, no unnecessary pauses.
Operating on a hunch, I manually toggled the settings on my goggles and switched them back to night-for-day. The figure immediately vanished from view, and all I could see was the stack of crates. Flipping back to infrared revealed the human-shape again, clad in fiery hues.
Invisibility—a handy trick for any thief. No wonder the guards and security cameras never picked up a trace. But like any magic show, the illusion is never as effective once you know the truth. It would be as simple as advising the client to install infrared sensors and post guards inside. Which meant, technically, my job was done. I could radio into Danny, alert the exterior security, and even if the thief got away they’d get caught the next time they tried this phantom act.
But it didn’t feel like the job was done. It didn’t feel like I had all the answers yet.
I watched as the figure bent slightly, hands gripping the crates stacked on top. Then, slowly, methodically, they moved the crates aside without even looking inside. Once those in the front were out of the way, the thief made a path to the crates tucked in the back.
If my curiosity wasn’t already piqued, it was now. That wasn’t the action of an opportunist looking to score. They weren’t looking for something valuable at random. Those were the actions of someone who knew exactly what they wanted, and where to find it.
Then, the figure reached down to the very base of the bottommost crate in the rear. They reached down and
through the crate’s solid wooden exterior. The thermal signature showed the entire hand disappearing to the wrist right at the crate's edge. Then the hand rematerialized, but now it held something—a small object, no bigger than a tube of lipstick. The thief pulled several free from the depths of the crate one by one before tucking them into some unseen pocket or bag. Just as I expected, there was no rummaging, no examining.
I could have watched longer and gathered more intel, but I had enough. My arm extended, and I flicked my wrist, the concealed grapnel launcher in my left gauntlet firing. The line shot across the warehouse, uncoiling like a striking serpent. It wrapped around the thief's legs, the cold steel contrasting against their heat signature. And then, just as quickly, the cable collapsed in a heap onto the warehouse floor as the figure stepped through it.
Damn. I really should have predicted that.
The head turned, or at least, I thought it did. What I assumed was the heat signature of a face locked onto my position. Then, without a single sign of urgency, they walked straight through the nearest wall.
I swore again under my breath, already moving. I brought my communicator back online and quickly rattled off a brief explanation to Danny. I didn’t expect the warehouse he was stationed at to get hit as well. It didn’t fit the M.O. as we knew it, but just in case, I wanted him prepared for any invisible threats.
I didn’t bother chasing after the ghostly figure. By the time I exited through another window and circled back to their last position, they’d be long gone. Instead, I sprinted toward the crates they had been rifling through. If I couldn’t catch them, I could at least figure out what they were after.
I began by running my fingers over the crate’s surface. Just as I thought, no signs of forced entry. Switching back to my night vision, I scanned the container from which they had removed the merchandise. There was no visible distortion, nor could I discern any markings that would indicate this particular box as a target over any others. And yet, the thief hadn’t thought twice about their actions.
Popping a claw, I worked the edge of the lid, carefully easing it open without damaging it. The inside was packed with textile goods—mundane, harmless, and entirely undisturbed. I sifted through the fabrics, methodically checking every fold for some sort of hidden treasure. Finding none, I removed each item from the crate, giving them a second glance, before scanning the container's interior with several optical modes. Everything appeared ordinary.
In my experience, though, very rarely was anything ever truly ordinary.
I shifted my attention to the crates that were moved aside. Maybe it wasn’t this crate that was special, but all the rest that weren’t. I performed the same check on each container, but they were all the same. Same merchandise. Same labels. Same arrangement.
Every instinct I possessed was screaming at me. I was missing something, some detail that was eluding me. I felt like I was doing a jigsaw puzzle, but I was missing one crucial piece that would lead me to seeing the whole picture.
The whole picture.
I quickly repackaged and rearranged everything to how it had been just minutes before. Standing, I took several steps back until I could see the entire stack of crates all at once. There had to be something there, something the thief had known to look for, or to ignore. There were three rows of crates front to back, aligned four crates wide and five crates high. Each container was a perfect cube roughly two feet in each dimension.
Then I noticed something that made me reconsider that. Each crate seemed identical up close as I examined them, but if that were the case, why could I see the tops of the backmost rows? They stood out, just barely, but enough that I could see the lips of the container lids from my position—but only those of the third row, with the first two perfectly flush with one another. If the dimensions were all the same, unless the warehouse floor was sloped, that shouldn’t be possible.
And the floor was definitely
not sloped.
Moving back to the stack, I pulled the crates free until I had three sat side-by-side, with the middle being the crate the thief had targeted. Sure enough, they weren’t a perfect match. It was such a slight difference, an inch, maybe less. Not something you’d notice in most circumstances, but the middle crate, and in fact all of the containers from the backmost row, were just barely taller than the rest.
With that in mind, I reexamined them. I ran my fingers along the surface again, and this time when I reached the bottom edge I felt it. A hairline seam—too clean, and too precise.
False bottoms.
I worked the hidden latch, and the panel popped free. It was a narrow compartment, and it was empty—save for six shallow slots. Each slot was about the size of my finger. Or a tube of lipstick.
Funny. The client hadn't mentioned secret compartments.
Not even bothering to hide my actions from the security cameras that I knew were pointed my way, I moved to check each of the other crates from the third row. By this point, my discovery of the smuggling recess would already be evident, and I was past the point of caring.
I exhaled slowly, rising to my feet. All three other crates had a secret chamber, and I had scared the thief off before they could steal from them, too. Seventeen vials lay nestled firmly within their shallow slots. The thick glass tubes were filled with an amber liquid.
“Danny,” I called over the comms. “I think you should call for a meeting with our client.”
“Why, what are you going to do?”
I held up the eighteenth vial, rolling it between my fingers, and watched the viscous fluid cling to the inner tube as it lazily rippled inside.
“I’m going to pay an old associate a visit.”
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