Mr. Antithesis surveys the room through the screen, his gaze lingering momentarily on each face. Despite the digital barrier, I feel the weight of his attention when it lands on me.

  "I'll be brief," he says. "This operation is unlike anything we've undertaken before."

  A holographic projection appears beside him, showing an aerial view of a massive concrete complex nestled in the Adirondack mountains. Daedalus Correctional Facility. Even from the fuzzy satellite image, it looks like what it is - a fortress designed to keep monsters locked away from the world.

  "Our objective is the extraction of a single asset from Daedalus," Mr. Antithesis continues. "Daisy Zhen, known as Deathgirl."

  Mrs. Jellyjam whistles low. "The power copier? Didn't she get nabbed by the Bloodhound kid?"

  "Correct," Mr. Antithesis replies. "And now we're tasked with retrieving her."

  "Tasked by who?" Mr. ESP asks, leaning forward. "This doesn't sound like our usual business model."

  Mr. Antithesis's expression doesn't change, but his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his pen. "We've been contracted by Red Calf."

  "Porcelain, specifically," Mrs. Zenith says, the name falling like a stone in still water.

  The room goes quiet. Even I know that name. The strongest superhuman on earth. The man governments pretend doesn't exist while quietly making sure never to piss him off. Mrs. Quiet lets out a low whistle.

  "Indeed," Mr. Antithesis confirms. "Porcelain has a particular interest in this asset and has provided both financial backing and intelligence for the operation."

  "How much?" Mr. Camcorder asks.

  "Two million USD per operator that survives, to disincentivize backstabs, disbursed upon successful extraction," Mr. Antithesis says, although I smell something weird about it. Call it dinosaur instinct if you want. "Obviously, nothing for turncoats, although I figure that goes without saying. You're free to distribute your cut as you please among any soldiers under your purview. Blue Velvet and I will handle the accounting and laundering - it'll come through your personal rackets over the next year or so. And they'll owe us all a favor, of course."

  That gets more whistles from around the room. That's... what, two years of operating income? A blank check for crime. An absolutely skull-fuckingly big quantity of money. A blank check stapled to a grenade.

  "The operation is scheduled for September 10th," Mr. Antithesis continues. "During the state senate hearings on powered youth legislation in Pennsylvania"

  Mr. Nothing speaks for the first time. "Strategic timing. Law enforcement will be stretched thin managing protests."

  Mrs. Zenith nods. "Precisely. Many federal agencies will have personnel reassigned to Harrisburg and other state capitals. It creates a window of opportunity."

  But that doesn't smell right either. Harrisburg and upstate New York... those are pretty far away. Not my place to say anything about it, but... I don't know. Whose idea was this?

  "Extraction will occur at approximately 0200 hours," Mr. Antithesis adds. "During guard shift change."

  "Red Calf is handling the direct infiltration," Mrs. Zenith picks up, standing and moving to the screen. "We provide planning, logistics, and specialized support."

  A series of schematics appear on the screen, replacing the aerial view. Floor plans, security protocols, guard rotations, power grid layouts - the kind of information that should be absolutely impossible to obtain. Mrs. Zenith - who left the room when I wasn't looking - returns with a briefcase, beginning to distribute binders that weigh more than enough to kill someone with a solid swing. The same information, but less flashy. Reams and reams and reams of... paper.

  "Holy shit," Mudslide whispers beside me. "How did they get this?"

  Mrs. Zenith glances at him. "Porcelain has provided extensive documentation on the facility."

  Right. But how? I study the schematics, my unease growing. This isn't just good intel - it's comprehensive. Every camera, every door, every guard post. It's like someone built the place and kept a detailed diary of every nail hammered and wire run.

  "Daedalus isn't just a prison," Mrs. Zenith continues. "It's a containment system for the most dangerous powered individuals in the country. Multiple redundant security measures, some of the best hardening government money can buy, and permanent authorization for lethal force."

  "And we're just gonna waltz in and take someone?" I can't help asking.

  Mrs. Zenith's eyes meet mine. "No, Mr. Tyrannosaur. We're going to create a very precise series of distractions and weaknesses that allow Red Calf operatives to enter, retrieve the asset, and exit before anyone realizes what's happening."

  "Now, for individual assignments," Mr. Antithesis says. The screen splits to show him on one side and a list of names on the other. "Mrs. Zenith will coordinate from our command center, providing weather manipulation for cover and, if necessary, environmental obstacles for pursuers."

  Maya nods, face tight.

  "Mr. Mudslide, your ability to liquefy concrete and stone makes you essential for creating entry points through the outer walls."

  Evan straightens up beside me, trying to look professional. "Yes, sir."

  "Mrs. Quiet will handle silent neutralization of guard posts. Non-lethal approach is preferred to avoid immediate alerts."

  She nods once, saying nothing. On brand.

  "Mrs. Jellyjam, you'll infiltrate through drainage systems and air ducts that would be inaccessible to others."

  "Getting into tight spots is my specialty," she says with a wink.

  "Mr. Nothing, you'll be crucial for neutralizing any powered guards and temporarily disabling dampening systems through direct contact."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment.

  "Mrs. Synapse, you'll provide medical support and non-lethal incapacitation of personnel."

  She taps her metal case. "Already prepared."

  "Mr. Retribution will serve as the extraction team's shield against armed response."

  The big man bows his head. "I will not fail."

  "Mr. ESP, you'll provide advance warning of security responses based on whatever ESP manifests that night."

  ESP adjusts his sunglasses. "And if my power that night is something useless like... fish sense?"

  Mrs. Zenith looks to Mr. Antithesis, who nods slightly.

  "We've prepared for that contingency," she says. "The command center will be equipped with rapid sedatives. If your power proves unhelpful, we can temporarily sedate you to cycle to a new ability."

  ESP's mouth tightens. It's a sort of weird smile. "Right."

  "Mr. Camcorder will keep records and help monitoring," Mr. Antithesis continues, ignoring the tension. "Any information we can smuggle out will be extremely worthwhile on the black market."

  Camcorder taps his neck and grins.

  "Mrs. Xenograft will provide additional chaos. The exact terms are up to her," Mr. Antithesis instructs.

  Lena rolls her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

  Mr. Antithesis pauses, looking directly at me through the screen. "And Mr. Tyrannosaur will be our contingency response."

  There it is. Backup. Plan Z. The glass case you break in case of emergency.

  "Contingency meaning what, exactly?" I ask.

  "Meaning you remain with the command team unless absolutely necessary," Mrs. Zenith explains. "Your transformation would immediately trigger every alarm in the facility, but in a worst-case scenario, we may need your raw power to extract our team."

  In other words, I'm the nuclear option. The button they press when everything's gone to shit.

  "Not many buildings are designed to have a dinosaur airdropped on them," I mutter.

  "Precisely why you're contingency only," Mr. Antithesis says without a hint of humor. "Now, let's discuss logistics."

  The screen changes to show a timeline of the operation, with key phases highlighted.

  "Red Calf will insert their team here," Mrs. Zenith points to the northern perimeter. "Mr. Mudslide creates entry at this maintenance tunnel. Mrs. Jellyjam proceeds through the drainage system to this junction, where she disables these three sensors."

  The plan unfolds with mechanical precision. Every movement, every action timed to the second. The level of detail is unsettling - almost like they've run this exact operation before. We spend an hour just going through the motions, constantly reminded that we have about two weeks to study our binders, to rehearse. Go quiet on the streets. This is priority numero uno.

  "What about other prisoners?" Mr. Retribution asks, during a lull, near the end of Mr. Antithesis's presentation. "Daedalus houses many dangerous individuals. If alarms trigger, containment protocols may be compromised."

  The question hangs in the air for a moment.

  "Porcelain has made it clear," Mr. Antithesis says carefully, "that while Deathgirl is the primary objective, he is not... concerned... about collateral escapes."

  Mrs. Synapse frowns. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning if other prisoners take advantage of the chaos to attempt escape, our job is to stay out of their way and let them," Mrs. Zenith clarifies.

  A chill runs through the room. Or maybe that's just me. Even for criminals like us, the idea of unleashing what's locked up in Daedalus is sobering. These aren't bank robbers or drug dealers. They're the worst of the worst - the ones too dangerous or deranged to contain anywhere else.

  Are you sure about this, A?

  "So we're potentially looking at a mass breakout situation," I say, brow furrowing. "And we're okay with that?"

  "Our job is to extract one asset," Mr. Antithesis says flatly. "What happens beyond that is not our primary concern. Contingency planning for other escapes is beyond our current scope."

  Translation: Not our problem.

  Mrs. Zenith taps the screen, bringing up a new diagram. "Let's discuss extraction routes. Once the asset is secured, Red Calf will move along this path to extraction point Charlie, where Mrs. Jellyjam will have disabled perimeter sensors."

  The planning continues, methodical and thorough. Every detail examined, every contingency considered - except the one we're all thinking about. What happens if this goes sideways and monsters start pouring out of Daedalus?

  Or what if this goes exactly as planned. And monsters start pouring out of Daedalus?

  "Questions?" Mr. Antithesis asks after Mrs. Zenith finishes outlining the final phase.

  "Yeah," says Mr. Camcorder. "These blueprints Porcelain provided - they're insanely detailed. Like, down to the wiring and ventilation shafts. How did he get this level of intelligence?"

  "Porcelain has extensive resources," Mr. Antithesis says, which isn't an answer.

  "But this goes beyond good intelligence gathering," Mrs. Synapse points out. "This looks like builder's knowledge."

  "Perhaps he consulted on the facility," Mrs. Zenith suggests, her tone making it clear this line of questioning is unwelcome. Or maybe unwise.

  Mrs. Xenograft speaks up, surprising everyone. She rarely contributes unless directly asked. "The second-floor southeast corridor is missing from these schematics."

  All eyes turn to her.

  "What are you talking about?" Mrs. Zenith asks, examining the blueprints.

  Mrs. Xenograft points to a blank area on the diagram. "This section. It's approximately thirty feet of corridor that should connect these two wings, based on the external dimensions. It's not shown."

  Mr. ESP leans forward, studying the area she indicated. "She's right. There's a gap in the plans."

  "Typical classified facility," Camcorder shrugs. "They always have secret areas not on the public blueprints."

  "These aren't public blueprints," I point out. "These are supposed to be the actual construction plans."

  An uncomfortable silence falls over the room.

  "I'll raise this discrepancy with our partners," Mr. Antithesis says finally. "In the meantime, we proceed as outlined. The day before go time, destroy your planning documents. If you seem like you're in a position where you're about to pick a fight with law enforcement, don't do that. But if you do have to, destroy your planning documents."

  He looks at each of us in turn. "I cannot overstate the importance of absolute secrecy. This operation could significantly alter the Kingdom's standing, for better or worse. Success means financial security and expanded influence. Failure..."

  He doesn't finish the thought.

  "Two weeks to prepare," Mrs. Zenith says, closing her tablet. "We'll meet again in three days to review progress and address any questions."

  "Until then," Mr. Antithesis nods. "Good evening. Bon appetit."

  The screen goes dark, leaving us sitting in silence.

  "Well," Mrs. Jellyjam says finally, "who's hungry? All this talk of prison breaks has given me an appetite."

  Conversation resumes, though more subdued than before. Servers enter with trays of pasta and wine, the smell of garlic and tomato filling the room. I accept a plate but find I'm not hungry anymore.

  Mrs. Quiet slides into the seat beside me, speaking just loud enough for me to hear. "You're worried."

  It's not a question.

  "Aren't you?" I ask. "This isn't a normal job. This is..."

  "Insane," she finishes for me. "Breaking into Daedalus is suicide on a good day."

  "Then why are we doing it?"

  She sips her wine, eyes moving to where Mrs. Zenith sits at the head of the table, barely touching her food. "Because we don't have a choice. Porcelain isn't someone you say no to. I'm guessing some deal above our heads," she whispers conspiratorially.

  I nod at her. "I don't like it. Smells bad."

  I watch the others - Mudslide laughing too loudly at something ESP said, Retribution eating methodically while staring at nothing, Xenograft feeding something from her plate into the pet carrier. All of us playing our parts, pretending this is just another job.

  But it's not. This is a powder keg, and we're all holding matches.

  "Smells bad?" She asks, probing for more.

  "Nothing concrete," I admit. "Just a feeling."

  She nods slowly. "I have the same feeling. This job... it's wrong. Not just difficult or dangerous. Wrong. Red Calf doesn't share their toys. We're not the biggest game in town. Why us?"

  Coming from Mrs. Quiet, that's practically a panic attack.

  "You know better than I do," I remind her, as much for myself as for her. "All this politics shit isn't for me. I'm here to make money and break things."

  "Yeah," she mumbles, running her hand through her hair.

  She moves away, leaving me with a plate of pasta I can't eat and a growing knot in my stomach. I glance up to find Mrs. Zenith watching me, her expression unreadable. She gives me a small nod before turning back to her conversation with Retribution.

  I look around the room, at these people I've worked with for years. My criminal family, for better or worse. We've pulled off dozens of jobs together, from simple heists to complex territory takeovers.

  Two weeks to prepare for the impossible. And all I can think is: I should've asked for a bigger cut.