Plans for the Grand Heist

Across town, an entirely different group of people, in an entirely different type of space, had gathered for an entirely different purpose.

Plotting.

Not very good plotting, however. Owen wanted to go back in time and slap whichever dumbass that had labelled the Sixes-and-Sevens as a terrorist group. Because of that entirely overinflated title, Owen had been sent to infiltrate it to keep tabs on their 'terroristic agenda'. And once he was successfully implanted, well. He had filed many, many reports that the bunch of bored teenagers barely counted as a criminal gang. Owen would personally have labelled them as a bunch of very committed role-players who occasionally irritated their neighbours. Despite that, the Powers That Be consistently decided it was better to be safe than sorry and left him in place. As if this bunch might suddenly turn around and construct a functional death ray or train killer attack ferrets or something.

The room was much too small for them. With the windows and doors closed, the air was heavy with the scent of Unwashed Teenager. Underneath the dim light of a lampshade that looked like it had been borrowed from someone's grandmother, Peter, the sometimes leader, was laying out his plan. He had all the props of a heist movie, including a map (printed off google), tokens (stolen from a monopoly board), and sound effects. Sound effects he was making with his own mouth.

"And then…" said Peter, pausing to make sure everyone was looking at him. "And then, we achieve our dead brilliant goal, right in front of those hacks from the world press."

"Are we trying to rob them or bring awareness to our cause?" asked Owen once the silence had dragged on perhaps a bit too long and it was clear no-one intended to clap or cheer like Peter so clearly expected. "Not that I'm not down with either, you understand, but I need some time to get into the proper head space."

"That's precisely why this plan is so dead brilliant," said Peter, spreading his arms wide theatrically. "We can do both. We can grab the dosh we need to advance our agenda, right, while also exposing the fundamental corruption of the current system to the brain-washed masses."

"I somehow suspect the people we have just committed crimes against will not give the most sympathetic take on our views."

It wasn't even Owen who piped up that time. The 'members' all had an elevated impression of their own importance, but not all of them were completely delusional. Some, at least, were still capable of basic logic.

"I thought we weren't descending to the same level as common criminals," said one in an undertone to the person next to him. "Or giving in to the mass delusion perpetrated by the system that money has value."

"Criminals are our fellow victims of the oppressive regime now," replied his friend, "And we're using the tools of their tyranny against them."

"Also," whispered someone from behind them, "We haven't had enough money for pizza since Joey's dad confiscated his credit card."

Someone on the other side half raised their hand. "Do we have to wait for Sunday? I'm kind of busy on Sunday. Can't we do it tomorrow instead?"

"Of course it has to be Sunday!" said Peter. "No country has legends about revolutions that happened on a bloody Saturday."

"Bloody Saturday? Is there going to be blood involved? I don't think I'm okay with blood being involved."

"Not Bloody Saturday, a bloody Saturday," said Peter, through clenched teeth.

"I don't get it."

"It was a swear word, not a literal description," supplied some-one else, helpfully.

"Oh!"

"Look, are we done here? Since we aren't going to get food, I need to be heading home."

There was a general murmuring of agreement, and Peter visibly collapsed. "Alright, alright, we're done here. But everyone, make sure you study up for your parts on Sunday! This is important work, this is."

Owen waited until he was free from observation and cobbled together a social media posting with the correct string of key phrases to tell his team what was going on, even though he could equally easily have just made an open phone call in the middle of the 'lair'. The lack of professionalism in his targets was no reason to start being unprofessional himself.

That report was duly decoded, packaged, summarised, and distributed. First within the counter-terrorism group, then to a rather tired manager who tossed it over to the normal beat police, and then, when the target location raised a flag within the system, it was hand delivered with a malicious grin to the Events Team. The police were technically a completely separate organisation in a completely separate building. It was, however, directly across the plaza, and a little fraternisation had come to be expected. Especially when they could inflict bad news on one another.

"Can I help you?" asked Sam dryly, blocking the doorway with his body. The last time they'd let one of them in, they'd lost an entire refrigerator's worth of food.

"Ever heard of the Sixes-and-Sevens group? There's a credible threat from them against the Horizon Centre on Sunday."

"And… why is this our problem?" asked Sam, not raising his hand to accept the skinny folder being trust at him.

"Because you insisted. Symposium involving dozens of members of the foreign press? Not providing any more fuel to the narrative about uncontrollable crime rates and loss of social order in Aquatown? Mayor's instructions about minimal police presence and a safe and friendly environment? Ringing any bells?"

"Shit," said Sam, quietly, and very, very sincerely.

The whole team was brought into the meeting room to brainstorm (and for those who still had hoped for one, to mourn their lost weekends).

"The Sixes-and-Sevens aren't exactly the most serious of villains, are they? Just the presence of a beat cop will probably be enough to throw them off."

"They look like innocent kids," pointed out Margaret. "If we have armed police 'bullying' them, the press stories will be wild."

"Then instead of an armed police officer, why don't we just station someone with Charisma there to convince them to do something else or go somewhere else?" asked Mark.

Sam internally rolled his eyes. It seemed that Mark was another one of those who took all their views from television and thought everyone who could use Charisma was some Top Tier expert. Leaving aside potentially 'the' expert himself, Lee Harrow, there wasn't a single individual in the city that could do much more than suggest someone repeat themselves in a slightly calmer manner.

"We don't have the resources," said Sam briefly, and turned back to Margaret. "It might be a bad look for police to be arresting kids, but the press will be a lot worse if we let those journalists get robbed or kidnapped."

"Damn it. At least the rest of the centre is empty this weekend."

"Ah, actually?" interrupted Margaret.

"What?" asked Sam, already knowing it was going to be bad news.

"We approved a short-notice convention this weekend as well."

"Seriously?" asked Sam at the heavens before looking back. "What is it? Which rooms will they be in?"

"Give me a second," said Margaret, turning to her laptop. "It's a pop-up Eternity Unicorns convention. The two small rooms on the South side for fan sales on the Saturday, and a live-streaming in the second auditorium on Sunday."

"Is this the International Support Day Special Episode?" asked Mark.

"Ah, maybe?" said Margaret.

"The what now?" asked Sam.

"The International Support Day Special Episode," said Mark, "Eternity Unicorns announced a surprise special episode to raise funds for—"

"Actually," interrupted Sam. "I don't care. All I care about is whether there will be people underfoot or not. Margaret, ask counterterrorism if they can nail down the times for us. It'll be different situations if this all goes down while the fans are safely tucked away in the auditorium, compared to when they're all hanging about afterwards."

Sam then sent someone straight back across the plaza to get a few beat cops assigned after all, even if they'd stay out of sight. They wouldn't get out of things that easily. Someone else was sent to develop various PR strategies with the press office. Soon enough it was just Sam and Mark left in the meeting room.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Mark.

"Why don't you… research that International whatever day and this convention. See if you can get us some sort of schedule for all the activities."

Mark bounced off to his new desk to complete this vital task and read up on all the announcements for the spontaneous convention. The fans had very little time to put it together after the producers surprise announcement, but they'd done an amazing job in the meantime. Even the legend herself, fan artist MoonlightDreamlight was going to be there. He couldn't believe he hadn't heard about it before. He couldn't believe he hadn't known that she lived right there in Aquatown. Mark shook his head and concentrated on his work. Some things had to come first, even above MoonlightDreamlight.

At the next meeting, Sam heard him out, and then sighed. "Maybe we should postpone the convention side of things. At least that will cut down on the number of variables."

"You can't postpone it," objected Mark. "It's a live stream event. It wouldn't be much of an event if they were just doing a recording a week later."

"Some sacrifices have to be made," said Sam.

"If it can be done quietly," reminded Margeret.

"It won't be," predicted Mark. "If you do this, it will cause waves throughout the Eternity Unicorns community, and we—they do have enough reach to get that reported in the mainstream media as well."

Then Mark continued with suspicious eagerness, "if it's a resource problem, why don't we just send me? I do have a minor in Charismatic Management."

Sam wanted to pound his head on the table. Mark didn't have ideas from television; he had them from whatever degree-for-sale university his family had gotten him into. And now he had fantasies about coming in as a Hero and Saving the Day.

"We don't have the time it would take to prepare you for the role," said Sam, trying to gentle his 'no way in hell, you delusional idiot.' "Nor do we have the kind of backup such a task would need."

"I don't see why it has to be that complex," said Mark. "Can't we just—"

Sam didn't have time for this. Aquatown did not have time for this. Through gritted teeth, Sam said, "Mark, I think perhaps you should take a break."

"How long of a break?" asked Mark, looking shocked and a little hurt.

Sam took a few breaths and managed a diplomatic smile. "Take the weekend, like we originally planned. You're new, and this is one hell of a thing to encounter on your very first week at work."

"But what if you need me?" asked Mark. "I'm willing to step up and do whatever it takes for the work."

Sam reminded himself firmly that it was far better that Mark was overeager than uninterested. It was just that he'd prefer Mark not to be overeager right at that moment. "Why don't you keep us informed about where you are and how to get hold of you. Then, if we need you, we can call you in immediately."

"Very well," said Mark, as if he were conveying some great favour rather than accepting an order.

Sam put that to one side. They could work on Mark's attitude later as well. Much later. He'd have time to consider Mark again after all this nonsense with the Sixes-and-Sevens was safely over.