04 • cold wheel* •

Abandoned Warehouses

First District, Sector 3

26 Days Until Zero Hour

Their plan was simple—don’t kill each other. And as it turned out, simplicity was the smartest move.

Despite the initial friction, a few airborne plates shattering against walls, and a couple of cracked ribs, after seven days the group of strangers had become... well, almost acquaintances. Not enough time had passed to build real bonds or trust, but no one expected miracles. All they had to do was not screw up the mission, then say their goodbyes.

They didn’t know why Callean had picked them out of the entire swarm of criminals buzzing around Brightmoore and beyond. One thing was certain: no psychologist had been consulted, because their personalities clashed like a Browning and a Colt—loudly and explosively.

The biggest powder keg? The Thifer × Carter duo. Jax didn’t trust the idea of a thief—especially a female thief—on the team. Kelly, meanwhile, couldn’t stand the sight of his smug face.

During one training session, instead of staging a mock confrontation, they got a little too into character. Inspector Nakane, who oversaw their training and “team-building,” came up with a genius idea to extinguish the flames—she cuffed them together.

Cooperation followed quickly after that; within eight hours, one dislocated wrist (Jax’s) and a handful of torn hair (Kelly’s) later, they were functioning. When Nakane paired them for a task the next day to test their newfound bond, everyone braced for chaos. But it ended with nothing more than a few insults and death glares—and the task was completed flawlessly. They even got a lollipop as a reward.

From there, things went a bit smoother.

Their days were filled with training, refining the plan, testing different scenarios, and preparing for every possible variable. They also began forming what you might generously call “working relationships.” It still felt surreal—like a fever dream. Sometimes Kelly woke up thinking this was all some elaborate joke. Other times, she thought she was on a hidden camera show. Eventually, she got used to the constant confusion—just like the others. Because deep down, they all just wanted this mission done, their records wiped clean.

And maybe that was the glue holding them together: They were all neck-deep in the same shit, and the only way out was together.

That’s probably why, after just a few weeks of being cooped up in the same building, spending nearly every waking hour together, they were able to sit around with non-alcoholic beers and talk like old friends.

And that’s how they spent their final evening before the official start of the mission titled Operation: Save the Brat—Screw Callean; though only the first half was known to the Bureau. Which explained why the “Troublemakers,” as Nakane had affectionately dubbed them, were allowed a breath of fresh air behind the warehouse, sipping on their canned drinks in peace—no cameras, no interns hovering around.

“Can you believe that by this time tomorrow, we’ll be pretending to be part of Busterrix’s gang?” said Ben, the Redheaded Nerd, the group’s default extrovert and go-to supplier of dry jokes and conversation topics.

“That’s if nothing goes to hell before then,” Kelly replied dryly. She’d never hidden her dislike for people or her pessimistic view of the world—and the boys had learned not to provoke her. Well, except Jax. He irritated her just by existing.

“What could possibly go wrong?” Walker chimed in, swinging his legs from atop a pile of crates. “We’re ridiculously prepared. We had full professional training. We’ve known each other for years and trust each other with our lives. Perfect team. Perfect plan!”

Everyone burst out in bitter laughter.

Everything about this screamed improvised disaster. It was hard to believe the Bureau was a respected, high-level agency. Above the police, below the Ministry of Security—tons of power, lots of freedom to operate. And yet... they’d chosen criminals over professionals. The Troublemakers still didn’t know why.

“But seriously,” Keith said, taking a long sip from his can, “do you think any of this actually has a shot at working?”

“No,” Kelly replied bluntly, finishing off her drink.

“You’re unusually talkative today.”

“It’s the stress. I talk too much when I’m nervous.”

“Oh, how adorable. Look at you sharing your feelings. This mission is really bringing us closer,” Amstaff grinned—just in time to dodge the crushed can Kelly flung at him.

The rest laughed. Kelly throwing things at people was standard by now. And damn, she had good aim. 

“But seriously,” Montgomery added, resting an arm on the crates, “I’ve got a weird drive to see this through. Not sure why.”

“I think we all want that clean record,” Jax said. “So let’s try not to screw it up.”

That tabula rasa—a clean slate—that was the real goal. To start fresh, free of labels. It sounded too good to be true. Why would Callean offer that to a bunch of criminals?

Then again, local police were meant for picking off small-time crooks like them. When they once asked Nakane about it, she’d laughed and said, “That’s the kind of stuff we wipe our asses with.” Which brought them back to the same unanswered question: why them? 

After days of getting no answers, they stopped asking. They were like robots now—programmed for one thing: get in, get the kid, get out.

That vision started to grow on Kelly. She’d never complained about her “career,” even though it was the least respected branch of criminal work. It’s just how she’d been raised—maybe even born for it. People always said she had a “gift.” Still, everyone wants to retire eventually. She just hadn’t expected hers to come at twenty—and under these circumstances.

Her post-mission plan was simple: find Estheim. With a clean slate, she wouldn’t have to hide like a vampire from daylight. She’d search the whole island if she had to—even go to hell. And when she found him, she was going to kick his ass for disappearing on her.

Watching the sun slowly sink beyond the distant city skyline, Kelly realized something: She was thinking about her future—after the mission. Her past was becoming the before.

Before the mission, I was just a petty thief. But now? Hey, look—upstanding citizen!

Was she ready for that?

No.

She didn’t know how to live that kind of life—an honest one. She’d never had a regular job. Since the day she’d been on her own, she’d lived off big and small scores. She took from people who had too much and gave to herself—who always had too little. She and Estheim had grown up in a thieves’ village in District Seven—beyond that, just ocean. She’d never been a regular teen. No house parties, no gossiping about boys, no college. Just fights, thefts, and the back seat of a police cruiser—sometimes the front. But never a jail cell.

And she didn’t intend to start now.

Despite everything she thought about the Bureau—and about Callean, who by now ranked as a greater evil in her book than the Norderian police—she wanted to do her job right. She wanted to go all in, like she would on her biggest score. Only this time, the mission and the reward were far bigger than the usual gray morality of her world.

She, Kelly Thifer, a petty thief and known criminal, was going to do something noble.

She was going to save the Prime Minister’s son.

Or, if the brat pissed her off, she’d shoot him in the head and blame it on Busterrix. 

*cold wheel --> in gambling slang, a table/device at which players have bad luck