“Two Masks, One Payday”

Rain hammered down on the rusted rooftops of Kingsley Warehouse District, turning the alleyways into glistening mirrors of neon. The air smelled like oil, wet concrete, and the slow hum of trouble waiting to happen. Sydney leaned against the wall under a flickering streetlamp, twirling her mask on one finger like a toy. The painted grin on it reflected the real one curling across her face.

She loved nights like this—quiet right before the noise.

Bain had told her she’d be meeting a new partner tonight. Said the job was small, quick, and clean—just enough cash for two people looking to warm their pockets. Sydney didn’t believe the “clean” part. She never did. But she loved the idea of testing out a fresh wildcard.

Footsteps approached—soft, deliberate, not cop shoes. Good start.

Sydney looked up as the figure stepped out of the shadows. No face. No name. No clues to whether they were a man or woman, seasoned heister or scared rookie. Just a quiet stare from beneath a hood, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and the tense body language of someone who was either very confident or very desperate.

Both types amused her.

“Well, well!” she chirped, her voice bright and razor-sharp. “You must be the mystery box. Bain said you were competent, but he didn’t mention you were dramatic.”

The stranger remained silent—just leveled their gaze at her, sizing her up, maybe trying to guess what kind of madness they were signing up for.

Sydney clapped her hands once, loudly, startling a flock of pigeons from a nearby fire escape. “Relax! I don’t bite… unless the mission goes sideways.” Her grin widened.

She pointed to the warehouse looming across the street. A single light was on inside, faint against the storm. “That’s tonight’s prize,” she said. “Little stash house, middle-man operation, sloppy security. Grab the package, crack the safe upstairs, and we’re out before anyone wakes up. Split’s clean, fifty-fifty. Two masks, one payday.”

The figure gave a short nod.

Sydney’s eyes sparkled with a kind of feral excitement. “Ohhh, I like you already. Quiet type. Means I get to talk more!”

She slid her mask onto her face, the plastic grin settling over her features like a second skin. Thunder rumbled. She extended a gloved hand, tilting her head playfully.

“You ready, partner? ’Cause once we step through that door… we’re family ’til the bullets stop.”