The raccoon looked left, then right, then left again. The skyline of Paris seemed all too similar to him; The pale buildings, the neon lights, the towering structure to the east of him in front of the moon... He'd been on this perch many times in the past few months. Gazing downward to the city streets, he didn't find much activity; a car passed once, and a troop of tourists were patrolling around the avenue, but other than that, nothing. A mainly quiet night... these were the most relaxing. Even in a city turned stereotypical.
He stood on one of the few unique buildings of the city, crafted completely from brick and limestone. The Brick roof was a bit unsettling each time to step up onto, even with the hard-soled shoes he wore, but it was sort of relaxing. The rest of this city was all like a child's picture, where every home and building looked the same; you could mistake the Local Bakery for Pablo's Floral Emporium. Except for one building, of course.
The French Interpol Office.
The only way you could miss that building was if you were blind, with its spinning neon sign. Many jested that it was as easy to find the Police in Paris as it was to find a Fast Food resturaunt in New York City. The raccoon went into a running position, took one final breath... and leapt off of the roof. He used the golden-hooked cane in his right arm to steady himself in decent, spinning once in the manner of his ancestor Rioichi's Ninja Spire technique, landing gracefully onto the N in Interpol. He crouched low to gain balance again, taking into account the torque of the sign to launch him the necessary twenty feet needed to reach the rooftop of the Offices.
"... Are there really that many Fast Food Joints in New York?"
"Mhmm."
"... That's sort of sad, if you think about it."
He made a dive to the rooftop, the pack on his back giving him slight air resistance; just enough to pull himself back in an upright position, landing square on his toes on the skylight. He landed quiet enough that the patrolling agents inside didn't hear, or at least didn't care to look up, continuing their patrol. He sighed in relief at his fortune.
"Wizard to Sitting Duck, come in Sitting Duck."
The raccoon groaned. "I told you Bentley, stop calling me Sitting Duck! It's degrading."
The voice in the intercom stifled a chuckle, and the raccoon heard a flurry of keystrokes. "You're in position, right?"
"All set. Proceeding to the interior. Wish me luck!"
"Proceeding to the interior?"
"Hey! It sounds... Thief-y."
"... I'm not even gonna make a joke about that."
The raccoon waited for a couple of seconds, actually expecting his colleague in the van to wish him luck. When the feedback from the microphone ended, he shrugged, and proceeded on.
At the angle he was, the moon was directly above the ventilation shaft that he needed to reach. The Thief was surprised to see the size of the entrance, he could easily stand upright inside by the looks of it, and have enough room for another head's worth of height. He tried to stretch his ligaments to loosen up; Why was he nervous? This was like all other heists, only someplace different. The paid-off thugs were replaced by the Brave Interpol Agents, and the Casino in Rio Grande was replaced by a big...forboding... state-of-the-art security-filled... Interpol Office.
"Sigh..."
"You write down 'sigh' when somebody sighs?"
"Oh, would you just keep on reading?!"
"Fine! Fine, yeesh! Don't explode, Greg."
The raccoon jumped up, and used his cane to latch up onto a hook used to lift up supplies through another shaft, adjacent to the Vent shaft. He vaulted off with one fell swoop, and landed on the very small ledge outside of the vent shaft. His arms did windmill motions, keeping him barely aloft and balanced. In a gut movement, he snatched the bars of the vent cover, securing himself on the ledge 7 feet above the rooftop. His tail was moving rapidly, as it did when he was nervous or hesitant.
"I don't..."
"..."
"...think I should stop reading. Stop interrupting me, Greg!"
He set his foot into another hook, keeping steady, and yanked on the thin bars with great strength. They gave way, and clattered to the rooftop obnoxiously, making the Thief cringe.
He pulled himself up on one knee, and dusted off his blue garb. Fitting the hat back on his head, he started to walk into the shaft, and into the inner workings of the building.
The shaft ended quickly, with a long drop-off. Peering down into the space below, he saw a sight that made him go wide-eyed. dozens and dozens of yellow beams speckled a 30 foot drop into the building's elevator shaft; between the light trails he saw the glass roofed elevator car. His tail twitched again as he tried to take a deep breath.
"Problems, Duck?"
Sly grumbled at Bentley's voice, "Yes, Lizard; I'm between a rock and a Laser Grid. Any way of disrupting it?"
His keys clicked again. "...Sorry, Sly. I can't do anything till you can deactivate that grid from the top of the Elevator Car; there should be a security panel there. The code's 9-3-7."
The Raccoon sighed. "Thanks anyway, Bentley."
He switched off the com link for a couple of seconds. He'd only had to deal with laser grids twice before, and the last time hadn't gone so smoothly. The singed tip of his tail still stung occasionally when he sat down.
He tried to take one more deep breath. "... Crap."
I pushed myself away from the computer desk, and put my hands behind my head with a smile. "So, Sly? How's that?"
He had a kind grin on his face. "Not bad, Gregory; you could be pretty good with this writing stuff." He started to walk away. I glanced at the red flashing digita clock on the desk, reading 1:30 AM. Dang.
"Of course, you're no Dan Brown or Paterson, but..."
"Ha ha. Very funny."
Well, I'll say nothing. Except that this was VERY fun to write; Thievius Raccoonus is one of my favorite early Ps2 Games. Who knows? Someday I may choose to write a story of actual Thievius Raccoonus material... anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! And make sure to have a great weekend! (I'll leave this as 'In Progress'... I may have to do more of this afterwards...)