Hey, all! I wrote this a while back, last Easter to be precise. Right now, in November 2013, I'm exterminating some of the writing bugs and grammatical errors (for about the sixth time... yeesh). But this IS an older story of mine, so it wasn't very well-written to begin with. So... yeah! Whatever happens, I hope you enjoy this.

I crept along slowly through the halls, periodically looking over my shoulder for anyone who noticed me. This is a nerve-wracking job, being a thief; you can never really keep your guard down. Even when you're alone and have enough skill to dodge camera view, you can't stop looking over your shoulder every five seconds. Or is that just me? Eh. Doesn't matter, really. What mattered was that the museum was... quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

I passed many different paintings along the hall; the portraits' eyes seemed to follow me as I kept moving. Wait... did the Ivan the Terrible portrait just wink at me? I really need to get more sleep, I must be seeing things. I sighed to myself. I just hoped that Sly was in position already.

My ears pricked up when I heard something. It wasn't loud, I probably couldn't have heard it if I wasn't listening for it. It was like footsteps, quick and quiet. I put my finger to my ear, "Bentley, you sure this place is empty?" I asked hesitantly.

"Positive! The heat recognition software says you're the only on that floor... wait... oh boy."

My eyes widened. For a brief moment, I heard a snicker... but I ignored it. I turned quickly, and ducked into the shadows; I wasn't prepared for a fight. But when I looked around... nothing. The portraits still watched me. The Romanesque pillars still stood silently. The moon hung a bit higher in the sky than before, but that was just nature. Everything was the same.

"Miss me?"

"Gah!" I screamed, flailing my arms like a madman. One of them whizzed over his head, which he ducked for. Naturally, Sly burst out in a fit of laughter. When I got to a calmer state, I socked him in the shoulder.

"Don't DO that! I hate it when you do that!" I said angrily. He just smiled more.

"Oh, relax Greg! You heard Bentley, nobody else is in here! And," he gestured to a camera in the corner, "he shut off the camera system."

"Yeah, but-" In mid sentence, my shoulders slumped. "The cameras were off? I've been dodging them for the past half hour! Bentley, you... Why didn't you tell me?"

He said nonchalantly, "You didn't ask."

"Very funny, turtle." I sighed lightly, " Is there anyone else in the building besides us, Bentley?"

"A couple of guys upstairs and below, but besides that, I don't think so."

"Alright, let's get this over with. Sly, you've got the fake egg right?"

He nodded, trying to hold back a fit of giggling. Was I that funny? Apparently. I started down the hallway again, "Alright, Sitting Duck, you going to join me or do you just stand around and wait to get shot by Carmelilta?"

He stopped laughing, and ran to keep up with me. He had a scowl on his face, "Touche." It was my turn to grin.

This was a pretty big job, here. Let me explain, but first, a little background: In 1885, the House of Faberge, a prosperous jewelry firm founded in 1842, was in its prime of the century. It even overshadowed the abilities it has today, to tell you the truth.

For decades, the House created magnificent pieces of jewelry that were admired by everyone. Almost like Ferrari's are right now. But even then, they were only thought of for the random piece that they created. Well, until 1885, when they started one of their grandest projects: The Faberge Eggs.

The Eggs were crafted from precious metals, like gold and silver, and precious gemstones like jade and diamond, in... well, in egg shapes. In the time, they were worn proudly. They were the symbol of wealth and luxury in their time, even currently. If you had a Faberge Egg, then you were pretty well off. Of course, they made cheaper versions of them, for the public that could afford them, but that's a different story. We want to talk about the special ones.

Only 50 of the important ones (crafted for the Royal Families of Russia) were made between a 32 year period, from 1885 to 1917. And only 42 of them have survived the test of time. The other eight have all either been lost, or destroyed in the past century-and-a-half. The House had planned on making more of them for the Romanovs, but before they could, they were dethroned and executed (the Romanovs, not the Faberges), so all Romanov-based Egg ideas were scrapped. All except one, of course. The Dragon's Eye Egg. The original founder of the Faberge house created it for the first royal Romanov, but it was stolen before it could be delivered to the Tsar. And now the Russian government has finally found it.

Normally, that's where the story would end. But the owner of the Russian Historical House, a man named Vladimir Raskrochta, is the High-most patriarch in one of Russia's worst crime syndicates. In other words, one of the worst kinds of criminals.

So we can steal from him. Hopefully we can put that money towards something better than what he's using it for, him killing people and all.

Sly and I split up at a fork in the hallways. He went upstairs, while I went down; he'd have to get into the egg room from the outside roof entrance, while I came in through the ventilation shaft. I've never been a fan of tight spaces, so you can guess how I felt about that. As I got to the edge of a corner, I saw a vent big enough for me. From Bentley's schematics, it looked like this would be the vent that lead up to the Dragon Eye room. Getting down on one knee, I pulled a small screwdriver from my pocket, and started on the panel.

Then I heard footsteps. Crap.

I was glad the place was pitch black, as I curved my neck around the corner. He was out of range for the flashlight to show me, but it certainly gave enough light for me to see him. He was a big, fat dog of some kind. I think a Doberman Pincer. Mean little buggers, them. But I was glad that, for once, a Flashlight Guard didn't have a bullet-shooting gun. I almost grinned, in fact. And that's when I noticed the Shock Pistol. With a gold star on it. This heist was getting better and better.

He kept getting closer, so I'd have to make short work of this. One, two, three, finally all of the screws holding the panel in place fell, as I caught it from making noise on the floor. I slipped in, quickly grabbing the panel again, and slowly securing it back into its original place. I was just in time, seeing the light go right over where I was kneeling. I saw his clawed paws click impatiently, "Vladimir is a bigger Smucitură than he comes off. It's not my fault that Grevski got the measles..." He kept muttering to himself in Russian; I don't know the language very well, but I'm pretty sure that if I said any of what he said, I'd have to wash out my mouth with soap.

I shrugged and let out a breath when he finally walked away. I twisted and turned to get back in the right direction, and shuffled my way through the darkness to the Egg Room.

Meanwhile...

"Sigh..." Bentley was tired. He'd been up since noon planning this heist. He heard about the egg rather late, not giving him much time to prepare... but he got it done, without a hitch. Sleep deprivation aside, of course.

"So..." Murray said with a mouthful of Meat lovers' pizza, "Why is this thing so valuable, again?"

'Why do I even bother with those slide shows?' But he shook it off. Murray didn't mean to not listen, he knew that. "Alright," he said with a smile, "I'll tell you it one more time; This egg was the first one made by the Faberge House. And I mean, THE first. It's more valuable than most of the things we've ever seen, including a lot of the things in the Cooper Vault. And the creep who owns the thing is pretty high in the Russian Mob."

His mouth dropped. "Woah."

"Exactly."

He grabbed a plastic drink cup from a small metal table in the back of the van, "But, why is it here? Shouldn't it be somewhere... you know... important? It certainly sounds important, at least."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, yes, that's the tough pa-" suddenly a shrill beeping sounded. Bentley turned sharply, to see that his heat signature detector had found another body in the building. And it was moving straight for the Dragon's Eye Room. "Oh, great."

"What?" Murray pulled in fast to see the monitor, pushing Bentley over slightly from his girth. He accidentally tilted his drink, which quickly splashed all over the entire computer board! "NO!" Bentley shouted, but it was too late. The monitor crackled with electricity, Bentley and Murray shielded themselves from the sparks. Then the lights flickered in the van, on and off, on and off... then darkness.

Murray's shoulders slumped. He laughed nervously, "Err... sorry."

Bentley face-palmed.

I exclaimed as I pushed out the grate with my foot. I smiled, as I crawled into the Egg room. "Beat you, Sly."

"You sure?"

"Gah!" I recoiled as he fell from the ledge above, with another grin. "Would you stop that?!"

"No. Come on."

I growled to myself. I swear, one of these days... sorry, I'm getting off-topic. "You know, I saw something interesting on my way here. An Interpol Guard."

He turned to me, "What? You mean, patroling the grounds?"

"I think he works for Vladimir. He was muttering in Russian about how Vladimir didn't pay him enough."

Sly frowned. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was torn to find a good explanation for that. It surprised my how quickly me went from jesting to seriousness. Actually, kind of disturbing. But anyway...

The Egg Room was pretty beautiful; just like the Egg. It was in the shape of an egg, with one door on both the top and the lower level. The room was painted with beautiful drawings of Dragons and fire, greens and reds and blues almost seemed to glow in the moonlight from the skylight. The Egg was placed in a small, glass case, set precariously on a bright blue crystal spire.

"Is that just for decoration?" I asked.

Sly looked grim. " 'fraid not. It's an old security technique. I saw some of this in China a couple years back. The case is perched on a pressure plate. If the case gets moved at all, the plate activates. Then it... oh, crap."

I looked over, nervous. "What?"

"The plate's wired to something a little more... modern. See those copper tubes? They're part of a vacuum-lock system. Terrible things... cruel." he muttered under his breath. "If the case shifts, it'll set these off. Pressure passes through them, locking the hydraulic doors and... sigh..."

He was starting to worry me with all of his muttering. "Those dragons on the walls? Hidden vacuums. The pressure will activate them too. Suffocation in 10, 25 seconds max."

I shuddered. "Gruesome."

"You're telling me. The last time I saw this was at Clockwerk's lair... Bad memories." He shrugged. "Oh well. Work your magic, Greg."

I nodded, and went to work. This thing had a keypad locking mechanism, pretty common for a place like this. Not enough to stop thieves like us, though. I pulled out the vial of Keypad Goo (Aptly named by Murray), and used it on the pads. The smudges appeared. I laughed out loud at the results of the goo.

"What?" From the look on Sly's face, he questioned my sanity a bit.

I said through my laughter, "This guy uses 1-2-3 as a code! What a loser."

He snickered as I punched in the numbers, and smiled as the door swooped open gracefully. The cage didn't seem to shift at all, still staying perched precariously.

Now it was Sly's turn. He wiggled his fingers, getting that excited look on his face again. He'd need precision to do this, I stepped aside. I would have probably tried to psych him out a bit, but with the possibility of, you know, dying on the table, I didn't want to risk it.

I saw him pull something from his pouch; the fake egg. From Bentley's calculations, this was an exact replica of the Dragon's Eye Egg in height, weight, and design. I admired his handiwork, if he hadn't become a thief, he could have easily become the next great artist. He put Dimitri to shame, that's for sure.

As Sly stared at the green, almost glowing, dragon eye of the real Egg, he shuddered. Something about the Egg obviously made him uneasy. He sighed, almost immediately regaining his composure. He pulled in close to the egg, his hand with the fake egg right beside it. His left hand was propped right above the other, prepared to strike the Faberge. He grabbed his cane from his back, and handed it to me.

One second, two seconds... I heard the clinking of metal. My ears pricked up, worried. But I didn't need to be. Sly whistled hapily, looking more relaxed, and snatched his cane from above him as he walked out the door. He tossed a small, green orb in his paw, and dropped it in his red pouch. He has talent; that much I'll give him.

"Ahem!"

We both whirled around, confused looks on our faces. Then we heard the clicking of guns loading in the darkness. The lights turned on in the wing we were in, and we saw three doberman pincers, just like the Interpol agent from before, and a large Russian Grizzly Bear in front of us. And, of course, he was armed.

... HA! I just got that joke!