When the gang was out of the warehouse, Skunk was usually able to get decent rest. He had occupied the warehouse for two months now but hadn't really inspected the place, beyond making sure it was abandoned and wire-free, so this left entire storage rooms and closets full of random crap. Skunk knew Pilat liked exploring those for himself.

It was maybe 1 PM, and Skunk was in his room, a "refurbished" manager's office. He only needed the basics in that bedroom: a bed, a TV, his clothing in a large trunk, and various trinkets from past heists. He had been awake for barely two hours. The fall of a box echoed through the warehouse, and it felt like a dog whistle with Skunk's hangover.

"J-Jesus! The fuck are you doing out there?!" Skunk sat up from his bed and shouted at the doorway, his choice of volume backfiring horribly on himself.

A moment passed, and Pilat came in running with a box of something. His face was lit up with excitement as he called out, "B-Boss! I found some perfectly good tools in the old garage room!"

"Mmhmm. Fine." Skunk groaned, rubbing at his face. It seemed to be that Pilat was working on the car; he couldn't complain.

Pilat knelt to the ground, opening up a cardboard box and rifling through it. "Whoever owned this place before must've bought these and forgot about them! These are brand new! Mine are falling apart, and I can finally get stuff done on time!"

"Speakin' of, how's the car doing?" Skunk knew he sounded uninterested. "I told some guys we'd meet 'em tonight."

"I-It's going well. Just need to adjust the tires and figure out what's making the windshield wiper fluid shoot funny."

"Good, good..." Skunk's eyes were feeling heavy. He knew full well he needed to get up, shower, and make himself look less like pond scum, but Skunk just wanted to konk out for another four hours.

"Would it help if I made coffee?"

"Sure, sure." As soon as he made the call, Pilat skittered out of the room. God, the was kid loud when he was hyper...

Pilat returned some time later with straight black coffee, in a yellow Doraemon mug. He set it on the end table, declaring, "Here! Just how you like it."

"Maybe not the fuckin' mug, Pil, but I appreciate it," Skunk gurgled as he dragged himself to the edge of the bed. He took a hefty gulp of coffee and pretended it wasn't as hot as it was.

"It's all we have until the dishwasher finishes, boss."

"Ah."

Pilat waited a few minutes, and then started to head out the door. The sound of his boss clearing his throat made him skid to a stop immediately.

"Y-yes?"

"You got any plans for the evening?"

Pilat was quiet, awkwardly so, clearly trying to suppress blunt sarcasm. He said timidly, "Well, c'mon, you know I never have plans outside the gang."

"You do now. Two buddies of mine are passing through town on the way to some deal, and we thought we'd meet for dinner."

"Where-?" Pilat asked, finding himself being suddenly pulled to the side of the bed. Skunk let his fingers sink through Pilat's already naturally-ruffled hair.

"Hm." Skunk paused to think, hoping the coffee would kick in already. "Some place called the Chateau Griande. I think I bought some amps behind the place a few years ago."

Pilat's eyes widened. "That place is expensive!"

"Pilat, man, how long've you known me?" Skunk put an arm around his shoulder. "We won't be paying."

The younger man blinked a few times. "...Oh."

"Right. And we'll be picking some stuff up on the way out, too."

Skunk had Ox drop them off about three blocks from the restaurant. Pilat suspected it was to make them look more natural; nothing good ever seemed to come out of driving a plateless hot red aerocar into the centre of town.

"I look like some preppy idiot," Pilat whined as he tried to adjust his cabby hat.

"You look fine. You blend right in." Skunk had thrown on a fedora and a cotton face mask. Face masks were still a common thing in Metro City, and he just looked like some tall guy with a cold. The paleness of his skin certainly sealed the deal.

Chateau Griande was a small, bi-level white building tucked in between a nightclub and a shoe store. The second half of "Station to Station" blared from inside the night club, and its front neon sign reading "MINX" glowed pink into the nightscape. Pilat felt a strange, happy feeling at the sight of this; it was odd to experience such a perfect aesthetic right before him.

The two didn't stop to stare. They stepped into the restaurant, finding a tall, suited man in a black trench coat standing by the reservation desk. Pilat had no idea who this was, but stayed quiet, knowing this was one of Metro City's criminal oldheads. Skunk, on the other hand, almost didn't recognize the man; Acetylene Lamp had gotten new frames and infinitely pricier clothing.

"Well, well..." Lamp said, strolling up to Skunk as he took off his brown leather gloves. "I didn't think they stacked shit this high."

"You still give Ham rides on that thing?" Skunk jeered, with a glance at Lamp's mustache. The two burst out laughing, Lamp giving a goodhearted smack to Skunk's upper arm, all while Pilat and the woman at the reservation desk shared a confused glance. It wasn't a long one, as Skunk soon nudged Pilat as a cue to follow him to the second floor. Lamp gave the reservation desk four fingers, signalling how many menus they'd need.

Lamp joined them on the stairs soon enough. He called out behind the two, "So who's the kid?"

"Pilat Vannelli," Skunk called back. "Right-hand man."

"You mean he drives you around, or..." Lamp shaped his right hand into an O and flicked it up and down briskly. Pilat almost tripped and fell down the stairs upon seeing this.

"Christ, Lamp, can it!" Skunk pulled his face mask off. "Go to 77th Street and pick up a chick if you're gonna be like this."

"I'm testing you. Don't want you to get soft, Kusai."

Hamegg waved to them from the top of the stairs before darting into a private room. Pilat caught sight of the man and glanced confusedly at Skunk, who whispered, "Old gang friends. We went to college together."

"Yeah, but why'd you invite me?" Pilat's first question honestly was, You went to college?

"You seemed bored at home."

Pilat turned away from Skunk. It wasn't often that the older man got that personal with him; it was almost flattering to think he'd been brought out for a simple dinner.

They reached the private room, a tiny white and purple dining room that turned halfway into a balcony. Lamp closed the translucent glass door behind them, and went about hanging his trench coat on the platinum coat hook opposite the door.

"Ham's already ordered some red and hors d'oeuvres." Lamp waved a hand towards the round table.

Skunk picked up the entire red wine bottle and took a strong chug. Pilat took his time taking his hat off and shaking his hair back into place.

"You two are animals," Hamegg sighed. He was in the process of dipping little cheese squares into fondue sauce. He did this while wearing prim white gloves.

Skunk rolled his eyes and sat opposite Hamegg at the table. "And you've gotten soft. What happened to the robot circus?"

"The Chicago mob shut it down." Hamegg bitterly bit into a cheese piece. "Since then, Lamp and I have been running some old tricks, you see...odd jobs and heists to pay the bills."

"You don't pay bills."

Hamegg smirked. "Fine. To pay for entertainment expenses."

Silent, Pilat sat at the table with his hands on his knees. He privately hoped Skunk would order whiskey, or some other form of alcohol he actually liked. Wine just tasted like paint to him. The faces of the new men looked familiar to Pilat now; it had begun to set in that he knew them very distantly from the wanted posters that used to hang in Cristallo's years ago. Pilat was in a room with three of the craftiest criminals to come out of Metro City. He didn't know whether to be flattered that Skunk would bring him around these guys, or to be completely pissed about his shot nerves.

"How did you meet Skunk, young man?" Hamegg asked, making Pilat look up. Hamegg, as he only ever seemed to be known as, had a big beaming grin that Pilat identified as a kind one. Pilat looked away, shrugging.

"Well...he just kinda picked me up at a bar I worked at...I guess he liked how well I put up with the clientele." Pilat played with his hands. "I had to carry whole trays of mugs, so I guess that shows handiness...?"

"Yeah. I was runnin' low on men at the time," Skunk said behind the wine glass at his lips. "Pilat's a smart little shit."

"Kindred souls, would you say?" beamed Hamegg.

"Yeah, I guess, if I wanted to sound like some fuckin' Shakespeare play."

Lamp, who had been talking to a waiter at the doorway, finally sat down with four menus. The bulky man dropped them on the table, and began fumbling in his blazer pocket. The other men clamoured for a menu as Lamp loudly lit a cigarillo.

"Look how much the steak costs in this place," Skunk complained to Pilat. "You see chicken strips on here?"

"Just roast chicken, boss."

"Venture out of your comfort zone and try something not drenched in oil," Lamp hissed.

Skunk looked up. "Oh, this from the asshole with the fruity little cigars. What flavour, bubblegum?"

"Whisky," Lamp drawled in a smoky exhale.

Hamegg looked over at Pilat, trying to grin as he said, "This is the norm."

It wasn't long before a waiter came by to take orders. They had caught the waiter's silhouette behind the frosted glass door; Pilat couldn't help but notice the speed at which Skunk identified who was coming and booked it to the balcony. Pilat kept calm enough to give his boss's order. It was as the young man had worried; the boss knew that he couldn't be seen or the staff would call the police.

The waiter left, shortly after dropping off a new bottle of wine. The door closed, and Pilat felt himself turn into jelly.

"This was a bad idea," Pilat whined into his hands. Hamegg, strangely paternal at that moment, poured a glass of water and nudged it towards the young man.

"It'll be okay, Pilat!" he beamed. "Lamp here and I have gotten away with far bigger stunts. Lamp, remember when we robbed that bank, and went back with wigs to pay off my credit card?"

Lamp gave him a smug nod. Elsewhere in the room, Skunk flicked a finished cigarette off the balcony and rejoined them at the table. Pilat sat silently in his chair, his stomach churning in a new fit of anxiety.

"We can bribe them," Skunk said with exasperation. "I've got a bunch of fake bills to blow off."

Lamp nodded. "That's an option, yeah. Real money or not, the shit on the walls in this place will make it up."

"You're testing me, huh," Pilat hissed to Skunk.

"Sort of. Dinner and exercise, like the time we-"

Pilat slammed his hands down on the table. "You jerk!"

"Don't talk back to me, you little shit!"

"And don't you lie to me, you big shit!"

"Oh! Great trash talk, you fuckin' toddler!"

Hamegg sighed, bemusedly putting his chin in his hand. "They're like us back in the day, aren't they, Ace?"

Lamp didn't even look away from the two arguing. "Who said we ever quit being like that?"

"You think I'm a kid, huh?!" Pilat stood up, bold, and held out a hand to Lamp. "Gimme one of those cigars! P-Please!"

"Hmm? Oh..." Lamp, now quickly becoming invested in the charade, pulled one cigarillo and a Zippo lighter out of his jacket and plunked them into the young man's hand.

Pilat fastened a scornful glare at his boss, standing beside him, doing his best to summon every mental image of the yazuka men he'd seen in movies. Pilat bit into the cigarillo's plastic tip, flicked a flame out of the lighter, drew a drag and-

Pilat hacked as he lost balance, a wheezing mess of flailing hands, into the side of the table and soon the floor. Hamegg quickly held onto his end of the table's tablecloth to keep the entire setup from sliding down with the boy. Shallow hacks filled the little room, and Lamp thanked every god he knew of that the room had adequate soundproofing.

"You don't inhale cigars," Skunk called out over the hacking. "You just draw it into your mouth. You don't inhale them."

"F-f-fuh-f-fuck y-you-u-u," Pilat gasped.

Hamegg privately wondered if it would hurt to jump from a second story balcony.

The mood in the room simmered down once the food arrived. A pleasant silence fell into the room while the four men went ahead with eating; the sound of some party's laughter coming from outside their door, accompanied by piano music. The plan for a heist loomed over the four, but things at that moment were almost downright joyful.

"I don't think I've ever eaten lobster before," Pilat said; he hoped he wasn't looking like too much of a slob. The older men at the table, meanwhile, seemed to admire his enjoyment.

"I hope you don't feel awkward hanging out with old men on a Saturday night," Lamp said. "Most guys your age would rather go to the nightclub next door."

"I hate dancing, to be honest."

"Must be a relief for your boss..." Lamp said with a nod at Skunk. "This big bastard couldn't dance if his life was on the line. You should've seen him at Bowie Night."

"You're the guy who tried waltzin' at a damn synthpop club!" Skunk shouted through a mouthful of lobster.

"My mother taught me class, Skunk."

"And mine taught me not to take shit. We can deck it out on the patio."

Pilat tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out as a loud snort. Skunk glanced over at the younger man, gave him a pensive look, and then wore a grin as he ruffled Pilat's hair.

"Kid," Skunk began, "In about ten minutes, you wanna go down to the front doors and drive our getaway?"

"S-Sure!" Pilat was relieved to be delegated to just driving. He enjoyed it, and more often than not, it felt like a video game to drive the gang around. Skunk gave him an approving nod.

"It'll be the blue van. I set it on auto, and it should be parking outside in a few minutes."

Lamp looked up, shocked. "Auto? How'd you get one of those self-driving motherboards?"

"Simple." Skunk sat back proudly. "You go to an auction, you see it, and then you decide you want it for free."

"Th-they're illegal for civilians!" Hamegg was nearly hysterical. "If the cops find we're using one, we're guaranteed jail!"

Skunk slapped his hand on the tabletop, shouting, "We're not goin' to jail, Ham! Take it down a notch! And we're not just civilians either."

"Yeah, lord, how many times have we done this, Ham?" Lamp accusingly asked Hamegg. "I better not see you deciding when to take your leave."

Skunk glanced over to check on Pilat, who sat there awkwardly looking at his empty plate. Hamegg, in the meantime, was in the middle of yelling back, "I started climbing out that window because someone's phone sounded like a siren, so-"

The waiter came into the room. All men at the table went silent, turning to see a perky, but slightly uncomfortable young man holding a pitcher of water.

"Hey there, gentlemen, everything going good so far?" he asked.

"Y...yeah," Lamp sputtered. "We're good. Can we see the dessert menu?"

"Certainly." The young man set down four small leatherbound menus on the centre of the table, and then collected the empty dishes. There was an uncomfortable silence as he refilled Pilat and Lamp's glasses of water.

"Anything else you're looking for-?" The waiter looked up casually, his eyes happening to meet Skunk's. Tense, Skunk only stared back, trying to look calm and collected. Skunk knew at that exact moment that there was no way the waiter wouldn't know who he was.

"No..." Skunk replied, pensive. The sweat on his face spoke volumes for him.

The waiter nodded, and without another word, turned and walked back out the door.

The table was silent once more. Skunk drew a breath in, turned to the shaking Pilat, and said, "I think the van's here now. Why don't you go get in and get ready?"

Pilat sprung to his feet, giving his boss a quick nod. "Y-Yessir!"

"We'll be out in a few!" Skunk called after him. Pilat gently closed the door behind him, quietly hurried down the stairs, and back out the restaurant entrance. The people at the reservation desk didn't pay much attention him, and he was grateful. A few metres outside the storefront sat the big blue gang van, as inconspicuous and generic as it was clunky.

Pilat climbed in through the passenger's side door and sat in the driver's seat. All he needed to do was wait.

"Well, the evening's eaten shit already." Skunk stood up, slipping the restaurant bottle of whiskey into his jacket inner pocket. "Let's get business started."

Lamp whipped out a heavy-duty nylon sack from his jacket pocket and unfolded it, and Hamegg responded by pulling down art from the walls and throwing it into the sack. The three headed side by side to the room door, and with one strong kick, Lamp brought the ornate white door to the ground.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Skunk hollered into the now stunned restaurant. "We are announcing a donation drive!"

Lamp tossed his sack into the centre of the room. "That's right! Donate now and win a chance to not get shot!"

Skunk pulled out a gun and began kicking down the other private room doors. "Come one, come all! Get the fuckin' wallets and jewellery out!"

Lamp fired some bullets into the centre wall, bringing down a diamond-speckled wall ornament. Hamegg rushed to it like it was a spilled pinata, as the nearby table full of screeching people dove out of the way.

"Please," Lamp called out with the smoothness of a game show host. "Give generously!"

The room erupted in screams and hollering, with dining patrons frantically putting their hands in the air or tossing their valuables at the sack. Hamegg pulled out a nylon sack of his own, running down the stairs to the smaller downstairs dining area. He whipped out a pistol, firing it into the air and calling out in a sing-song voice, "It's time to pay your duuues!"

Chateau Griande on a Saturday night was a place for debutantes and the mod rich. In other words, a night like this was absolute prime time trick-or-treating. Hamegg was in a gleeful spree, collecting wallets and necklaces from table to table, scooping up silver and putting the occasional bullet through the walls.

Pilat could hear the commotion inside the van. He sat there, nervous, mapping out escape routes in his head. Everything's gonna be okay, he reminded himself. Skunk's got lots of tricks on the road. I know this already.

"Go time!" Skunk screamed in the street. Pilat started the van on instinct, flipping the switch that called for the van 's side door to slide open. Hamegg, Lamp, and Skunk piled into the van with filled nylon sacks as Pilat slammed on the gas.

As the door slid shut, Pilat burned through a red light and headed towards the A-87 overpass tunnel. He sputtered, "H-How was it?!"

"It was Christmas!" Skunk hollered, almost making Pilat fall out of his seat. "Everything you could ask for in one sitting!"

Pilat breached the opening to the tunnel just as sirens resonated in the distance. He still had time. Ignoring the chatter of the men behind him, Pilat typed hurriedly into the van dashboard. As soon as he hit enter, a section of the wall to the left of the van slid open. Pilat made a sharp turn and brought the van safely inside.

The sub-tunnel was badly lit but well-crafted. The van was silent now. As the shaft behind them closed with an impounding thud, Pilat whispered, "N-nobody turn your phones on until we're out. We're hidden, but phone a-activity will show where we are."

"Nice," Lamp purred, watching the walls of the sub-tunnel pass through the window. "Is this your work, Skunk?"

Skunk sat back. "Sort of. This maintenance tunnel gets used by robots once a month, but if you throw money at the right person, you get the access codes...!"

"W-We just gotta make it out to the riverfront, cut across the access bridge, and then we can relax at the hill place."

Hamegg asked timidly, "Hill place?"

"Our hideout in the countryside, a b-busted-out bottling plant. I think Skunk invited some guys. It'll be wild."

Inside a small aging bottling plant, out in a sea of tall beige grass among hills, was Skunk's dusty but lovingly-decorated backup hideout. The dead conveyor machinery room had been mostly cleared, converted into a party hall. Aluminium tables and chairs were set up, with a classic rock station playing through the factory P.A. system. Booze and other substances flowed freely. The mood in the hideout was lush, to say the least.

"I wanna thank you for the love you bring," Hamegg, Ox, Gato, and Vito had linked arms, and sloppily sang along to the Gino Vannelli on the radio. "Louisiana is a song I sing..."

Someone moved too fast in the sway, splashing their glass of red wine all over the floor. They burst out laughing in the drunken stupor. Skunk had sent two sober people to go pick up Hamegg and Lamp's car from the other side of town – Pilat was surprised he wasn't one of them.

Skunk, Lamp, and the gang dug through the loot sacks at a table table cluster, looking like a bunch of children after trick or treating. Jewellery and coins were spilled across the table.

"What good is takin' this much stuff if you're not gonna share?" Skunk slurred. He, Lamp, and Hamegg had already taken their choice items. "Dig in, boys!"

Somebody whooped in celebration and chucked a beer bottle on the ground. Lamp winced. He sat back and started lighting a cigar, growling, "Where the hell do you pick these guys up, Skunk?"

"If someone's strong, loyal, and knows who they can't talk to, then they've got work with me."

"You soft-serve," Lamp chuckled. "And giving us room overnight, too."

"Least I can do, Ace."

Lamp narrowed his eyes behind his cigar. He had always hated the nickname, but he'd let that pass for the evening.

Pilat came into the hall with a case of beer for the group. Skunk caught sight of him from the corner of his eye, and whirled around in his chair, throwing a handful of paper money at the younger man. "Think fast!"

"Ah-!" Pilat waved it out of his way like a cloud of flies. "H-Here's the Pilsner, boss."

"C'mere, ya little shit," Skunk just about cooed. Pilat managed to shove the case onto the table before Skunk dragged him into an embrace. Pilat only resisted out of worry of gawks from the more sober people in the room.

"Mmh- boss, I b-" Pilat gasped between sloppy kisses. "Stop, Mr. Lamp's staring!"

"It's cute," Lamp said, hoping the wine wouldn't show in his voice. "Sorry kid. I'm just too glad to be here in general."

Someone at the table picked up an especially large diamond ring and cackled triumphantly. Elsewhere, Hamegg had linked arms with Vito and Ox, and they were spiralling around to the tune of "Rag Doll."

"Except..." Lamp eyed this enviously. "I just wish my right-hand man would remember who he came here with..."

Pilat let the entire moment sink in. Cheesy rock blared through the room, fluorescent light gleaming down on a table coated in riches, as the gang roamed, talking and joking around. Skunk held Pilat against him like a big doll, smelling like a bizarre juxtaposition of cheap aftershave and the finest liquor available. Something about all of it felt special.

There were times when Pilat tried to remember why he stuck around in the gang. It was the nights like this. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling around him sink in for future reminiscing.