Both thieves cut the line before Bentley could scream another word.

The two had come close to forgetting to keep up stealth as they rushed back to the Safe House. For Murray it was no problem as he stampeded a track through mowing down the guards by caving in their faces. Sly held a strange silence as he made use of every slick vine and rooftop he could. He made it to their door in record time as his hippo friend came heaving behind him moments later.

It was never a habit of theirs to keep a temporary hideout in good shape, but for the hiding spot of a thief to look ransacked was embarrassing. Sly held back a grimace as he caught sight of drawers pulled, the van's trunk open wide, and papers and metal gears littering the floor. The ring of the odd bolt rattling along hinted the struggle was recent. Bentley was rolling forward and back in his newly scratched wheelchair, picking up the pieces and muttering all the while.

And just as he had reported, their young feathered friend was nowhere in sight.

"I'm going to guess you guys weren't having a 'getting to know you' party back here," said Sly to break the ice. The room still carried that awkward ten-degree drop.

"That's an accurate summation." Bentley grumbled.

"Care to give me another as to what happened here?"

"What do you think happened? I turned my back for a moment and the kid tore through our supplies and then ran out!"

"And you're telling me you didn't notice anything?" The raccoon chuckled despite everything. "Ha! I told you that kid was good!"

"Swiping necessary materials from underneath our noses doesn't exactly improve my opinion of him, truth be told." The turtle looked to the drawers putting each item in a corresponding place. "This is supposed to be our own teammate, as you've cared to note multiple times, and yet he's robbing us blind!"

"So he's stealing from other thieves! That's solid proof he's Cooper Gang material!"

"Sounds right to me!" Murray pulled himself up to normal. Sly caught a glance back as he wandered by their portable refrigerator and fished out a hamburger. They could blink and miss it when he swallowed the meal in one gulp.

"As overjoyed as I am that he has successfully earned your stamp of approval, you're both overlooking the elephant in the room!" Bentley wheeled over to Sly, the glare behind his glasses plain. "Picture if you will a teenager with highly sensitive equipment running around a complex riddled with guards. What is he doing and where is he going?"

That was the hanging question, Sly relented crossing his arms. "Well, what did he take?"

"Sensor, microphone, cables, and a tracking device."

"Mix them all together and what do you get? A bug."

It was a fair amount of evidence piled along with the unknowns against the recruit. As much as Sly hated to admit it and stroke Bentley's ego, the turtle didn't consider an argument without the actual logic to support it. Blake was a virtual unknown, a mismatched, foreign cog in their working machine of a team, with more questions raised than answers. Sly pulled the rim of his cap in thought away from the fixed stare of his friend.

All the same, Blake was no spring chick. No boy could survive on the streets alone, let alone taking care of a gaggle of orphans for as long as he did without some cunning. The kid would have to see they were his best chance at escape and the golden ticket to his goal of a better future. What's more, if his intention was to leave there was little point in taking the components of a bug. Blake had his own agenda, that was clear, but maybe his cog could meld with theirs in some way.

Bentley's mental factory was working overtime while his wheelchair was burning tracks into the wood. On his laptop he'd enlarged the map of the complex and gestured without looking. "You guys need to find him. I'm not about to take the chance of everything going south because some kid decided to wing it!"

"Wing it!" Murray chuckled despite the mood. "Funny. Cause he's a bird."

"This is no time for jokes, Murray! Or snacks!"

"Whoa, easy, easy." Sly soothed wrapping an arm around his friend and fingered the screen. "We don't have to get all bent out of shape, pal. Consider option B – tap into the security cameras. It'll let us keep track of the entire complex and see where our feathered friend might have went."

"Of course. I would never have even considered that course of action." There was that Bentley-brand genius sarcasm.

"But here's the kicker: we don't do anything yet." Sly stood. "Keep tabs on him."

"And why would we do that?"

The master thief walked out the door with a clean twirl of his cane ending with the hook catching the door and closing it. Behind the door where no one could see he huffed and adjusted his cap. All the bravado was over and done with, yet he'd kept a light smile on his face beneath the shade. He'd bought the kid some time, and a chance to earn his way into the big leagues. Things would work out fine.

Right? Yeah, they probably would.

Sly was back in the field bounding across tents and rooftops, this time with a large sack strapped behind. His silhouette was a speck on a massive billboard of a gharial with a present in hand glowing as bright as the full streets of Las Vegas. The shadows of the rest of the bazaar, looking more cut and pasted from an authentic African market ground was engulphed by the fiery neon. The raccoon had to squint as he pulled his Binocucom and wheeled the color and light settings simply to adjust.

Bentley's voiced chimed in as soon as he reached for his sack. "All right, Sly. You and me are up here. Right now our focus is on taking out business for Grimjaw. Three guesses as to what you're doing?"

"Judging by the numerous explosives on my back, I'd assume falling into your devious trap to kill me?"

"You make it tempting, but no." His voice went muffled, a sign he was dragging his hand over his face. "The explosives in that sack were procured from Grimjaw's supply boats after Murray disconnected them from the docks. My hypothesis was that he was planning on using them to further sabotage local competitors. So why not use them to our advantage?"

"These things look like they got some serious kick," said Sly as he stared at the device. Far from the standard pack of dynamite with a timer on them, the design here was elegant. A box with red and green lights and a tablet screen misled from its actual purpose. "What were they supposed to be used for, anyway?"

"Believe it or not, they were meant to be parts for missiles. You're right to be wary, these babies make the old Cherry Bomb 500 look like a mewling child!"

"You sure you're not trying to kill me?"

"Be serious. The charges can be remotely detonated, so once you've set them in place and put them on standby, I'll detonate. Be sure you're in a safe distance before you give the signal. I've modified them so the blast won't be as potent, but don't expect to be in one piece if you're not far enough."

"Noted, and what will you be doing in the meantime?"

Sly bounded towards the next sign as Bentley took up position crouching into the bushes. The metal water wheels he fixed on turned with a speed defying their size and weight. Gallons of water pouring from the runoff above mixed in with the turtle's voice.

"While those billboards need handling, there's also the matter of destabilizing Grimjaw's power supply. The generators running this facility are connected to these water wheels–I have a plan for the heist, and they'll require ease of access to them. Using the jammers installed on my darts, I'll be taking out the alarm system."

"So, while I'm risking life and limb with all these guards and bombs, you're taking out alarms? Remind me again why our demolitions expert isn't here taking care of this."

"For once, can I get you to do a job without giving me lip!?"

The master thief gave a laugh as he shrunk into the nighttime horizon. Despite their banter, their operations were seasoned, coordinated, the sign of a tried and true band of thieves. Each step, each action was part of a larger piece of the puzzle that let them walk away with riches and bragging rights. Sly just had to tap into the latest crack that was damaging that perfect synchronicity that once again was coming close to ruin.

"So Bentley, any word on Blake?"

"Trust me, I check the security feed every few minutes. So far nothing." A pause came that Sly wasn't liking. "Is that going to be a problem?"

His hand slammed a charge that pinged alive on the last billboard.

"What do you think?"

A crack came then with feedback that could wake the dead. Sly stood atop the building and hunched. It was about that time the main villain made his presence known. The sound of a velvet-like voice with a venomous, raspy undertone ringing throughout the complex like a wave of oppression.

"A most pleasant evening to you, gentlemen. I would like to take this moment to issue my weekly performance review. I have glanced upon the latest reports and have found, to a note of distaste, that there has been a reduction in shipments. Surely, the lot of you can understand that a lack of shipments is bad for business, and from there you addlebrained imbeciles can muster up some pint of brain matter start to do your jobs correctly! I spared no expense on hiring your miserable lot and if there is one thing I despise more than a gap in my funds, it is incompetence!"

As expected, the voice of the well-dressed gharial sent a fissure in the collective morale. Heads hung lower and arms raising flashlights drooped. The fate of a security guard was to spend the graveyard shift insulted for breathing by his superiors. Sly shook his head not wishing that on anyone.

"The only way you wastes of coins can redeem yourselves is to find and capture the reported intruder. Otherwise, I will be sure to get my full money's worth returned! That is all; carry on with your 'business.'"

By the time Grimjaw's grating criticism left the line, Sly was on the move towards the water wheel. He balanced from the nearest spire and watched as a silver arm peeked aiming from the bushes. Guards were already on the move not wanting to tempt their boss any further.

The turtle's metal appendage flexed its claw and fired. An alarm console was struck in its controls and short-circuited. Bentley's voice came in on the com link. "So there's already wind of an intruder. The kid might have slipped up."

Sly shrugged. "Come on, if you were a money-obsessed gator guy with a penchant for perfection, you'd see something was going on too."

"Something always goes wrong at some point…"

"Look, for all we know, it might have been from the boats. The only way a thief slips up is if he gets caught. By the sounds of things, he's not there yet."

Another alarm console went down, fizzing with sparks. "You asked me to keep an eye on him using the security cameras. Was that some kind of test for the kid?"

"You kept insisting he's not ready for us… or we're not ready for him," Sly noted the latter with a silent emphasis. "This way, Blake himself can prove you wrong."

"Mm-hmm."

His dart gun fired, and the last device failed like the others. Red lights blinking on the paddles of the wheels fizzled and darkened into mechanical death. Sly leapt and slid along an adjacent vine as a paddle churned near. He reached into his leg pouch and planted a round device atop the surface before it sank to the water. In monkey-like fashion he swung to Bentley as the turtle rolled from behind the bushes.

New places, new faces, but their team functioned as well as it always did. Blake could make it stronger, he was sure. Sly looked to the water wheel standing tall.

"Alright, these big boys are ready for the heist!" Now-"Bentley froze as a beep came from his armrest. With a button click, a tablet pad emerged from his wheelchair's arm, with shots of cameras from every corner. In one shot, a blue of black feathers darted from the screen. "I've got a lock on Blake. We need to get him before anything happens."

"Now, now. The purpose of a test is to observe." Sly wrapped an arm around leading him towards the Safe House. "Just… observe."

Blake was doing the same, black against the moonlight.

He watched the workings of the guards from the streets, many of them lazily lumbering about, with some bumping into each other. Some got into brawls, others went on like they had hit air. The raven couldn't care less about them, though. His eyes focused on the single guard that cared to do his work carrying a crate down into the cellars. The rhino man displayed little diligence past that chugging a drink and tossing it over his shoulder. His crashing stride took him into the darkness of a single entrance to a building and down a flight of steps.

A grin spread across his beak remembering Sly's advice over the quotient of guards. He'd figured as much from beforehand though. Grimjaw was always something of a cheapskate in the matter of running his company, with a habit of holding pennies with death grips and pointing guns at his staff if profits were off by a nickel. He was certainly getting his money's worth here.

Any decent guard worth his salary would have noticed the pure non-example of fine art stashed in the box. Despite its lavish frame, it was nothing more than colorful crayon scribbles made by one of his kids. If a guard had missed that, there was no chance of catching the tracking device beneath the canvas.

Blake swooped and glided in the hole on silent winds. His footsteps on the stone were quiet, as if walking on air. He tracked the guard down the flight and into a massive factory-like area.

The whole room was in a dull shade of steel blue as machines hissed and steamed. A stench of flaming oil and grime and sweat permeated while the humidity made breathing a challenge. Conveyor belts in disrepair that cranked with loud grunts grated on the raven's tension. He held his own watching the guard march up to a pile of ragged shapes cowering in the corner. A group of children whose fatigue and misery were both made clear, to anyone but the foul, dim-witted men watching.

"Hey! Did anyone say you could take a break!?" He shouted to a kid who collapsed after failing to turn a wheel.

"I-I…"

His whisper was barely heard, as were Blake's fists clenching when the crack of the whip came.

"Get your filthy hides over here!" The guard with the crate called. "Time to sort through this mess!"

Blake flapped atop a water tankard getting a look at the children's faces. Their dull shades now held a bit of distinction, gray and brown from the dirt their cheeks racked up, and red from the blood on their arms and backs. Their ragged bodies needed were the chains to hold them. They might have just been for show, the guards would have no real use for them, as one stomped up and grabbed a cheetah girl by the hair.

"You ain't moving fast enough! I guess someone wants less food for dinner tonight."

"P-Please sir… I'm so hungry…"

The brute scoffed and tossed her into the others, kicking them for good measure. "You'll get food when you earn it! If we gotta take smack talk from the boss, then you better expect to take your fair share! Now, BACK TO WORK!"

Every move from the guards, their hands raised to strike, hardened his neutral gaze a little more. The kids who could do nothing but cower, endure, and continue made it worse.

Another shining example of the inner workings of society, he mused as his feathers bristled. The strong used the weak, the young were puppets on the strings held by their adult masters, just the bottom-feeding dregs of the world meant to be used as they saw fit. Cooper and his gang were no different, despite any number of silver-tongued, flowery speeches Sly wanted to give.

Blake's arrow-gun pulled from his pouch, his arm still trembled. Pawn or rebel, either way screamed the same requirements of him. No matter how much he wanted to drop it, he pulled it straight. The blade's gleam almost screamed.

He sighed. Such was life.

One shot and a guard fell, the bullet right in his throat. The other guards turned to him and aimed their guns. His wings spat out black knives from his feathers and launched them. Some had slit writs, but all had left the guards disarmed.

He backflipped and dropped like a stone, yet hovered inches from the ground. His gun raised he shot the lights dying the ground pitch black.

"W-What's going on!"

"Get your flashlights! He's here!"

"Someone call for-!" A gag cut his last call short.

The other guards waved their lights trembling. A flash of black passed through and feathers fluttered in their sights. As each one pointed with the single sign, they soon fell afterwards. One by one their lights went, each with a slash and a thud.

A loud hum was heard as the overhead lighting flickered. The emergency power had kicked in, a shocking investment for Grimjaw.. In the center of a pile of blood and bodies was Blake, guns at his sides with smoke from the barrels, no sign of breath from his chest. His gaze remained cold lingering on the floor for eons. His gut felt a similar chill with the stares of the children on his back.

Though like the lights, his mood changed with a switch. He sported a cocky grin and a wink. "So, who's up for a rescue?"

"W-Who are you?"

"Is he one of the bad guys?"

"He's got a mask, so…"

Blake had to frown at the negative turn of murmurs. "Hey, who says good guys can't wear black?"

A little girl shuffled from the group, despite their hands reaching out. "So, you're really helping us?"

"I wouldn't have braved 5000 gallons of serious BO if I wasn't."

The change of attitude was as sudden as the light switch as the children clamored around him. They huddled at his feet and grabbed onto the arms of their young savior. All while Blake was wearing the widest grin on his face. He had to keep them from poking at his guns, but it was still a resounding mission complete in his book.

The same little girl walked up to him again and reached for her sleeve. "Thank you for saving us. This is for you."

"Not like I was looking for tips, but I'll oblige."

She pulled it from her sleeve and the raven clutched it in his feathers. His brow furrowed inspecting the strange golden slab as he turned it in his hands. From all appearances it was a piece of gold in the shape of Africa, the way it would appear on any map. A fine paperweight, something to put on a mantle. He tried to make sense of the thing, but décor was the only category it seemed to fit in.

Seeing the look on the girl's face, he smiled again and pocketed the piece.

"Much obliged, little lady. Now what say I get you kids out of here?"

As he sauntered out with his entourage of excited kids, he passed by a roaming security camera. He had little doubt he had someone's eye on him the entire time: the only question was which of his four. It was with just as little doubt, he surmised, that he was going to get an earful when he got back.

So that wraps up another one. Blake wants to do his own thing, and the Cooper Gang's just trying to keep it in line as best they can. It's the adjustment period everyone expects when you add a new ingredient to a recipe that already works. Hope you all enjoyed the slight taste of Grimjaw here. For him, I guess I had the idea to make him into a snobbish, ritzy Mr. Krabs.

Next chapter should wrap up the first job for this story. The confrontation with Grimjaw and the getaway. A bit of a plot clue next time as well. Also, keep an eye on those gold pieces…

Thanks to everyone who spoke on the last chapter. User review time:

Stephanieeiche10: I'm glad to hear you're getting into the writing game as well. I'd like to hear about your Skylanders story as well. Maybe I can give some advice for it – if you're looking to make a full-fledged piece that is. Be warned, I can get heavy on that stuff.

Bookwriter94: Hey! Glad to see you're commenting on this story too. Hope you'll stick around. Blake's got a pretty interesting backstory that you'll see more and more pieces of as the story continues. It'll be a while though, so be sure to stay tuned!

sth91342: Glad you're liking everything. Fans and comments keep me going!

Anyway, I'll keep it short this time. As always, review, favorite, follow! Until next time!