Note: A couple of pages showing her recon and a "voice over" of her most recent meeting with the cult (Mentoring) as well as her "Air" essence of preparation and planning. All the elements from the story below will be in the montage in some way.
Clarissa cut into the chain-link fence at 537 Paper Street. After an hour of watching the guard, she knew she had 30 seconds before he returned. Snipping the last wire, she slipped through and replaced the cut out section approximately so it would pass cursory observation.
Back to a large container filled who knows what, or more likely empty, she waited as the guard's footsteps approached, went right over, and then trailed off. She had attended one other meeting of the cult since the private show and her interview with Davoust. Somehow, just through touch, the woman interviewing her had ascertained her mind's swirling thoughts, telling Clarissa that she felt like, "a ship on a wind swept sea." She had also given her a mission, this last test she had said. Pass this and the cult would consider her for membership. Clarissa could understand this test, the cult did not want parasites, but effective members capable of performing any number of tasks.
She had seen a few people from the private show, but not all and decidedly fewer. What tests she had passed she had no idea, but she was here. This operation was a grey area. Her rules of engagement forbade her from outright criminal acts against citizens, though if in the course of her duties she witnessed crimes she would not be held liable for them. This changed if it was determined she could have reasonably prevented the crime and chose not to. It was hairy, it was tough. The Servants told her to break into this tralaticon reclamation facility and steal something a man named Hilam handled regularly.
She thought as she moved through the facility, her extensive recon over the last week giving her mind space to think. She always thought more clearly when moving. The facility was a necessary evil. With the advent of direct conveyance technology, the huge number of passive conveyance devices were considered scrap, but still very valuable for the small amounts of tralaticon they contained. This operation was owned by one Hilam, an ambitious gangster who so far had successfully straddled the line between being tolerated and not tolerated by the Census Office. No one would cry at this place having a break-in and it wouldn't be reported. She couldn't kill anyone though, even in self-defense, because she was technically trespassing on private property.
Clarissa saw the TKNameHoverWagon left between two buildings, powered down. The cleaning crew was here. Apparently Hilam liked clean facilities, they came every night after the main workshift, with just a skeleton crew at night to ready the reclamation equipment for the next day. She had to admit she was impressed. Hilam understood the value of a long term investment. Many operators ran their machines around the clock, pushing them to their limit and when they broke down, they took a long time to fix. Not with Hilam. His profits were lower in the short term, but he never stopped producing and the cash was always flowing.
Her target was the main building, about 200 meters away, guarded by a man at the door with a half dozen others at the main gate a little further beyond. Sneaking past would be almost impossible and a frontal assault out of the question considering her rules of engagement. However, she knew that the side building in front of her was cleaned by a single worker. She needed a disugise. She slipped through an open window and dropped into a classroom. Freezing and listening, she eventually heard the squeak of mop bucket wheels. The cleaner was out in the hallway. She moved to the closed door and listened. It impossible to tell with the slurp of the mop and slosh of the water what kind of person was out there. Bigger, smaller, man, woman? She didn't know, but doubted whether they had any kind of combat training. And they definitely were not expecting a fight here.
The mop bucket squeaked past the door. That door was her next problem: open quickly and go for it or slowly and use stealth? Did this door creak? She considered the rest of Hilam's operation and decided to the hinges were likely well-oiled. She cracked the door and peeked out. The cleaner was a man with his back to her. Slender and a little taller than her. She pushed the door open a bit more. Silent. She pushed it open the rest of the way and creeped up behind the man. She kicked him with her toe right behind one of his knees, he yelped in surprise and pain, his leg buckling and bringing his neck within easy reach. With one arm she cut off blood flow to his brain and with the other covered his mouth. The struggle only lasted a few seconds.
Working quickly, she removed his worker's smock, cap, and baggy pants. They smelled and were covered in stains of all descriptions. She expertly tied the man's hands and feet, but not tight enough to cut off blood flow. She gagged him as well. He would wake up or be missed soon. She was on the clock now. Grabbing the discarded mop, she strode through the door and back outside.
Clarissa moved openly now, trusting in her disguise and its signal that she had every right to be there. The guard to the four storey main office, which was where Hilam worked during the day and where his personal items would be, watched her approach and stood up well before she arrived, hand on sword hilt and a look of digust on his face that perfectly melded boredom and anger. A few small scars and an oft-broken nose completed the look.
"Fuck you want?" he spat, holding up his hand for her to stop a good 3 meters from him. Clarissa reassessed, he wasn't a complete imbecile.
"Got sent here. Someone left their gear in the boss's office." This was a guess. She had seen a similar situation play out a couple days before during her recon.
"Fuck's sake! Again? You fuckers gotta learn to clean up after yourselves too." Keeping one eye on Clarissa, he half turned to his compatriots 50 meters down the road at the main gate and shouted that they were headed up. A casual thumbs up was the only response. The guards expected no trouble and they rarely ever got any. "Hurry the fuck up," was all the man said as he pulled out a key and opened the main office door.
Inside was an average lobby with a desk for a day attendant. The guard indicated she should walk in front of him. This was a problem, she had no idea where the office was. She decided most bosses liked the top floor, so she made for the stairs.
Coming to the second floor landing, she was in luck. Room numbers and their occupant's names were posted. Clarissa tried had to find a middle ground between hurrying and going too slow while reading the addresses. This floor was mainly operational personel who ran the day to day.
The next landing had some management and peeking back at the guard he didn't seem like he was ready to stop. The office must be on the top floor. The stairs stopped at a heavy metal door and Clarissa turned to look inquiringly at the guard, who impatiently motioned her on.
Opening the door, she did a quick scan. There were two offices on the right and only one on the left. Walking like she knew what she was about, she approached the single door. The guard grunted for her to stop and stand back as he pulled out another key.
Inside, the office was lavish. It looked nothing like the nondescript hallways and architechture of the rest of the building. TKLavishLuxury description. The guard was already looking around for the lost gear and was angry at not instantly finding it. He started to turn to her, but it was too late.
Once inside Clarissa took a quick step and came up behind the guard while at the same time stomping down on the wood handled mop, breaking off the head. She swung it up fast, smashing the guard's nose and breaking it again. He was tough and did not cry out, which she was grateful for and had counted on. He reached for his blade, but never got it out. Spinning the makeshift quarterstaff, she drove the blunt end into his solar plexus. His eyes bugged out and all the air escaped his lungs. He got one gasp out before she spun the handle again and cracked it against his temple. The man sloughed to the ground and was motionless. Now she was really on the clock.
Scanning the room, she saw that there were all kinds of "personal items" in the form of artwork, scultpures, and the like, but nothing obvious that Hilam would routinely hold or touch. She needed something common, something no one would think of stealing but would be touched constantly.
Clarissa ran to the large desk in the center of the room. If there was something to find, it was here. On the desk was an ornate fountain pen. That could work. TKHowFountainPensWork She took the pen out of its holder and shook it a bit, testing it on a stray piece of paper. Dry. It was unlikely he touched this often. A man like Hilam rarely signed things himself, putting his name out there. That was why he had subordinates.
She tried to open the drawers of the desk. Three were locked and she didn't have time to break into them. The two that opened were full of common office supplies and random folders of paperwork. Unlikely to be important since they were in unlocked drawers. The man at the door groaned. She had to hurry.
Getting desperate, she stepped back and took a deep breath. What's here? She had been focusing on the desk. There was a smoking jacket hanging on the chair. She rifled through the pockets. Jackpot. A pair of reading glasses. She tucked them into her own pocket and ran out of the office.
Clarissa sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor and raced around to the back side of the building. Counting office doors, only some of them had windows, she found the one that gave her the best shot at getting out without being seen by the the guards.
TKRestOfChapter is just her getting out as alarm klaxons starts to go off.