Crossover Earth '98
Midnight in mid-February in Chicago was not pleasant for those who were used to warmer climes, as the burglar known as Silhouette was discovering.
Damned cold, she thought, though she'd never dream of speaking the words aloud. The biting chill of the winds cut right through the thin cloth of the night-suit she wore. Her veil of invisibility protected her from the casual glances of the insomniac, but the cold was beyond her powers. If I get sick because of this... No, don't be self-defeating. Tonight will be worth it.
She sped on toward her target: A courthouse, in mid-city. It was a rather ugly, functional, unpretentious building, but it was now being celebrated in the national press. It was to be home to one of the most controversial trials of the century, or so the papers said. There, the infamous vigilante Red Dagger would be tried.
If they can ever select a jury, she reminded herself. Aside from being, in her opinion, a brutal sadist, hardly better than the murderers he battled, Red Dagger was also a famous football player. It's a bigger media circus than O.J.
She almost wanted to take the matter into her own hands...
No. I will not allow myself to drop to his level. I am not a killer.
A thief, yes, but not a killer. It was in that capacity that she had come tonight. She had taken the previous day to familiarize herself with the layout of the courthouse; there was little security. Normally, it would be laughably easy, and she would pass on it.
But one of Red Dagger's namesake weapons... ah, there was a prize! Light, easy to conceal, nearly unique, famous, practical in certain situations, and, most importantly, widely recognized by the media and the populace at large: It fit all of Silhouette's criteria for a perfect target. She couldn't pass up a chance such as this, even if it was barely a challenge! The widespread reports of the theft alone would make it worthwhile.
The courthouse would be easy enough to break into, but Silhouette didn't relish the thought of remaining in the cold for one minute longer than was strictly necessary. Fortunately, there were more than enough shadows in the area to ensure that she wouldn't have to rely on her lock-picking skills. She chose a likely-looking one -- beneath a window, not too near the main entrance -- and exerted her will. She stepped forward...
The shadow realm opened itself to her. The warm velvet darkness engulfed her invisible form, drawing her into itself, plunging her into an eternal, calm, and lightless ocean. She surrendered herself, for that moment, to the darkness.
Left behind, there was only a shadow beneath a window. Empty.
Soon -- seconds to her, far less to the material world -- the shadows relinquished their grasp on her. She floated upward, swirling through the darkness, feeling a brief flash of heat wash across her as her senses, her nerves, began to function once more...
Silhouette stepped out of a shadow, inside the small room.
Teleportation is so convenient at times, she thought, with satisfaction. Particularly in this line of work. It was only a matter of time until she was acknowledged as the greatest thief in America. Or perhaps in the world...
She chuckled softly as she slipped through the room's only door to find herself in a long corridor framed with far too much marble, to her eye. One day, I'll have to thank Golden Gate for making it possible. That would be the perfect finale to her revenge.
There -- the evidence room. Silhouette stopped laughing.
The door stood wide open. Someone had circumvented the security system, such as it was -- a professional, to her eye. One at least as good as she. Trusting to her cover of invisibility, she peered through the door.
Inside the room, she saw a thin man leaning over the table which held the evidence for the trial. His clothing was dark and serviceable -- not to mention warmer than her own -- and various pockets bulged slightly, revealing the presence of the familiar tools of the trade. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, calmly studying the table; his air suggested that he had all the time in the world. If he stood straight, he would be only a little taller than she; and he looked nearly twice her age, though his greying hair probably made him appear old beyond his years.
It would be easy to underestimate the man. Silhouette didn't intend to make that mistake. The last time she'd underestimated someone, she'd barely escaped capture.
Still, it's best if we can come to an agreement... With a thought, Silhouette drew aside her veil of invisibility as she stepped fully into the doorway. With a smile -- hidden beneath her face-mask -- she quietly said, "Please forgive my intrusion."
The thin man started and looked up, eyes wide, but he regained his composure more quickly than Silhouette expected. "I hadn't foreseen any visitors, tonight," he drawled, his mouth quirking in humor.
"Neither had I. I presume that we are here for the same reason?"
"Most probably." His eyes twinkled. "What might that be?"
She answered without hesitation, "I'd hoped to acquire one of Red Dagger's weapons."
"Ah, a fellow connoisseur of the rare collectible." He laughed softly and gestured toward the table. "In that case, please take the first pick."
"But you were here before I," she protested.
"I insist." He sketched a graceful bow, causing Silhouette to smile again.
"Very well, then. But I feel as though I'm taking advantage of your work. That was quite a job with the security system, by the way."
He shrugged. "It wasn't all that difficult. The security here is woefully lacking."
Nodding, she answered, "Your methods seemed quite efficient, however. As for the security, I imagine that it will improve, after tonight."
"They do seem more willing to spend money after the fact."
She continued the dialogue as she looked over the knives on the table. More than enough, even if both of us take one. The man certainly liked his... instruments. Chuckling to herself, she asked, "Is this business, or pleasure? Or shouldn't I ask?"
Smiling, he responded, "Nothing like that. Oh, once in a while, I'll take a contract, if the job interests me; but for the most part, it's my own interest. I've been successful enough in the past to allow that, you see."
She nodded. "My reasons are much the same. I admit I usually prefer more of a challenge, but these," she waved her arm above the carefully-arranged daggers, "are notable enough regardless."
"A woman after my own heart. You never take contracts, then?"
"To be honest, I'd never thought of it before. I wouldn't do it for the money, in any case."
"No need, eh? Do you find it more interesting that way, too?"
She chuckled. "Always." Selecting a dagger ("Exhibit N," according to its tag), she gingerly held it aloft. "If you do not object, I believe I will choose this one."
The thin man leaned forward. His eyes flickered across the array of knives. "An excellent choice. I myself prefer this one." He smiled slightly. "Exhibit K. If I remember correctly, this was the last one he used before his capture."
Silhouette nodded, acknowledging his discernment. The night's adventure was nearly ended, now...
Reaching into a fold in the sleeve of her wrap, she withdrew a "calling card" of sorts -- a plain square of white paper, somewhat larger than a business card, featuring the silhouette of some anonymous woman. She'd forgotten the artist's name, but she rather liked the work. And she wasn't stupid enough to use her own silhouette. However tenuous a clue it might be, it was still too much.
"And what might that be?"
"My card," she answered, amused. "Do you object to my leaving it?"
He shook his head, bemused. "Not at all, though I wonder why. Taunting the police might not be that wise."
"It adds to the thrill," she said, only half joking.
"You're welcome to that," the man replied, barking a short laugh. "I'm satisfied with success."
Smiling, and saying nothing more, she set the card on the table.
The thin man glanced at it, out of habit, and paused, seeing its contents. "Oh ho. Your card, is it?"
"I'm known as Silhouette," she confirmed, nodding.
"Such a fancy name. I never saw the need for them, personally."
"Then, you are...?"
He grinned lopsidedly. "You can call me Miles."
She bowed to him, in turn. "Then, it has been a pleasure, Miles. Perhaps we shall meet again."
"Perhaps. Was that an exit cue?"
"Mine, at least. Farewell..."
She stepped backwards into the shadow and let the darkness swallow her. In the room she left behind, a thin man chuckled dryly to himself.