The Heist

Earth. 5.51 g/cm³ in Density. About 1 trillion cubic kilometres in volume. Harbour for an estimate of over 8.7 million endemic species. Oh, what had Earth become.

Extreme climates. Plate tectonic activity and volcanism. Liquid water covering most of the surface. An oxygen-rich atmosphere. Skyrocketing radioactivity. A strong magnetic field. The list of uncomfortable conditions you’d have to suffer through were endless.

The place of human origin, if history were to be believed.

After the Final War, ending most life on the planet and pushing humans into outer space, it was a wonder other species confided them to manage one of the most trusted bank vaults of the United Galactic Federation. Technically it made sense, given that almost no one knew of Earth, much less its role in elite circles. It was trusted because it was safe to say: No one sane who did know of Earth wanted to go there of their own volition.

A young man, clad in a worn suit and a deep mahogany turtleneck strutted into the prestigious, echoing halls of Fairtrail Safe Deposit. The portier greeted him in a polite nod and lead him behind a gated marble hallway labelled “Not Available to Public” ad per request. At a second gate following up, the portier casually asked for the man’s verification number, getting his keycard out of his pocket. Upon that, the portier fell to the ground unconscious. Probably because of the heavy impact against his head by the case. The now obtained keycard slid smoothly through the scanner. Doors slid open without further protest with a tiny ‘beep’. Weasel held his stoic facade and walked into the following corridor.

An elevator greeted him coolly, silver plates set into a white marble wall. Now for the annoying bit. He pried the doors opening his back and legs before climbing through the shaft with practised ease, case firmly strapped onto his back. There. He had his sight set on a vent.

Ding! Someone below must have called the elevator. Great. His heart and pace quickened, climbing faster and faster yet. The metal contraption that could squish him like a bug was rapidly approaching.

The air rushed behind his feet as it passed the vent, missing him by mere seconds. Onward. After crawling for an eternity, he descended into an empty hallway light-footed. At a juncture, Weasel could make out a guard from far away, alone and carefree. Getting closer and closer, he recognized the man from a picture and greeted him, “So you’re the bastard Elmer’s talked about.”

It was difficult being taller than Weasel, but somehow the other towered over him as he casually walked up to Weasel unfazed. “Only good things, I hope,” he drawled. “Catch.” He threw a walkie-talkie he grabbed out of his trouser pocket at Weasel, who caught it in his steady hands. With the device, he contacted Elmer and gave a status update before turning back towards his temporary companion. “Let’s find out how much we’ll score.” The guard pressed on forward, managing the endless maze of corridors with ease. They finally reached the door.