The Thing You Shouldn't Steal

The fine drizzle continued to tap rhythmically against the oak leaves outside the window of Vega's secret apartment.

In the room dimly lit by yellow light, the air remained heavy with the smell of cold coffee and the lingering unease from the four a.m. radio broadcast. Vega sat leaning against the leather chair placed close to the wall, her legs crossed over the armrest, her fingers leisurely spinning a silver Zippo lighter.

The encrypted phone chime rang. The screen of the simless folding phone flickered with a strange string of characters.

Vega opened the device, bringing it leisurely to her ear without uttering a word.

"Ghost Wheel," a voice came from the other end through a voice-distorting filter, low and raspy like gravel grinding against gravel. "I have an urgent job. The price is triple your standard rate."

Vega smirked, her cat-like eyes narrowing: "I retired at four a.m. today, Broker."

"Half a million dollars for one hour of work. You just need to grab an encrypted portable hard drive inside a suitcase from a shipment moving from South Port to the interstate highway. No guns, no bloodshed. You just drive and snatch it."

Vega fell silent for two seconds. The half-million-dollar offer was too lucrative for what seemed like a harmless task—but the location "South Port" and the word "encrypted" instantly triggered her protective nervous instincts. That was the very area where The Foundry's massacre had broken out hours ago.

"Who's the buyer?" Vega asked, her voice hardening.

"Underworld rules, no questions," the middleman replied briefly. "The two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit has been transferred to your ghost account. Do it or send it back?"

Vega looked at the bank card resting on the table. This amount of money was not only enough for her and Juno to completely erase all traces of the past, but also guaranteed Juno could purchase an independent server cluster in Switzerland—the true dream of freedom for her best friend.

"Send the shipment coordinates," Vega coldly spat out the command before hanging up.

Ten minutes later. The sound of keyboard typing fell like pouring rain inside Juno's room.

"You're crazy, Vega!" Juno bolted up from her swivel chair, her reading glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. The computer screen in front of her displayed vertical columns of glowing green code. "I just hacked into the frequency scanning system of the South Port area. That shipment isn't ordinary consumer goods or regular bearer bonds! It carries military-grade encryption signatures. This is firepower or weapon access codes!"

Vega stood leaning against the table, leisurely wrapping the leather straps back around her palms: "We need another two hundred thousand to buy the Zurich server rig for you, Juno. After this job, I swear I'll throw the Charger right into Lake Michigan and board a plane to South America."

Juno looked at Vega with a conflicted gaze, knowing full well that once Vega made up her mind, no one could stop her. She sighed, pushing up her glasses, her expression turning dead serious: "This cargo is very strange. It's hidden behind three layers of biometric security. If you touch it, the countdown will start."

"Then we make a plan," Vega tapped her fingertips lightly against the wooden table. "What's the target's movement pattern specifically?"

Juno immediately turned back to the three computer screens, her ten fingers dancing across the keyboard. The Chicago satellite map appeared with a red dot moving slowly along the industrial route.

"The convoy consists of three vehicles," Juno analyzed while zooming in on the simulation image. "Leading and tailing are two unmarked steel-reinforced SUVs. In the middle is an 18-wheel heavy cargo truck. The cargo is in the second compartment of the truck. They are moving at an average speed of 80 km/h, expected to hit the I-90 highway in twenty minutes."

"Approach gap?" Vega narrowed her eyes and asked.

"The tailing SUV maintains an exact 15-meter distance from the truck's rear. The truck's rear door frame has an electromagnetic lock linked directly to the lead vehicle's control panel. If you smash the lock, the entire convoy's alarm will sound." Juno hit the Enter key, bringing up the lock structure interface. "I can hack it to disable the truck's alarm sensors, but I can only freeze that wireless system for exactly ninety seconds before their server automatically restores the firewall."

"Ninety seconds is more than enough for me to pry the door, climb in, grab the suitcase, and jump back down," Vega replied calmly. "And the two guard SUVs?"

"I'll activate a short-range EMP jammer mounted under the chassis of your Charger," Juno slid a small round module the size of a palm toward Vega. "When you get within 3 meters, this device will completely blind all camera lenses and radar electronic eyes of the two SUVs. They'll be completely 'blind' temporarily."

Vega took the device, attaching it tightly to her tactical belt. She turned back to the corner of the room, pulling out two items from her specialized metal suitcase: a high-compression diamond-tipped glass cutter, and a heavy-duty titanium cable integrated with an automatic hook.

"I'll approach from the truck's rear blind spot. You monitor coordinates via satellite, and the moment I signal 'Start', you immediately cut off the two SUVs' signals and unlock the electromagnetic lock," Vega rechecked her leather glove clasps, her eyes hardening.

"Remember, Vega," Juno squeezed her friend's shoulder, her gaze tense. "I feel this convoy is no joke. Once you get the item, you must vanish immediately, don't stay even a second."

"I know. Open the garage gate." Vega smiled faintly, put on her tight infrared glasses, and turned to walk straight down to the basement.

01:30 a.m. The I-90 highway heading toward the suburbs of Chicago.

Thick fog blanketed the pitch-black asphalt road. The 18-wheel heavy cargo truck moved steadily at 80 km/h, sandwiched tightly between two unmarked black SUVs just as Juno had predicted.

Vega's Charger had all headlights turned off, plunging into the darkness of the lane underneath the overpass bridge, maintaining a strict 50-meter distance behind the convoy.

In the earpiece, Juno's voice rang out steadily: "Vega, the convoy is about to enter a section without overhead lights. You have exactly ninety seconds starting now."

"Activate the jammer," Vega ordered, her voice without a ripple.

"Jammer on! The two SUVs are radar-blinded. Time is counting down!"

Fast as a night panther, Vega stepped on the gas. The Charger lunged forward silently, shooting straight into the narrow 15-meter gap between the rear SUV and the truck's tail.

With a decisive and practiced movement, Vega set the autopilot distance-keeping mode, popped open the sunroof, and threw herself out. Her leather gloves gripped the iron bar at the back of the truck bed tightly. The cold night wind whipped fiercely across her face, but Vega's body was as fluid as a ghost, without a single tremor.

She used her specialized glass cutter to trace a perfect circle on the rear door lock, reached inside and yanked the latch. A soft click echoed.

The truck door cracked open. Vega slipped inside.

The hard drive container lay right in the middle of the compartment. It wasn't large, but it was housed in a brightly gleaming titanium alloy suitcase, with a green LED light blinking continuously—the hard drive carrying military encryption.

Vega lifted the suitcase. It was heavier than she expected.

Right as Vega's finger touched the titanium handle, a cold Beep... Beep... sounded. The LED light on the suitcase instantly shifted from green to deep red.

Green ➔ Red.

An independent satellite tracking system had just been automatically activated.

"Damn it," Vega cursed softly, clutching the suitcase tightly and jumping back onto the roof of the moving Charger running parallel below.

She dived into the cockpit, pulled the handbrake, and sharply jerked the steering wheel away from the truck convoy just as the truck driver realized the rear door had popped open.

The Charger sped away down the highway toward the delivery rendezvous point.

Through the rearview mirror, Vega saw that the titanium suitcase on the passenger seat was still emitting regular Beep... Beep... sounds like the rhythm of a ticking time bomb.

Suddenly, the radar screen on Vega's dashboard was covered in a blazing red.

From the opposite lane, five ash-gray armored SUVs—heavy-duty bulletproof modified Cadillac Escalades—were charging in the opposite direction at a terrifying speed. They turned on no police sirens, bore no insignia, completely silent and deeply threatening.

The sleekness, discipline, and overwhelming presence of this convoy were far cry from private security guards or the Chicago police.

It was a professional squad.

Vega gripped the steering wheel tightly, the cold wave along her spine from four a.m. returning, stronger and more real than ever.

When the Charger glided past the armored convoy in the opposite lane, through the dark-tinted bulletproof glass of the lead Escalade, Vega caught a glimpse of a figure.

No clear face. Just a wide, steady shoulder in a perfectly tailored suit, and a pair of eyes hidden behind the shadows calmly gazing outward.

A pair of eyes entirely devoid of emotion. Cold, ruthless, and absolutely in control.

Vega had just stolen the exact thing that violence machine was protecting.