Night soaks the street in that suburban way that makes everything feel quieter than it is. There’s the occasional flicker of a television. Christmas lights decorate the exterior of homes and Christmas trees inside windows.
We park the truck down the street from Mika’s front door, around the corner, so if anyone looks out of their window, they won’t see an unusual vehicle.
It’s freezing outside, but five of us are tucked painfully into the truck, making it too cozy.
Atom drives. His truck is the largest, and we stopped a few minutes ago to remove the plate. Grudge is sitting next to him. I’m squashed in the back with Wraith and Smoke.
“We should have brought two trucks,” Smoke says from his place in the middle. “This truck wasn’t designed for three sets of shoulders like ours.”
“The man isn’t lying,” Wraith says, sitting at an angle to make it work.
Smoke huffs as he tries to shift in his seat again. “Gonna be painful if Mika has a lot of equipment when we ride home.”
“Quit bitching,” Atom says. “We’re here.”
“Yeah, but four hours squashed between these two made it feel like a twelve-hour ride instead of four,” Smoke grumbles.
“Mika’s place is a rental,” I say, looking at the additional intelligence Wren has sent through. “Been here for seven months.”
Once we’re parked up, we pull black balaclavas over our heads. Mainly to hide our faces, but it certainly helps with the frigid windchill. We agreed to leave our cuts and other identifying items at home.
Grudge leads us forward. “I’ll go around the front with Catfish and Smoke. Atom, Wraith, the two of you take the rear. Message when you’re in position.”
We approach the property along the street. It gives us time to take in the black SUV on the driveway with so much snow around the wheelbase, it’s clear it hasn’t been used in a while.
As we approach the door, I can see into the living room. There’s a couch that looks like too many people have spent the night on it, and two monitors throwing blue light.
Smoke slowly but surely picks the lock, and Grudge confirms Atom and Wraith are in position by the back door. It’s taking a minute, so I look at the windows to the living room. They’re panes that have a latch but lift to open. The one on the right isn’t properly locked.
I play around with the old windowpane, jiggling it, nudging it, until I manage to get the lock to open fully.
“Cover me,” I say to Atom, as I climb through the opening.
It’s uncomfortable. My shoulders barely fit.
And the drop down to the floor is a little farther than I thought it was going to be.
But I’m in.
Quickly, and as silently as I can, I get to the door and take all the deadbolts off.
Mika is so paranoid that they needed multiple bar and chain locks but didn’t think to check the windows.
Music thuds from the direction of the basement. It’s tinny, heavy on the synth. The house smells a little like old ramen. Then, we hear a shout, a whoop, from downstairs.
Atom and Wraith have made their own way into the property and come at us from the opposite angle.
“We could see Mika,” Wraith whispers. “Basement window. Just one person. Sitting back corner, right-hand side.”
Grudge leads as we move down the stairs into the basement.
It’s unfinished, but warm. There’s a folding table stacked with laptop guts, routers, braided cables, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Stickers cover a tower case: cartoon skulls, a little frog, some of that Manga shit.
And finally, I see Mika. He’s smaller than I was imagining. Thin arms, even in a fleecy sweatshirt. Weak wrists.
Grudge coughs. Loudly.
And Mika flinches when he turns around and sees four of us watching him. Smoke has stayed at the top of the stairs to keep a look out. We have no clue if other people live in this house besides the hacker, if there was anyone upstairs.
