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MISSION FIVE — THE BOAT MISSION

(Heavy on dialogue, lots of voices. Night. Salt in the air. Sirens far away. The Mole is still out there. DAMN interrupts as required.)

BRIEF RECAP (over comms from Tiger Cub): target cargo ship carrying crates of resources to Las Vegas. Objective: Hijack the vessel, reroute it to Manhattan, transfer crates to the alternate vessel “The Dog House,” and vanish. No unnecessary showboating. Roles assigned:

Driver: Zap — gets the ship to Manhattan.

Lookout: Kaibi — psychic warnings & plan reads.

Lead: The Pale King — commands, coordinates, manipulates morale/attention.

Enforcer: Grim — brute mobility, ramming, clearing deck.

Hacker: Madame Odius — breaks nav, cameras, comms; strings monkey-wrenches.

DESCENT TO THE DOCK — PRE-LAUNCH

(Cold wind. The team crouched on a shadowed container stack across from the cargo ship. The Dog House idles ten meters away, engine idling low. Radar glints. Dock lights smear like pearls.)

Tiger Cub (over earpiece):
“YOU GO NOW. NO LONGER THAN TWENTY MINUTES TO THE HULL. I WANT MINIMAL NOISE, MAXIMAL CHAOS. GO.”

Pale King (soft, enthroned on the ledge, voice into mic):
“We move at my mark. Kaibi, your window. Zap, keep the wheel steady and don’t flirt with the horn. Grim — keep it tidy and lethal. Odius, you have thirty seconds to make the bow ignore its destination.”

Zap (thrilled whisper):
“Bow? Check. Steady hands, steady heart. I got this. Ocean is my—well—terrestrial cousin.”

Kaibi (calm):
“I’ll feel for patrol ripples, psychic eddies, and the captain’s temperament. If anyone thinks of looking, I’ll tell you seven seconds before they do.”

Grim (wheels squeal, delighted):
“Hot wheels engage. I’ve been waiting for a ramp scenario.”

Madame Odius (cool, fingers already dancing on a hacked tablet):
“Nav schematics in my sights. Their autopilot is archaic — beautifully naive. I’ll splice a Manhattan waypoint into the feed and give them a lovely, confusing blinking light.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Somewhere, DAMN echoes through the docks as an annoyed gull.)

BOARDING — APPROACH

Zap and Grim ride a small inflatable under a tarpaulin. Pale King and Kaibi clamber with grapnels onto the hull amid the sway. Odius slides a grappling hook into place and answers the ship’s beacon with a counterfeit handshake.

Dock Guard (muttering, unaware):
“Midnight shift is slow… who tied that knot—”

Kaibi (soft, into mic):
“Two guards at stern, one forward rotation. Nervous captain. Heartbeat stutters pre-beacon. Expect a comms check in twelve.”

Pale King (whispering):
“Grim — 3 o’clock. Quiet crush. Zap — once we have the bridge, turn starboard slow. Odius, burn them a breadcrumb path.”

Grim (sudden grin):
“Crush is my middle name. Wheel, move, smash. I’ll be the polite storm.”

ON DECK — FIRST CONTACT

Zap clambers up the ladder, Mud and salt spattering. Two deck hands notice a noise — one lifts a flashlight.

Deck Hand:
“Hey! Who’s—”

Grim rockets forward with hot-wheeled torque, ramming the hand and sending the flashlight flying. The other hand spins — a nonlethal thump from Grim’s chair and a quick restraint strap, immobilized.

Zap (breathing hard):
“Duck! Hands down. We’re the maintenance crew. The maintenance crew who does very special maintenance.”

Deck Hand (muffled, stunned):
“Maintenance—right… okay—”

Pale King (softly; to the hand through a sliver of mental suggestion):
“Go rest. Tell you’re fine. Forget the sirens.”

The guard yawns, wobbles, and wanders away, uncertain why he now wants coffee.

Deck Hand 2 (to his mate):
“Did we get new… coffee?”

Kaibi (into mic):
“Captain is chewing on a thought shaped like suspicion. Odius, you have five.”

Madame Odius (fingers fly):
“I’m in. Remote console. Give me a heartbeat... and—done. Autopilot accepts Manhattan. I’ll poll the manifest logs to keep Las Vegas on a loop.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(A distant shout — likely DAMN again — bounces off the containers. Everyone flinches and does not laugh.)

BRIDGE — TAKING CONTROL

Zap slides into the wheelhouse like a grin. Screens glow. The captain’s silhouette at the helm — a heavily-aged man — blinks at the instrument panel.

Captain (grim, alert):
“What the— navigation says Manhattan? That’s wrong. We’re scheduled—”

Pale King (leaning through the doorway, low and syrupy):
“Captains are tired. Winds change. You’re patriotic tonight. Manhattan is a healthy change. Think of the tip.”

His voice is honey that tastes like command: small nudges of influence, not full control.

Captain (blink):
“Mana— I mean— sure. Manhattan… right. I’ll nudge the wheel.”

Zap (whisper to Kaibi):
“Easy. Easy. Captain’s a soft lock. Grim — keep the chain clear. Odius — make sure the radar shows Las Vegas like a ghost.”

Madame Odius (with a tiny, sadistic smile):
“Already done. I’ve looped Las Vegas into a phantom schedule. Their AIS blinks fake, the port authority pings misrouted. They’ll think they’ve done their job while we move the crates.”

Grim (muttering, joyfully):
“Good. I like ghosts that are useful.”

Rewrite (over a suppressed channel, smug):
“Make sure the Dog House is ready to eat those crates. I’m expecting dramatic angles.”

Pale King (firm):
“Dog House will be vectored at rendezvous. Kaibi— finalize psychic tether at 0:42.”

Kaibi (concentrated):
“Tether anchored. I feel the Dog House’s intention — hungry, eager — good vessel.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SECURITY RESPOND — THE ENFORCER SHINES

Guards on the lower deck hear voices and shuffle. A security team pops out with stun guns and drone-taggers. A scanning AI drone dips low, lens flashing red.

Kaibi (alarm):
“Drone spiraling inbound on port side! Heat signature tracking a small metal box!”

Madame Odius (clicks, calm):
“Throw them a lure — now. Grim, show them the clown. Zap, take the starboard line.”

Grim (throttle, roaring):
“Let’s make it art.”

He charges, wheels sparking. He slams through a stack of crates, using momentum to knock boxes and create a tumble barrier. The guards are clattered into by falling cargo; one guard is freed but dazed, another trips and spills into the water with a yelp.

Zap (sliding across the deck, a blur):
“I’m doing the water dance! Move crates! Keep the drone’s eye busy!”

Madame Odius triggers an audio protocol — a playback of a ship engineer babbling in Cantonese, looping. The drone’s object classifier floods; it finds twenty false heat points and whirs in confusion.

Kaibi (whisper):
“Drone will ping again — two minutes. Pale King, your move.”

Pale King (icy):
“Kaibi holds the tether. I will make their comms taste like sand.” (He hums a short phrase; officers on the lower deck glance at each other and feel sudden weariness.)

Deck Guard (to his mate):
“Why am I suddenly sleepy? Did you— did you bring the tea? I could sleep…”

Madame Odius (smirking as she overrides control panels):
“I have the manifest gate. I’ll open a transfer hatch for the Dog House crane and create a phantom dock handshake signature. Once the crane’s in place, the crew will dutifully sling the crates to our little friend.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CRATE TRANSFER — THE DOG HOUSE ARRIVES

The Dog House eases up alongside. A low thud as lines connect. Zap keeps the current slight, turning the ship’s head to line both decks.

Kaibi (sharp):
“Crane online. Two minute window to sling twenty crates. Watch the port side cable — signs of fray.”

Grim (breathing heavy):
“Time to dance. I’ll keep anything that moves from being a problem.”

Grim rams into a guard who attempted to scramble to the crane controls, a quiet but brutal shove that throws the man into a net. Zap and Pale King shout instructions. Madame Odius routes the crane’s control to the Dog House operator with a secure tunnel. Crates come off like organ notes into the open mouth of the Dog House, which gobbles them one by one.

On-Deck Guard (struggling):
“What the— who authorized this transfer?”

Pale King (calm, omniscient):
“Your orders came from above. You obeyed. You can sleep now.”

He turns the guards’ certainty into lullabies again; one by one they slump into compliance, or are quietly tied and gagged. Kaibi keeps a psychic watch for any real resistance — one body twitches wildly, tries to speak, and goes still after a quick, polite choke from Grim’s strap.

Madame Odius (gritting teeth into a tiny smile):
“Twenty crates in sixty seconds. Beautiful efficiency, if I do say so. Now to jam the tracking pips and let them believe their cargo vanished into thin air.”

Zap (panting with exhilaration):
“This is great. Boat steering? Ten out of ten. Water hair? Wet in all the right ways.”

Pale King (glare):
“Zap.”

Zap:
“Sorry. No more flirting. For now.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ALMOST OUT — A SCRAMBLE

A last-minute alarm on a handheld scanner: the port authority’s drone frequency pinged our spoof. A real patrol boat is closing in, hull lights spooling bright.

Kaibi (urgent):
“Patrol closing at bearing 330; ETA three minutes. They’ve got an ordnance sweeper and are suspicious.”

Madame Odius (catlike):
“Block their frequency with a blooming corruption packet. I need thirty seconds and clean uplink.”

Grim (to Zap):
“You steer us cool — I’ll make a courteous exit with some style.”

Pale King (commanding):
“Zap — full throttle out when I give the word. Grim — create a path. Kaibi — hold the tether on the Dog House so they don’t drift. Odius — erase traces.”

Kaibi:
“Tether solid. Dog House is steady. They’ll hold until you’re clear.”

EXTRACT — THE RUN

Zap plants both hands on the wheel. The cargo ship groans as he nudges the rudder. Grim spins his wheels, sends a controlled collapse of stacked crates to create a wall of floating debris between them and the approaching patrol. Odius feeds the patrol a thick blanket of false sonar returns. The Dog House hoists its last crate; lines snap taut.

Patrol Radio (far):
“Unidentified vessel at sector— we have visual— approaching— wait, what the—”

Pale King (cold):
“Now, Zap. Dance us home.”

Zap (voice a roar of concentration):
“Turning Manhattan. Hold on to your seats and your dignity.”

They slip through a narrow channel, past harbor pylons, the Dog House trailing close. The patrol surges but hits the littered wake and the phantom returns; sonar reads nonsense. Madame Odius slams the port comms to loop a maintenance ping. The patrol hesitates. The ship makes a tight arc and heads up the Hudson toward Manhattan’s skyline like a lie told confidently.

Grim (laughing, breathless):
“Hot wheels, baby! We did it! We did the boat thing!”

Kaibi (relieved):
“Tether released at my count. Crates safe aboard Dog House.”

Madame Odius (brushing herself off):
“Manifest rewritten, trackers scrambled, and the port authority will spend the next six hours answering emails. Lovely.”

BACK AT BASE — RADIO CHECK-IN

(The team transmits their success. Inside the base, other entries gather around as the comm-link flickers.)

Tiger Cub (perky, checking off a list):
“REPORT.”

Pale King (voice steady, regal):
“The cargo is redirected to Manhattan. Dog House confirms crate intake. No kills beyond necessary restraint. The port is misled for eight hours. Mission success.”

Zap (panting, ecstatic):
“And I drove like a champion! Also, water hair is—”

SpongeBob (interrupting from the crowd, eyes huge):
“YOU DID IT. YOU DID IT. LET’S MAKE A CELEBRATION. I’LL COOK—”

Madame Odius (dry):
“Please do. We’ll need distractions for an exit gala.”

Grim (clacking wheels):
“Also, help me move a box. My wheels want to flex.”

Kaibi (soft):
“I detected no mole interference. No psychic premonition of meddling during the transfer. That’s good.”

Pale King (sombre for a moment):
“Good. For now.”

Rewrite (smirking):
“Enjoy your nautical triumph. I want photos and a slow-motion loop of Grim hitting that crate wall.”

Kitsune (from the back):
“Well done. But be careful. That was subtle. The mole will take notes.”

Vadrina (watchful):
“Excellent choreograph. If we lose momentum now, we lose leverage.”

Diolson (mechanical):
“UPLOAD: MANIFEST HASHES. TRACKING DELAY: 8H. CONFIRM: REDEPLOY SECURITY MEASURES.”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CLOSING — ECHOES & WARNINGS

Tiger Cub (one last chirp):
“GOOD WORK. DON’T GET FRISKY ON THE DOCKS. REST. AND—” (tilts head) “—if any of you get sentimental again, put it in a file and title it ‘NOT MY PROBLEM’.”

Zap (muttering):
“I did the thing. Boat—done. Can I go take a nap now? Water cuddle?”

Skrunkly (from some corner, happily):
“WATER! I WANT WATER! MISSION SUCCESS MEANS SWIM!”

Pale King (cold, final):
“Celebrate briefly. Then continue. We have new allies, new enemies, and one mole in our midst.”

Madame Odius (almost purring):
“And more importantly, we have new toys.”

(The base hums. Crates are unloaded in Manhattan. The opposing base is temporarily crippled of this run of resources. The mole watches from a shadow and writes a note.)

Rewrite (to camera, grinning):
“Next mission: bigger chaos. Also—photos?”

SpongeBob (already cooking for a victory meal):
“PATTIES FOR EVERYONE!”

DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(The team disperses—some to sleep, some to clean, some to plot. The mole is not caught. The war of small victories continues.)