His Great Image

Cat cut the cord, her breath hissing between her teeth when she was done. The overwhelming hum of electricity was immediately silenced.

“Well?” Andrea pestered, peering over Cat’s shoulder to look at the mass of wires she had so artfully disabled.

“We’re clear.”

“Perfect,” Andrea whispered. She put a hand on Cat’s shoulder and pressed upwards, using Cat as a balance. Her eyes shone though there was no light. Her pupils were wide in the darkness, and quieter than a mouse, Andrea shuffled forward, towards their prize. It was a one-of-a-kind piece of art – one that just so happened to be entirely made of platinum and rose gold. It was a sculpture of His Great Image. Andrea wanted to spit on it.

Well, the security system was off. She could. She did.

“What are you doing?” came Cat’s hushed reprimand.

“When else are we going to have a chance to desecrate His Great Image?”

“What do you think we’re here for?”

“Yeah, yeah, put a lid on it.”

Andrea laughed and reached her hand, looking for the locks with her skilled and nimble hands. There – with a flick, she released one, and ah – there’s the other. Cat had finished packing up her prize.

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