Once upon a time, not so long ago, Mica had promised to herself that she would become a better soldier. A better Negaverse agent. She had always imagined herself to be quite efficient and productive, a reliable contributor, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. After all, how could she have failed to notice that new recruits, ones corrupted into service after her, making General before her?

Steady wasn’t enough. The average, consistent flow of energy she scavenged was enough for a Captain, but not enough for a General. Mica needed to be a General. She didn’t show it, but something about obeying commands to Generals newer then her made the pride – a nasty flaw she apparently had after all – cringe.

Her New Year’s Eve resolution had been to do better. She would dedicate more time to teaching other first aid and to bringing supplies to the castle in The Rift. Her leisure time, such as it was, would be dedicated to useful recreational activities: cards to practice her poker face, dancing and pole aerobics to stay flexible and fit, and throwing/target practice.

That had been her resolution. Now, a month into the New Year, Mica could see that she wasn’t fulfilling her resolution. She played cards more, yes, and stole more to support her new gambling “exercise,” but she had failed to do the rest. That was unacceptable.

It had taken two weeks – two weeks – for her to set up her current heist. Mica had, in civilian form, scouted out the hospital on several occasions. Thanks to her experience with hospitals, it was easy enough to memorize the layout of the essential areas. Learning the shifts was somewhat harder, but a lusty nurse helped there, and gave Mica a night’s entertainment to boot.

Finally, late one night, Captain Mica stood outside the hospital. In each hand she held a large paper bag and on her chest she wore an open backpack, each of them lined with scarves and other thick, soft things to muffle noise and protect the goods she’d put in them. She knew she wouldn’t have long – a minute, two tops – to grab what she wanted and teleport out. Hood up and eyes on the watch she’d stolen, Mica teleported in.

Appearing in the hospital’s Supply Room, Mica let out a silent sigh of relief when she saw that the night Supply Nurse was absent, just as she’d hoped. Keeping her head down, she hurriedly took a surgical cap out of the backpack and placed it on the tip of her spear, carefully hooking it onto the security camera watching the door. Hopefully, upon review, security would think she’d managed to use it to block her entrance into the room; more likely they’d think that then think the truth, which was that she’d teleported in.

Camera taken care of, Mica flitted through the shelves, grabbing armfuls of supplies and stuffing them haphazardly into her bags. They were mostly full when she heard voices outside, indicating that her time was up. Seconds before the supply room door opened, Mica grabbed her things and teleported away.

It was a tired Nyasa Freeman that returned to her dingy little apartment that night, and yet she was pleased. Her plan had been a success and she had grabbed some desirable supplies to add to the Negaverse’s inventory. It had been risky – she probably wouldn’t be able to do it again, and least no any time soon, and not at that hospital – but she felt it was worth it. These supplies were the sort that could save lives if necessary, if going to the hospital wasn’t an option and if they were used right. This, Mica felt, was finally a way in which she could really contribute to the Negaverse.