Steel Disciples

CHAPTER TWO: ORFIELD

It was a short but familiar ride. By this point the sun had finally set and he guided his bike down the streets in darkness. Finding his way wasn't difficult at all. He noticed the street signs, and the large buildings that had been ingrained in his memory since his childhood. He remembered the houses of old friends from his childhood; those he had been inside and those he had only just happened to see the outskirts of. He recognised the very same dents and raises in the road that he'd ridden over before. His destination was a fairly out of the way cul-de-sac, where at the end of it stood a two story building with white wooden panelling and red accents. The driveway was tidy, and the garage door was still painted the same white as the rest of the house. He'd parked his bike nowhere near close to it, in fact it was a few streets away that he'd stopped. He approached the house on foot as he didn't want to alert the occupants of his presence, especially when his goal was to remain undiscovered. It was exactly as he remembered it when he'd left it, that was what he noticed when he stopped to take in the appearance of the building before moving closer. Five years and not a single thing had changed. He didn't expect that the people inside of the building would've changed at all either, which was why he'd rather remain undiscovered. In and out in a flash; that was how he was going to go about this business.

Like he'd done so many times before, he lifted himself up and over the unpainted wooden back gate and into the garden of the household. It wasn't an interesting garden. The place had always just been a small field of grass with a patch of dirt where his mother would grow varying types of flowers depending on the season. It was Summer now, so the flowers were in full bloom in an array of colourful hues. From blues to reds to yellows. In the dark, though, it was hard to make out any kind of details, and they didn't exactly stand out against the backdrop. His focus wasn't on the garden, however, it was on the window about eight feet above his head. The curtains were drawn, and the window was shut, but after having so frequently snuck in and out of the building at night during his teenage years, this was no task to him. He started by lodging his foot against the outcropping of a windowsill on the first floor, and lifted himself until his other foot was on the edge of a wooden panel that had a small dent from the amount of times he'd used it as a step. From there, he managed to put his weight onto the panelling and move upwards until he could grasp the overhanging grey roof and lift himself over it. Balancing on the slates, he crouched at the window of his old bedroom. The roof wasn't the most stable thing to sit on, and there were moments where his feet slipped. His heels clunked on the rooftop, but hopefully not loud enough to make anyone aware of his presence. The tight leather of his trousers didn't make movement easy, but with a knee rested on the surface beneath him he was able to stay steady. Naturally, the window wouldn't slide open, as it was locked from the inside. But tucked away underneath the small gap between the window and the wall was a thin, bent, metal pipe that he kept stored there for occasions exactly like this one. There was the tiniest of holes in the painted window frame; big enough for a dedicated bug to crawl through, or big enough for a thin pipe. It used to whistle at night when the winds picked up and drafted through the crevice. The noise frequently had kept him awake until he'd stuffed shreds of paper into it. From the outside, though, he could push the blockage loose, and with a more precise angle he was able to use the end of the pipe to pop the lock. The sharp click won a smile from Shane, one that was half tainted by the curve of a smirk. Dropping the pipe, his fingertips latched around the indentations in the window frame and with a flimsy grip he managed to pry it open enough that he could fit his hand through the gap and part it fully. Old white wood caught on the palm of his fingerless leather gloves and a large splinter came off in his hand, but he brushed it off and watched as it fell onto the carpet of his room. It was a very plain white, so the chip wasn't prominent where it rested. He pushed thick locks of hair from his face before he attempted to move forward; climbing through the window was the hardest part. Balancing with one foot on the windowsill and the other on the roof wasn't easy. He stumbled a little on his way in as a slate slipped out from beneath his back foot. It landed on the grass below and didn't smash, but the grating sound of its shifting was undoubtedly loud enough to raise heads. He caught his balance on the edge of a bedside table once he'd gotten the rest of his body through the miniscule gap, and took a moment to straighten himself.