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Welcome to Tokyo, Now Wake the Hell Up

Let me paint you a picture.

We’re in Tokyo.
We have a plan.
We have gear, blueprints, exit routes, fake IDs, and a thermos full of espresso.

What we don’t have?

Two functional human beings.

I personally hauled Rafał and Russell’s unconscious, drooling behinds onto our crew transport (a highly illegal, heavily modified jet that I definitely didn’t borrow from a guy named Yuri). I thought, “Great, once we land, we’re on.”

I was wrong.

Because somehow, despite being physically in Tokyo, Rafał and Russell are mentally still in Chicago — doing “recon” in convenience stores that don’t even exist here.
I caught them arguing over which type of gum “might be traceable.”
GUM, Man GUM.

Russell actually asked a sushi chef where the nearest “deep dish” place is.
Rafał? He’s taken four naps in the same hoodie.
I’m surrounded by highly-trained criminals with jet lag and no sense of urgency.

Meanwhile, I — Glitch, the guy who literally sitting in a Tokyo bank with every security system hacked, every guard schedule mapped, and a flawless entry plan.

I could do this solo.
But if I do, I’ll get caught.
Why? Because someone needs to carry the vault explosives, handle the lobby panic, and look cool in a ski mask. I can’t do all three and still update this blog.

So here I am.
Waiting.
Again.

Oh — and yes, we’re still planning to leave our signature. Assuming we get that far.
It’s gonna be poetic. Iconic.
If we ever start the job.

— Glitch
💻 Criminal Mastermind, Babysitter, Probably Losing Hair Over This