It's an ordinary early autumn night in New York: chilly; not uncomfortably so, yet, but promising to get colder as the season wears on. A scruffy, long-haired vagabond emerges from the shadows in the alley behind a clothing store, unhesitatingly enters the passcode to disarm its security system, quickly picks the lock, and goes quietly in.
"Fine, so far. Dunno much Sideways, sounds normal here," but she pauses. "Stairs there. Picasso there... tenth, now, focused, not forget. People there," she points up, "going." Or at least they'd better be.
"Wait, more people? We can't just leave them, we gotta make sure they're alright!"
Sounds like everybody gets what they want if they take the stairwell; she heads off in that direction. "Quick, Twelfth now."
(They find the map and make their way to the other stairwell, the same the other three are climbing.)
(Fourteenth.)
She still has some sprint left in her. She's going to sleep for a week if she makes it out of this, though. She follows them up.
Gregory Yates doesn't point the gun he's holding at the other two. He just sizes them up, then says, "Now can we go?"
"Yes, let's go—hi, I'm Penny, nice to meet you two, there's a Picasso."
(Seventeenth floor.)
"Picasso there," she clarifies, pointing straight across at the other stairwell.
Down they go! Up the Picasso goes!
"So what were you two doing up there?"
Down and down and down. She's quiet, paying just enough attention to them that she'll notice if someone falls behind or tries to get her attention.
Nope, the man is quiet and efficient and so is his daughter when she wants to be, and the other two follow the example.
Also good. Bedlam will presumably be by shortly but in the meantime the more of a head start they can get the better.
Bedlam doesn't actually show up! They reach the ground floor.
"You. Are we clear, here?"
He's looking at Denice.