"What do you want for your birthday, Mr Smith?" "The Mona Lisa." "What...like the painting?" Nobody ever says no to Spencer. Even when he wants something crazy like The Mona Lisa. He collects a group of ten con artists, thieves and rogue government workers to pull off the biggest art heist in history. If it fails...well, Spencer doesn't think about things like that.

Wherein Bob does a good deed and is punished. Pete Wentz is now in his life, and with Pete come a myriad of things Bob had seen in that monster movie marathon last month (up to and sometimes including Patrick Stump, Joe Trohman, Andy Hurley, and Matt Cortez). And Brian still refuses to pay Bob what he’s worth. He wants top shelf, damn it, especially if he has to deal with Pete Wentz for the foreseeable future and deal with the pets of gods sprouting prophesies about something that should have been a myth. Then, just to make matters worse, Bob meets Frank Iero and his Gang of Incompetent Misfits. Sometimes Bob thinks he would have preferred to have been eaten in that alley. “Vampires exist. Werewolves, demons, shapeshifters, zombies, every terrifying monster you ever feared was hiding under your bed is real, and a lot of them want to eat you for dinner.” “Some of them even live under your bed!” Joe adds helpfully. "Just for the added convenience."

What Bob had heard from the grapevine was that MCR's rhythm guitarist was small, hyper, and insane on the guitar. What the grapevine had obviously failed to mention was that Frank Iero was also a fucking vampire. Because normal people didn't actually believe things like vampires or werewolves or faeries or witches existed. Normal people were, in Bob's humble opinion, complete fucking idiots.