"I knew you wouldn't let me down," Scott replied without hesitation. "See you in five hours at the hideout. The whole team will be there. Don't be late; we need to coordinate the job carefully."
"I'll be there," Max replied.
Five hours. Enough time to buy some food for the next few days. If this two-day job goes well, I won't have to worry about money for the rest of the year... or maybe even for several years, Max thought as he walked through the streets.
He headed to the market to buy some vegetables and questionable chicken, cheap enough to fit his budget. After all, he needed to make sure he had enough for himself and his mother.
Once home, he gave his mother her new medication. She continued to look at him with a strange expression, making incoherent comments. It still hurt Max to see her like this. There were moments when she seemed to have some clarity, but those moments were far too rare.
An hour later, Max made his way to the hideout. The location was an abandoned warehouse they had repurposed for their activities. They brought in stolen equipment to supplement what they needed, turning it into a refuge for joint jobs.
There, he encountered a new group. The only person he recognized was Scott, with whom he had worked on several heists. The other two were strangers.
Scott looked up and said, "Finally, the team's complete. Ricky, Eddie, this is Shadow, our pickpocket, who will steal the key we need. Shadow, these are Ricky and Eddie. Ricky, the tall guy with the short hair, is our security systems expert, and Eddie, the one with glasses, is our lockpicking expert."
Max nodded, and as everyone introduced themselves, he asked, "So, what's the plan?"
Scott, with a serious look, began explaining, "The first step is to get the key to access the network systems. That's where you come in. None of us have your skills for stealing in broad daylight. The pickpocketing will be simple, no complications. You know the rules: no injuries, no threats, no violence."
Max nodded again, prompting Scott to continue.
"Alright," Scott continued, "we know that a worker who has the key goes to a bar every day at 11 p.m. That's where you come in. You'll steal the key from this guy. Eddie will then clone it using this machine," he said, pointing to what looked like a large printer with a scanner. "The cloning process won't take more than ten minutes. After that, you'll return the key, and we'll move on to the next phase."
"And what's the next phase?" Max asked, curious.
"Once we have the cloned key, we'll infiltrate the main network server," Eddie explained, adjusting his glasses and displaying a holographic security screen. "We'll use alternate access protocols to ensure the signal isn't traced. The key here is manipulating the biometric authentication system to prevent any alarms from being triggered. We need access without leaving a trace, and that depends on how precisely we handle the cloning."
Max showed no emotion, but his thoughts were clear: "Everything sounds easy, but I know this kind of job never is." Still, he trusted that if they followed the plan to the letter, the job would succeed.
"Then we move on to phase three. That's where I come in," Scott said with a confident smile. "We'll head to his mansion, access the safe, and steal the 4 million. One million for each of us. A simple, straightforward job. And I've got something extra I want to do. But that's not something we need to worry about right now."
Max frowned, puzzled. He didn't like not knowing every detail of the plan. "What's this 'extra' you're talking about?" he asked, staring intently at Scott.
Scott grinned mischievously, revealing something Max couldn't quite decipher. "Well," he began, "I'll upload Zorick's accounts online and transfer some money back to the people he's stolen from. A bit of Robin Hood-style heroism never hurts, right?" Scott laughed, but Max couldn't shake a feeling of unease about the suggestion.
Although he wasn't opposed to teaching Zorick a lesson, something about Scott's tone made him feel that this part of the plan wasn't as innocent as it seemed. Still, he decided not to question it for now. He knew the main goal was the heist, and he couldn't risk losing this opportunity.
"Alright," Max replied, still doubtful, "but make sure this doesn't cause us any trouble. I don't want the job turning into a disaster."
"Relax, everything's under control," Scott said dismissively. "Any other questions?"
Max simply shook his head. He had worked with Scott before, and they had never been caught. I guess it'll be fine, he thought. Seeing no one else speak up, Scott smiled, satisfied, and resumed speaking.
"Then let's fine-tune the details for tonight, when phase one of the plan begins," he said firmly. For hours, they reviewed and practiced every step meticulously, ensuring every move was perfectly coordinated. They also discussed the following phases, adjusting minor details. Finally, the moment to act arrived.
"Well, I guess it's time," Max murmured as he got ready. He quickly combed his hair and put on the suit Scott had prepared for him: a dark, discreet outfit suitable for the occasion.
They headed to the designated location, a dark, secluded building that looked like something out of an underground scene. The facade was aged brick, with dim lights flickering over the main door. As they approached, Max noticed the vibrant mix of music escaping through the window cracks. It wasn't a typical nightclub but something darker, riskier. The outside air smelled of smoke and something heavier, as if the place always teetered on the edge of illegality. The door, guarded by a tough-looking man, seemed like the threshold to a hidden world. Definitely not what I was expecting, Max thought, unsurprised, knowing Scott often played with terms.
"I thought you said it was a nightclub," Max said, glancing at Scott with a slight smile.
Scott simply chuckled. "Well, it's sort of a nightclub," he replied with a mischievous grin.
At that moment, Eddie timidly called him. "Mr. Shadow," he said, handing him a fake ID. "This will be your identity for today." Then he hesitated, looking at Max's mask. "I don't think they'll let you in with that on," he added, pointing to the mask.
Scott scoffed. He knew Max never showed his face to strangers. Although they were friends and Max had trusted him with his real name, Max remained unwavering in his habit of concealing himself.
Max shook his head, as if it were an everyday thing. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I can blend in," he replied with a calmness that even surprised Scott.
He approached the door, where he had a brief, low-toned exchange with the guard. To everyone's surprise, the guard let him in without asking for an ID or even looking at his face.
"Weird," Eddie murmured, watching the scene from the corner.
"Yeah, how does he do that?" Scott commented, equally surprised at how effortlessly Max had gotten in.
"Well, now that the hard part is done, only the easy part remains," Max said, a confident smile forming on his face. "So, what was the next step?"
He paused for a moment, mentally reviewing the list of employees he had meticulously studied. The club had a sizable staff, full of unfamiliar faces, but also some names that had caught his attention. Rumors, whispers in the shadows—he had thoroughly investigated everything. The staff wasn't known for their morality, and some of those closest to the core operations had dark pasts. Max had tracked them, observed them, learned to recognize their patterns. Among all of them, one name stood out—one he knew well: Lion Winters.
Lion wasn't just any employee. At only 23 years old, his name already appeared on several blacklists. Repeatedly accused of assaulting women, he always seemed to evade justice. His modus operandi was clear: he left his victims severely injured during dates and, with the help of his army of lawyers, managed to have all accusations dismissed, no matter the evidence. Those who dared to report him simply disappeared. The stories of these women never reached the courts, as the police preferred to look the other way despite the evidence. The crown jewel in his record was a trial involving an ex-girlfriend, which ended with the young woman being forced to leave the city. Everything about that trial reeked of manipulation: bribed testimonies, falsified evidence, and purchased witnesses. Yet Lion remained at the club, unscathed, untouchable, with no one questioning his presence.
Max carefully observed his surroundings. The waitstaff's uniform matched his perfectly: black shirt, dark pants, shiny shoes. In fact, the resemblance between him and Lion was almost uncanny—the same hairstyle, the same height, the same eyes. The only difference was the mask Max wore, his usual accessory for every mission. With it, he could move unnoticed among the crowd, even when standing so close to someone like Lion.
Determined, Max patiently waited for the right moment. As Lion approached a nearby table, Max moved forward with studied precision, positioning himself strategically. As he passed Lion, he subtly "bumped" into him, just enough to momentarily throw him off balance without either of them falling. It was a perfectly executed move, almost imperceptible, but enough to achieve the desired effect.
Lion reacted instantly, turning toward Max with a piercing glare. His expression was a mix of restrained anger and calculated disdain. "Do you have any idea what you just did?" His voice was low, almost a venomous whisper, but the tone carried a chilling threat. He straightened his shirt with deliberate movements, his gaze never leaving Max, analyzing him like a predator sizing up its prey.
"My deepest apologies, sir, I didn't mean to. I didn't see you there," Max said, lowering his gaze in feigned submission while discreetly hiding the tag he had just ripped off.
Lion narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing. "Of course, you didn't see me. Idiots like you never see anything coming." His smile was a blend of mockery and menace. Though his tone had softened slightly, it was clear he was calculating the potential consequences. Lion didn't explode in that moment, but his attitude made it clear: this incident wouldn't be forgotten.
Finally, Lion clicked his tongue and straightened his posture. "Get back to work... before you waste any more of my time." Then he turned and walked away, casting one last look at Max, as if to commit his face to memory.
Max remained still, pretending his hands trembled slightly as he picked up a tray he had been carrying. Inside, however, he smiled. He had gotten what he wanted without drawing too much attention. Lion might have been explosive, but he was also cunning, which made him even more dangerous. However, that combination also made him overconfident, and Max knew that confidence could be used against him.
Then, Max proceeded to the next step without hesitation. He walked towards the bar, grabbed a tray with drinks, and wove through the tables. He walked for about ten minutes, observing his surroundings with the cold gaze of someone who is always alert. Finally, he spotted him. Zane, sitting at a table near the stage, completely absorbed in the show, throwing bills generously at the dancers as if he were the king of his own private kingdom.
Zane didn't seem to have the slightest concern for the world around him. Max patiently waited for the right moment. When Zane got up to go to the bathroom, Max knew it was his chance. With a smooth movement, he pretended to hurry, stepping back just as a guard approached. The collision was inevitable. The drinks spilled all over Zane's shirt, soaking him completely.
Zane's reaction was instantaneous. "You're incompetent! Useless! How dare you spill this on me?" he shouted, his face red with fury.
Max, acting quickly, bent down to pick up the spilled drinks, rubbing Zane's shirt with a wet cloth, as if deeply embarrassed. "Oh, sir, I'm so sorry! Let me clean it up," he said in a trembling voice, as though genuinely nervous.
Zane shoved him roughly, fury reflected in every one of his movements. "Don't touch me, idiot! I'm going to talk to D'Angelo. You're fired! Useless bastard! What's your name, fool?"
Max stayed still, adopting a submissive posture like a fearful employee. He looked up at Zane and pointed to the name tag on his uniform. "Lion... Winters," he murmured, barely whispering.
Zane glared at him, and with a growl of frustration, shouted, "You'll see, you bastard. Not only will you get fired, but I'll make you pay for this silk suit. Damned fool!"
But Max showed no sign of fear. He knew everything was going according to plan. Zane, so furious, didn't even realize for a moment that his access card, wallet, and watch were already gone. The distraction had been perfect.
Max made his way to the parking area, where his team was already waiting for him. As he approached, they immediately noticed his disheveled appearance: the drink-stained suit, slightly messy hair. Scott, a mix of concern and amusement on his face, asked, "What happened to you?"
Max simply shook his head and said, "Just a little distraction." Calmly, he handed the cloned card to Scott and got into the car. The minivan they were traveling in had been adapted: the seats removed to make space for the cloning machine in the center. The process was slow but silent. No one bothered them until a sound, like an oven timer, signaled that the cloning was complete. Eddie handed the card back to Max so he could return it to its original owner without raising suspicion.
Max looked at Zane's wallet, stuffed with cash, with a satisfied smile. "Well, if everything goes well, these 100 dollars will be just the beginning compared to what I'll earn from this mission," he thought as he carefully took a couple of bills. The weight of the money in his hands brought a brief smile to his face, but he didn't let himself be tempted. There were still many more bills in the wallet, enough to tempt anyone, but Max knew he couldn't take more without risking Zane noticing something strange. "Always leave room for doubt," he reminded himself.
With quick, sure steps, Max began to walk back to the club, adjusting his pace so as not to draw attention. When he reached the back door of the establishment, he smiled as he saw that his foresight had worked: the door was still slightly ajar, just as he had left it blocked before leaving. This small detail, as simple as it was strategic, allowed him to enter the building without trouble or suspicion.
At that moment, a loud, commanding voice rang out above the noise of the music, calling Lion Winters' name at the top of its lungs. Max immediately assumed it was D'Angelo, and though the authoritative tone of the voice would have intimidated anyone else, he simply thought, "Well, we're already in this, what's the difference?"
With that thought in mind, Max quickened his pace, heading toward a specific direction. His movements were precise, like someone used to acting under pressure. He knew that every second counted.
When Max saw the real Lion Winters, his heart raced, but not out of nervousness—rather, from the adrenaline of the plan he was about to execute. His reputation as a cruel and abusive man preceded him, and every step he took radiated a mixture of arrogance and danger. Without hesitation, Max made his way toward him with a single idea running through his mind.
Lion, on the other hand, was clearly upset and confused. He had never seen boss D'Angelo call him with such urgency or impatience. His foul mood was evident on his face, but before he could head to the office, a quick movement stopped him dead in his tracks. The same kid from earlier—the new, useless guy who seemed incapable of staying out of his way—bumped into him more forcefully than the first time. Both stumbled, but this time, Lion fell to his knees, managing to steady himself with his hands before hitting the ground completely.
The location where it all happened was a room away from the main hustle of the brothel, a sort of VIP area designed for exclusive clients. The walls were covered in dark red velvet, with dim lighting creating an intimate and luxurious atmosphere. Black leather sofas surrounded small tables with bottles of expensive liquor, while a curtain of beads separated the area from the rest of the establishment. There were few people present, just a couple of well-dressed men and some women who seemed absorbed in their own conversations. The loud, enveloping music drowned out any loud noises, making the altercation go unnoticed. It was as if these kinds of situations were so common that no one around even bothered to glance twice.
Lion, furious, didn't waste any time. Before Max could fully get up, Lion lunged at him with quick, precise movements, like a predator who wouldn't let his prey escape. He pinned Max down with an arm around his neck, applying pressure with his elbow as he stared at him. His expression was a mix of contained rage and dark pleasure in demonstrating his authority.
"Listen well, idiot," Lion whispered, his voice low and laced with threat. "You've bumped into me twice now, and I'm not going to let you keep playing with me. I think it's time to teach you a lesson."
Max could barely breathe, but he didn't lose his composure. He knew that his move depended on this moment. Just as Lion was about to tighten his grip, a couple of burly guards appeared on the scene. The men, dressed in dark suits and with stern expressions, weren't part of the usual staff. Their presence was a clear sign that they were there for a specific purpose.
Without saying a word, the guards grabbed Lion firmly, pulling him away from Max with ease that spoke of their strength. Lion struggled at first, but seeing the D'Angelo badge on their uniforms, he stopped resisting.
"Boss D'Angelo wants to see you in his office, Lion," one of the guards said, his voice firm but controlled. "This time, it's serious."
Lion, now completely bewildered, had no choice but to go along. Max, for his part, stayed on the floor, coughing lightly as he watched them take him away. "Well, that was close…" Max thought as he observed the scene. The mission was almost complete. "The job's done."