BEFORE THE HEIST

         Aurora felt like she had been brought back to the golden years of her life. Except her hair wasn't cut to her shoulders and her mouth didn't grace an angelic grin that knew no vice. She still remembered the giddy sentiment that would linger in her steps when she reached her classroom at the far end of the hallway. Now, the metal of the chair dug against her back, and the girl wanted only to pounce from her position.

She didn't like to be sat. To be restricted. She pressed her chin against her open hand, hoping time would tick away, and with certain speed. Her, amongst with nine others, sat crossed-leg, waiting for the Professor to spare some sort of explanation on why exactly he felt the need to whisk them away in an abandoned house in Toledo, isolating them in a room like grounded children.

The chalk made a slight screeching sound as the Professor wrote on the board, catching all of their wandering focus. "Welcome," he smiled, though discomfort seemed to wink over his features. Not the most socially confident, Aurora deducted. "I thank you for agreeing to this ... job offer," a chuckle slipped past his mouth, that the girl matched, amused by his lack of cool. 

As soon as the soft sound travelled past her lips, her gaze met another's; a curly-headed boy, that seemed to already have the glint of confidence shining in his expression. He mirrored her smile, letting his eyes flicker from the top to the end of her face.

"We'll live here, away from the crowd and the noise. For five months, we're going to study how we're going to pull off this heist," the Professor explained, making Aurora's stare switch back to him. Five months?! He had to be kidding.

"What do you mean five months?" a middle-aged man spoke, mouthing the girl's exact thoughts. "Are you crazy or what?"

"I don't even know if I'll survive two weeks in this dump," Aurora scoffed, letting her eyes darl over the mould threatening to peel off the umber walls and her mouth twitch into a disgusted frown. Murmurs of agreement rose amongst the rest, not finding the accommodation particularly appealing.

Aurora, from the corner of her eye, noticed Pedro cock his head to the side. Being criminals meant having your own codes, giving indications through something other than the revealing voice of words. Aurora and Pedro had, through the years, adopted a few to their own language. The subtle flight of hands or scrunch of a nose meant much more to these two than for most. And the slight movement of a head meant for Aurora to bite her tongue.

The Professor slumped lightly backwards onto his desk, peering at his students with narrowed irises. "Look, people spend years at school, to earn a salary, which even in the best scenario, is a shitty one. What's five months?" he quizzed, making a valid point. "I've been thinking about this much longer, so I don't have to work again. Nor will you. Or your children," the Professor stated. The sentence caused for the remarks to dissipate, the sound of the outcome making each individual foam at the mouth.

"All right," the man breathed, walking back to the chalkboard. The nature of his movements did parallel with those of a teacher. "Currently, you don't know each other. And I want to keep it that way. I don't want names and personal questions. And, of course, no personal relationships." 

Aurora had a hunch these rules wouldn't even last a week. If you paid attention to any of the dynamics, you'd already notice furtive smiles being exchanged by some, or a boy occasionally letting his eyes wander to the back of the class, where Aurora sat. "I want each of you to pick a name. Something simple. Like numbers, planets, cities--"

"So, like Lord Seventeen and Lady Twenty-Three?" the curly-headed boy chuckled, playing with a pen in-between his fingers. 

"We already have a problem. I can't even remember my own phone number," the man in front of him sighed.

"That's why I tell you!" the boy teased, leaning forward to pat the man on the shoulder. Either the boy was much too comfortable, or there was a clear relationship linking the two. A soft resemblance inked both their expressions, so a father-and-son explanation was very likely.

"I like planets," Aurora shrugged, slightly tilting forward as every head swivelled in her direction. "I can be Venus, he can be Uranus," she taunted, pointing to the same boy as earlier. She watched his expression lose facade for an instant.

"I'm not Uranus, forget it," he shook his head. Pedro let out a scoff, all too familiar with his sister's habit of teasing.

"Why not?" she asked, not tearing her eyes away from him. The rest had a hint of smile rise on their lips, amused by the interaction.

"I think you can guess why." 

Aurora smirked as soon as he mouthed the words, and he was quick to let a chuckle slip out of his lips as well. His eyes stayed rested on the girl's features for a few seconds longer than needed, and Aurora was unsure as to why her heart had just skipped a beat under the intensity of his gaze. She shrugged it off, averting back to the man with the plan.

"We'll use cities, then," the Professor interrupted, feeling the conversation steer from its main focus.

And that was how Aurora became Milan. From that point on, it was like she was reborn. No one knew a single thing about her--not even her name. She wasn't the orphan that toyed with hearts and had a tendency of breaking laws, all with an air of fatal seduction. She was simply a girl, named after a famous city in Italy. From that moment on, Aurora Palvon ceased to exist.

So did Pedro Palvon, becoming Amsterdam. There was no particular train of thought behind the choice of city, but its first letter was the same as Aurora's. Perhaps it'd be a way for him to hold on to who his sister was, to have a piece of her under the mask of Milan no one would.

The girl at the front, with the bangs to accompany her short hair was Tokyo. A glint of mischievousness twinkled in her eyes, and you could tell at first glance she was a woman of heavy character. On the run since her last robbery, where it was rumoured her boyfriend died right at her feet.

The one behind her, probably staring at her ass, was Berlin. A man wanted all over the world. Twenty-seven heists. Jewellery stores, auction houses, and armoured vehicles. His biggest score: the Champs-Elysées in Paris. 434 diamonds. He was like a shark in a swimming pool, you could swim with him, but you would always be nervous. He was in charge of the heist.

The oldest man, that clasped a trembling hand over his mouth as he coughed, was Moscow. The first thing he dug was a mine in Asturias. Later, he figured out he'd make more money by digging upwards. Six fur shops, three watch shops, and the Rural Credit Union of Avilés, he was an expert with any industrial tool.

The boy that had caught Milan's earlier attention, his son Denver. Drugs, busted teeth, broken ribs, he was the king of bar fights. Pure, hot-blooded. A ticking time bomb perfect for a heist. And, possibly a man that fit right into Milan's ideal type.

Rio was probably the youngest, and the Mozart of computers. Coding since he was six, he knew everything about alarms and electronics. A nuance of innocence shone through his character, most probably due to his young age and lack of certain experience.

And then were the twins, Helsinki and Oslo. Even the most sophisticated plan needed soldiers, and what was better than two Serbs? Maybe they could think, but the entire concept of reflection seemed foreign to the two.

 Nairobi. A hardened optimistic. She had been counterfeiting banknotes since she was thirteen. Now, she was their quality control manager. Her attitude made her lean slightly towards the crazy side, but she seemed like fun.

"The news will be talking about us, every day. And every family in this country will be wondering 'What are they doing?'. And you know what they'll be thinking?" he questioned, contempt flashing over his features as he mouthed those words. "'Those motherfuckers, I wish I would have thought of that first.'"

The Professor. No criminal record, no registration, hadn't renewed his ID since he was nineteen. For all intents and purposes, a ghost. But a genius one at that, with a plan that would ink itself in the remains of history.

"Because, we're not stealing anyone's money," the man smiled, watching surprise make a brief appearance on a few faces. "It's not theirs. And for that reason alone, they're going to like us. It's imperative we have the public on our side, we'll be seen as fucking heroes," the Professor paused, pressing the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "But be careful, because the minute any blood is shed--and this is very important, if there is any victim, we'll stop being Robin Hoods, we'll just be fucking assholes."

"Professor?" Tokyo raised her hand, catching the Professor's attention.

"Yes, Miss Tokyo?"

"What are we robbing?" she asked, breaking the suspense that wafted around them.

The Professor extended his right arm towards the far end of the room, letting everyone's gaze follow the direction of his hand. "The Royal Mint of Spain," he claimed as the rest kept their eyes glued to its sized-down replica, standing right in front of them. 

They were aiming for the moon.

At that time, Milan drooled with envy at the idea of more than two billion dollars stuffed in their hungry pockets. She wasn't yet aware of the sacrifices she'd have to make and the emotion that'd build up inside her, nearly driving her to the end.