Under the cover of darkness, one quick snip was all that was needed to put her plan into motion. Cutting that wire would turn off the connection between the cameras and their output, removing one more deterrent from her plan succeeding, hopefully. Usually Tim would be the one taking care of removing the eyes in the skies for their plans. She remembered how he'd sing a little song each time he made his snips, always keeping himself comfortable. She was almost entirely sure she'd cut the right wire, Tim's words echoing in her mind.
The camera connection wire is usually the top wire in the box, almost always connected to the third plug. Cut that wire then check your laptop immediately, it should already be out next to you. If the screens don't start turning off you've done something wrong, cut off connection to something else, probably the lights. If a mistake like that happens we usually don't stick around kid.
She thought back to the smile he'd flashed her after telling her that. He was always the best at calming her down and making those flooding anxieties and fears turn into gentle streams. She didn't have him around now though, her anxieties would have to be beaten of her own methods.
She peeked at her laptop screen, using a rock as a makeshift desk next to the wire box behind the building, a silent prayer escaping her thoughts. For the first stage of her plan she was wracked with nerves, this being her first time doing this on her own, no one around to help if she made a mistake or if the plan went south. The crushing weight of "what if I didn't cut the right wire?" started making her heart pace. The pace immediately turned into a drumming thump reminiscent of the time her mother took her to the race track, the sound of those horses slamming their feet on the ground over and over, more force with each trot. The pounding moved from her heart to her head, she started to feel her horrible habit of feeling faint creeping in.
Why haven't they started dimming yet? Did I cut the wrong wire? Will I really lose my chance to find out... from this?
She gripped the sides of her laptop screen, begging for something to change, begging to no longer see those suffocating walls and stupid carpet on the floor. It was the first time she'd begged to see darkness. Then, as quickly as the beads of sweat dripping down her head to her neck ran down her skin, dozens of security camera perspectives on her screen dimmed one after the other, all being replaced by a 'Signal Lost' message. She sighed out in relief, every doubt and worry chased from her mind. She thanked every god she could name, the immense gratitude filling her spirit felt overwhelming. In order for her plan to work she needed to make sure she'd be able to walk around the bank unseen and unnoticed. With the cameras cut off, the unseen portion was fulfilled.
Shutting her laptop screen with slightly too much force, partially due to the adrenaline surging through her body, she shoved it in her side bag and bolted for the backdoor, even if she had cut off the connection to the cameras she couldn't risk the chance that someone inside would notice.
Reaching the door, she knew this step would be the easiest. The back door had a door handle lock, hardly a challenge for her lockpicking skills. Taking out her tension wrench and hook pick she kneeled in front of the door, face to face with her next challenge. Lockpicking was an art form, something to be done with grace and delicateness, and like all art forms something to be practiced for a lifetime in order to master. However, she had always felt that her fingers could feel those subtle nudges of a pin shifting in place the way her face would feel the wind as it brushed past her; naturally. It wasn't the kind of thing you could do in a rush, even the slightest nudge at the wrong time, with the wrong force or in the wrong direction could destroy her chances of getting into the building.
The lock was a standard pin tumbler, something simple to pick, if she maintained her composure. She'd picked locks like these since she was a kid, if she stayed calm, her hands so used to feeling those pegs and shifts, could probably pick it based off of muscle memory alone.
She exhaled her breath, feeling her shoulders slump slightly, forcing thoughts of stresses and failures out of her mind. Seeking the zen she'd so often turned to in order to perform. With a deadpan expression she lifted her picks and with her heart beating so loud she was afraid her ears would bleed she inserted the tension wrench into the keyway. The thin L-shaped rod with an angled tip would hold the pins in place while she set them into place using her hook pick.
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Feeling the wrench hit the back of the lock she noted three pins in the lock, normal for a standard pin tumbler. She probed and twisted the wrench gently, just enough to hold pressure on the cylinder. Too much force and she'd bind the pins. Too little and they'd fall right back down. She had to remind herself to breathe from the diaphragm and stay calm, this wouldn't be where she failed. If this was just about money she would have been fine, there would always be another heist, another opportunity. This time, however, she didn't come for cash. This was personal. She didn't have the option to fail.
She started at the back, probing with the pick. First pin, loose. She had it lifted in seconds. The second, binding it refused to budge. Keeping her calm she lifted it carefully until she felt a faint click, like a whisper. That was one.
Third pin went even faster than the first. She adjusted pressure, lifted her hook and it clicked. Then a subtle shift in the tension bar.
She exhaled. The core had rotated slightly.
One final nudge, and the lock gave way with a soft turn. The knob twisted. She was in.
She pushed the door open the rest of the way, taking those first few steps into the hallway. Tall dark walls enveloped her, white marble floors below her feet immediately made her feel like she didn't belong. A hallway dripping in opulence from the ornate iron sconces which adorned the walls to the lush dark blue carpeting. Tall carved pillars stood at each corner, such an unnecessary and expensive detail. Who would care if the back end corners, where customers would never see, were adorned with columns which reached from floor to ceiling. She noted the clean smell next, the faint touch of lemon cleaning product wafting in the air. It reminded her of when her mother, on rare occasions, would clean their home. The floors looked spick and span, as if they'd just been mopped, not a mark on the marble, not even the semblance of a shoe print on the carpet. The housekeeping budget must have been astronomical.
In this clean, almost too clean, hallway she felt like a rat scurrying around looking for her next meal. She didn't suit this place, she'd never trusted her hard earned, albeit stolen, money with a bank. What sense did it make when thieves, like she, robbed banks?
Sneaking further she made her way through winding hallways, turning corners and passing hallways as if she'd walked these same paths dozens of times before. Even a regular traverser of these halls would get lost here and there, each door, path, and corner looking the same. The only standouts were the different portraits of the same bald man on the walls whom she recognized as the owner of the bank. Her familiarity and navigational prowess came from the hours she'd spent studying the layout. She couldn't afford those precious moments lost from turning a wrong corner or losing herself.
Turning her final corner, her pace getting faster alongside her heartbeat racing. She got to the security room. It was the only room in the building with windows allowing you to see inside at all times, she assumed so the guards would not just have visibility from the inside. She peeked over the corner trying to get a look at the security guard within the room. It was Tuesday so Marlin would be working today, the plan depended on it. She had been noting down which guards were coming on which nights and when shift changes were.
By now Marlin had been on call for the last few hours, an older man who'd been working as a night guard for the bank for the last 7 years. A veteran one could say. Over his years of dedicated service the bank had never experienced even one robbery. It wasn't something which would have concerned a man like him, someone who was clocking in just for the paycheck. In fact, if tonight was like the last 4 Tuesdays Marlin had been working she expected to see the man snoring away when she peeked over the corner.
Just as she thought, there he was, leaned all the way back in his comfortable desk chair, legs propped up on the table, looking as comfortable as a heavy set man like himself could, in that small chair. The night guard fast asleep, chest pulsing up and down with his deep breaths, arms down at his sides spilling over the arms rests of the chair, all while the screens on the computers all showed 'Signal Lost'. Marlin slept for practically his entire shift, until 5 am when the generous barista from across the street would bring coffee and doughnuts for the guards on duty every day. What Marlin lacked in his paycheck he made up with flirting with young coffee girls and fueling his gluttony with sugar.
Upon seeing him resting comfortably, she felt an immense sense of relief. Maybe this could work out after all, maybe she'd be able to get the answers she'd been wanting all this time. She almost felt dizzy from the way her mind had been teetering between confident to unsure to confident again. Leaning against the wall for a moment, she let her body decompress, letting the stress of the heist melt off of her. She was a thief dammit, and a good one at that. This bank was child's play compared to the high profile heists she'd pulled off before, granted, those were never alone. She wouldn't let thoughts of inferiority or doubt prevent her from moving forward, she had raw talent and determination. She didn't just have a reason for doing this, her reason for being was doing this.
