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“Alright, Corot, are you in position?” the maned wolf asked. “Yeah, I’m here, waiting on your signal, Martin.” she replied. “Good, you can use your raccoon abilities to get in there pretty easily.” Martin answered. “You know, you’re perpetuating stereotypes here.” Corot stated. “Not all of us are engaged in crime or thievery, just because historically it was the type of stuff we did.” “And yet you are doing it right now, so I think you’re the one perpetuating the stereotype here. Regardless, I’m waiting on Brent, so I’ll update you when that’s ready.” “Good.” Martin swiveled her chair over to the other radio, placing her ear up to the headphones. “Brent, where are you?” “I’m at the intersection of 4th and Adams, waiting for an opening. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” “Ok, good.” The red fox sat in the truck, trying to look as conspicuous as possible. He employed his normal technique, magazine covering the face, with little holes cut out to see through. No one ever actually notices these types of things, so he’s always able to get away with it. He looked over at the guards on the other side of the road. A tiger and a leopard, standard uniform. You wouldn’t expect half of the money in Amano to be stored here based on the level of defense outside, but Brent knew better. Most of the money was stored underground, with a tight procedure to ensure that it could only be moved when it was absolutely necessary. In theory, impenetrable. However, there were two key flaws that were exploited to their fullest potential, complacency, and an inside man.
Two more guards arrived, a german shepard and an ocelot. That was his cue. “Alright, our guards are up, you can bring the convoy in now.” “Great, I’ll radio Corot. Now remember, if we do this, we are going to be the richest people in Amano, and if we fuck this up, you don’t know me.” “Yeah, whatever.” Martin then swiveled back to the first radio. “Corot, Brent will be coming in soon. Remember to look for truck number 257.” “Alright, I’ll get back to you soon.” Martin was annoying, he never took any of the heat from these jobs, but at the same time, he was the one who actually planned them out and made sure they ran smoothly, along with making all the cards and stuff they needed. Corot saw a truck approaching, waiting for the number to show. 143, not the truck. She avoided thinking about what she would do next. While it would probably be a good idea, she avoided it because it spooked her nerves. Another truck coming, this one was 257. Good.
The truck slowed down right in front of her, and she got in through the back doors. Inside was nothing much, but there was a small bench that guards would sometimes sit on. Lifting up the bench, she hid inside. She felt the truck come to a complete stop, although she couldn’t hear what was going on. Her signal would come soon. The truck started up again, and this time moved for a few seconds before stopping again. Alright, she just had to wait a few hours. For some reason, there was a small gap in the guard rotation where there were zero guards around, giving her a chance to get going. So she waited.
What felt like hours passed, and they probably were, before she got a message on her earpiece. “Alright, you’re up. You only have 5 minutes, so don’t take too long.” She lifted up the hidden lid, and made her way out of the truck. Theoretically, there was no one around to hear her if she made any sounds, but she preferred to edge on the side of caution. Making her way to the wall, she took out a flashlight and a timer, setting it for 5 minutes. She then located the main door to the vault, and made her way inside. While there was security footage, it wasn’t able to pick up on the specific type of clothes Corot wore. Eventually, she made her way to the room immediately in front of the vault. It featured a typical heavily reinforced door, and a keypad to the immediate left of it. Corot took out the keycard she had and slid it. Denied. That wasn’t good. She tried again, denied. She tried it a third time, denied. She tried it a few more times at varying speeds, all denied. Fuck.
“Hey, Martin. The keycard’s not working.” “You're kidding me.” “Nope, it’s just not fucking working.” “Fuck, we can’t call of the job at this point, we still need to pay the inside guard. Shit, can you find another keycard somewhere around?” “Another keycard, like those just happen to be lying around here.” “Alright, look, it’s not the best solution, but it’s all I can think of right now, shit.” Corot looked around, there didn’t seem to be much. Except, behind the trash can, hold on. She looked over, jackpot. A keycard, belonging to one Cory Khan. Expires February 17th, 2026. This should work. She tried it, bingo! Looking inside, there were a lot of gold bars. Gold bars were the type of stuff that was stored down here, she was pretty sure there was a rare art vault somewhere in the same building. But rare art was more high profile and the FBI would be on their asses immediately, so gold was easier, despite its weight. She picked up a gold bar, pretty heavy. She took out a bag and stored around 6 of them in there. This would probably net them at least 2 million, if not more. She looked back at her timer, shit, only a minute left. She quickly closed the vault door and made her way to the truck. Opening the doors, she climbed inside and got inside the truck. Before hiding under bench again, she made one last radio call. “Martin, it’s done.”