Money Heist

DAY OF THE HEIST
FRIDAY, 8:35 A.M.

In the back of the van, rifles rested upright between the knees of eight people dressed in red hooded coveralls and Dalí masks.

Every mask was in place—except for Lily’s, who had hers pushed up on her head, lazily applying lipstick like this was just another Friday morning errand.

The air was heavy with anticipation. Five months of planning and one shot to get it right.

Remus broke the silence first. He took off his mask and stared at it like it had personally offended him. “Who the fuck picked these masks?”

Across from him, Barty looked up. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re not scary,” Remus replied, incredulous. “In every movie, robbers wear terrifying masks. Zombies. Skeletons. Maybe the Grim Reaper. Not this curly-mustached bullshit.”

Sirius smiled behind his mask. Remus only ran his mouth when he was nervous. It meant his brain was firing on all cylinders. God, he is so stupidly fond of him.

Barty, less sentimental, pulled a gun and pointed it directly at Remus’s face. “I can assure you, a motherfucker with a gun is scarier than any skeleton.”

Next to Remus, Dorcas lifted her mask off too, inspecting it like it had insulted her mother. Completely unbothered by the gun aimed at Remus’ head.

“That’s enough. Put the gun down, Barty,” Frank sighed, sounding every bit the exhausted babysitter.

Dorcas still hadn’t taken her eyes off the mask. “Who is this guy even supposed to be?”

“Dalí,” Sirius said absently, polishing his rifle. “Spanish surrealist painter. Brilliant, too.”

“A painter?”

“Yeah.”

“A guy who paints?”

“Pretty much.”

Dorcas scoffed. “Unbelievable. You know what’s actually terrifying? Kids’ cartoons. Those things are nightmare fuel.”

Frank took off his mask and looked at her, baffled. “What cartoons?”

“Goofy. Pluto. Mickey fucking Mouse.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying a mouse with big ears is scary?”

“Yes, asshole. Want a kick to the nuts?”

“It’s not a big deal. Shut the fuck up—all of you,” Fabian muttered.

“No, but it is,” Dorcas insisted. “Picture it—some lunatic walks in with an assault rifle and a Mickey Mouse mask. You’d think he’s about to start a massacre. Know why?”

“Enlighten us,” Barty said flatly.

“Because weapons and children don’t mix. Ever. That combo screams psychopath.”

“I agree,” Lily chimed in, tucking her lipstick into her suit and checking her teeth in a tiny mirror. “You can’t fight that logic.”

“Then a Jesus mask would be even scarier,” Barty grumbled “He’s more innocent.”

The silence that followed wasn’t agreement—it was the van beginning to slow.

They’d reached the first stop.

Frank stood up, cracked his neck, threw the door open and jumped out of the van, slamming the door behind him.

The driver didn’t looked back. As soon as Frank’s boots hit the pavement, the van peeled away toward the next stop.

And just like that, it all became real.

————

A few minutes later, the van screeched to a stop outside an old, gutted storage facility.

Everyone jumped out. Masks on and focused.

They loaded every piece of equipment they needed for the heist into the van in practiced silence.

They moved fast, passing gear hand to hand, checking items off mentally. Five months of prep meant every hand knew what it needed to grab. They’d rehearsed this a hundred times.

By the time they returned to Frank’s position, the three target vehicles— one truck, two police escorts— were approaching the barricade.

Frank had done his part. Now it was time for theirs.

For a single moment, Sirius thought about the innocent lives that were about to get caught in the crossfire.

————

STATE HIGHWAY
9:25 A.M.

Regulus had said it from the beginning:
There was only one way to sneak three tons of explosives into the Bank of England.

Every Friday, a truck delivered fresh rolls of watermark currency paper—escorted by two police cars.

In England, anything with a double police escort is considered untouchable. But jam all radio and phone communication, and then roll up in red coveralls with surrealist masks and rifles in hand—suddenly “untouchable” doesn’t mean shit.

Frank’s makeshift barricade brought the convoy to a hard stop.

The van screeched into view. Doors flew open. Guns raised.

Sirius and Lily hit the first police car.
“Get the fuck out of the car!” Sirius barked, yanking the driver out by the collar. Lily handled the passenger just as fast.

At the same moment, Barty and Dorcas did the same with the truck crew and Fabian and Gideon had the second police car secured in under ten seconds.

“Open the back door. Now!” Barty ordered, shoving the truck driver toward the latch. Frank stepped out from cover and joined Barty, gun raised. The driver, pale and trembling, unlocked the truck.

If that man’s daughter had been inside, he would have died before opening those doors. But for a few rolls of watermark paper? Not worth it.

The lock clicked. The doors swung open.

Inside were massive cylindrical containers—each one filled with rolls of clean, unprinted currency paper.

They started uploading supplies from the van into the truck. Remus climbed into the far end, laptop already glowing, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Once everything was inside and locked down, they got to work on the disguise swap.

Barty and Dorcas pulled on the police uniforms from the two cops they’d taken down and Frank changed into the truck passenger’s uniform.

The three men they’d replaced—the two cops and the truck passenger—were tied, gagged, and shoved into the back with Remus.

He looked up from his laptop and gave them a polite smile. They looked back at him, then at the machine gun mounted next to him. No one smiled back.

Remus kept typing, locked into the code, while Fabian and Gideon worked around him—covering the hostages, the gear, and the gun machine with the large containers.

Then they emptied the first two containers, climbed in, and sealed the lids shut—swapping out stacks of currency paper for two fully armed soldiers. Trojan horse style.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Lily slipped into wigs and sunglasses, reloaded the barricades into the van, and climbed inside.

“You’ll be driving with a gun aimed at your side,” Barty told the three remaining drivers. “And when dispatch calls to check in, you’ll answer like it’s the best day of your fucking life.”

Dorcas dragged one cop to the second escort car and climbed in beside him, pistol pressed to his ribs, Barty did the same with the first, While Frank sat next to the truck driver, silent and steady.

Everything was in place.

The first escort car took the lead—real cop driving, with Barty in the passenger seat.
Next came the truck: the driver tense behind the wheel, Frank beside him, silent and watchful. Remus and the twins were in the back.
Then the second police car followed, with Dorcas sitting calm and quiet, like she belonged there.
And finally, the van—with Sirius and Lily, locked in and ready.

“All set?” Barty said into the earpiece. “Sirius, don’t take your eyes off the girl.”

“Please,” Sirius replied. “She’s seventeen. I think I got that covered.”

————

BANK OF ENGLAND
10:15 A.M.

Sirius and Lily stood across the street from the Bank of England, watching as a school bus unloaded in front of the museum wing.

Dozens of teenagers in matching uniforms spilled out—blazers, backpacks, awkward jokes. They moved in a sluggish line toward the security checkpoint, dragging their feet like any other bored group on a Friday morning.

Then, in the middle of it all, they spotted her.

Long brown hair. Clean shoes. School bag over one shoulder. Their target.

They shared a glance. Sirius touched his earpiece. “Professor. Our little lamb just entered.”

“Perfect,” Regulus’s voice came through, calm and clipped. He was five blocks away, in a run-down storage unit turned command center. The walls were covered in blueprints, diagrams, floor plans, scribbled timelines—layers of ink and paper mapping out every step of the heist like a war strategy. Remus had wired the place—rows of servers and security monitors buzzing quietly in the dark, enough tech to hack a country—but the layout, the logic, the placement of every piece… that was all Regulus. Once the team secured the inside, Regulus would have eyes on every hallway, every angle, every camera feed in the building.

————

LOADING DOCK GATE

The first police escort vehicle rolled to a stop outside the secured gate.

Barty sat in the passenger seat, calm and unreadable. His uniform was neat, his hand steady on the pistol pointed discreetly at the cop beside him.

The gate security guard stepped up to the window and leaned in. “Morning, George,” he said with a grin. Then he glanced at Barty and frowned. “Where’s Adam today?”

“Shift change,” the officer said, surprisingly calm for a man with a gun in his ribs. Barty faked a coughing fit and turned his head to hide his face.

The guard didn’t question it. Just gave a quick nod and walked toward the control booth.

“Camera at your eleven” Remus’s voice buzzed in Barty’s ear. He turned his face away from the lens just in time.

A few seconds later, the gate rolled open. They were in.

————

“I’m in,” Remus’s voice cut through the comms. “I’ve got full access to the bank’s security system. Alarms are disconnected.”

Regulus didn’t miss a beat. “Sirius. Lily. Go.”

Without hesitation, the two of them slipped into the crowd of students entering through the main doors. They passed through the marble archway like any two young tourists on a museum visit.

Two security guards stood at the x-ray scanners. Two metal detectors ahead.

Sirius glanced at Lily in the next queue. She didn’t need to look back. They’d practiced this a dozen times.

When their turn came, they stepped forward and casually dropped two identical duffel bags onto the conveyor belt—each one packed with weapons.

————

LOADING DOCK

The truck reversed into position.

Frank and the driver swung the back doors open, and two forklifts rolled forward, engines growling as they lined up with the cargo.

As the first two containers were pulled onto the pavement— the second they hit solid ground, the lids burst open.

Fabian and Gideon emerged, masked and armed, rifles already raised. They opened fire into the ceiling.

Concrete dust showered down like ash

The dock exploded into chaos. Employees screamed and scattered, diving behind pallets, tripping over crates. Panic hit before anyone had a chance to think.

Dorcas was out of the police car before the echo faded. She spotted a guard sprinting toward the alarm and tackled him before he could reach it. “Not today, sweetheart.”

Barty followed suit, covering the remaining guards before they had time to react.

Inside the truck, Remus stood up and stretched. He glanced down at the three hostages sitting gagged beside the gear and the machine gun. “Wish me luck, darlings,” he said casually, then jumped down and disappeared into the chaos.

————

Back at the security checkpoint, the x-ray scanners beeped. Sirius moved first.

He quickly stepped through the metal detector and slammed his elbow into the nearest guard’s face. The man dropped.

Then he pulled the pistol from his jacket, aimed it at the second guard, “Don’t move,” he growled. “Don’t even blink.”

Behind him, Lily already had her two guards down—one of them pinned under her heel.

The entrance was theirs

————

It unraveled fast.

From the loading dock to the main hall to the upper floors, panic spread like fire.

Tourists. Employees. School kids. Bank managers—those smug bastards who thought they’d seen everything. Everyone ran, everyone screamed—sprinting for cover, shoved out of routine and into raw survival.

The crew moved fast—each one heading to their assigned zones. Their goal was to round up every person in the building and bring them to the main hall.

Five blocks away, Regulus paced the length of the command center—headset pressed tight to one ear, eyes locked on a wall of flickering monitors, listening to the chaos pour through every open channel and measuring it.

————

Dorcas tied up the last security guard and dragged him behind a stack of crates. The shouting echoed in her earpiece—panic still unfolding across the bank.

She exhaled, pressed her fingers to the earpiece.
“Professor. Loading dock’s clear.”

————

Inside the bank’s internal security room, Remus moved fast. He dropped to his knees, plugged in his laptop, and started typing like a man possessed.

Lines of code blinked across the screen. One by one, the camera feeds lit up—He grinned to himself. “Showtime.”

Then Sirius’s voice came in—louder than it should’ve been. “We’ve got a problem. I can’t find the lamb.”

————

Sirius was drowning in chaos.

The main hall was filled with bodies crashing into each other, running blind in every direction. The team was trying to regain control—guns raised, voices sharp—but the panic kept spilling over.

And Sirius wasn’t focused on any of it.

He was scanning every school uniform in the crowd—every flash of brown hair, every terrified face. Nothing.

His pulse kicked up.

“Fuck,” he muttered, already turning. “I’m checking the restrooms.”

————

Remus sprinted to the control panel at the main entrance and slammed his hand down on the emergency lockdown switch.

A loud metallic groan echoed through the building—then steel doors slammed shut across the entrances.

Nobody in. Nobody out.

————

WOMEN’S RESTROOM, NORTH WING

Sirius heard her before he saw her.

“Give me my phone! What are you doing? Give it back to me, you asshole!”

He kicked the door open. It slammed hard against the wall.

Two teenagers froze mid-argument, eyes wide with panic. The girl stood by the sink, shirt half-buttoned. The boy clutched her phone in his hand.

Sirius tilted his head. “Really?” Then he grabbed the girl by the arm, yanked the phone from the boy’s hands, and shoved them both toward the door without a word.

They stumbled, stiff and silent, as he marched them out and back toward the main hall.

———

By the time Sirius returned, the main hall was already under control.

The hostages stood in a tight circle.
Blindfolded. Identical black fabric with white crosses painted over the eyes.

The chaos had drained out, replaced by an eerie quiet.

Sirius shoved the two teens into the lineup and blindfolded them too.

No one said a word.

————

At the command center, Regulus stood motionless in front of the screens, listening as silence settled over the building.

The doors were sealed. The main hall was secure. The city had no idea—yet.

But the clock had started.

There’s no going back now.