Chapter 1: The Heist of 1995

The air was charged with a tension that mirrored taut strings on a violin bow, waiting for the first strike. The alley was dim and cloaked in shadows, its cracked pavement littered with cigarette butts and broken glass that glinted faintly under a flickering streetlight. The acrid stench of garbage mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the approaching night. Every detail seemed to hold its breath, as though the very city was aware that something monumental was about to unfold. Jacob crouched behind a dumpster in a dimly lit alley, feeling the rough texture of the brick wall pressing against his back. The weight of his decision bore down on him, but his face remained sharp and resolute. At 23, Jacob had been forged in the ruthless furnace of the streets, where desperation and creativity often walked hand in hand. But tonight was not about survival—it was about escape. An escape from the merciless system that had gnawed at his life for far too long.

Henry appeared beside him, his face a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. “Are you ready, man?” he whispered, his voice barely cutting through the distant hum of the city.

Jacob smiled, his dark eyes glinting like polished obsidian. “Born ready,” he said, tapping the edge of the sports bag slung over his shoulder. Inside were the tools of their trade: gloves, masks, and a portable signal jammer to neutralize the bank’s alarm system.

Like shadows, the duo slipped into the bank’s side entrance, just as they had rehearsed hundreds of times in Jacob’s cramped and dark apartment. Henry was the muscle—a wiry but agile man with a sharp mind—and Jacob was the brains. Together, they were a blend of chaos and precision, a pair of misfits daring to defy society’s rigid rules.

The interior of the bank was bathed in cold fluorescent light. The silence was eerie, broken only by the measured footsteps of the night guard echoing on the marble floor. Jacob activated the signal jammer, his fingers deftly adjusting the settings until a green light flickered.

“Let’s do this,” he muttered.

Henry moved swiftly toward the vault, his motions fluid and deliberate. Jacob followed, ears straining for any sign of disturbance. The heavy vault door loomed before them, a formidable guardian of wealth and secrets.

“Three minutes,” Jacob whispered, setting the timer on his watch.

Henry grunted and pulled out a compact device—a state-of-the-art plasma cutter procured from a shady contact in the city’s underworld. The hiss of molten metal filled the room as sparks illuminated their faces in a fiery cascade of orange and gold.

Jacob’s heart pounded like war drums. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind cycling through possible scenarios at lightning speed. Everything had to go perfectly.

The vault door groaned open, revealing neatly stacked rows of cash. The sight was dizzying, like the sweet call of freedom. Henry’s eyes gleamed with unrestrained greed as he began stuffing the money into their sports bags.

Always pragmatic, Jacob kept his eyes on the timer. “Two minutes,” he reminded, his voice cutting through the adrenaline haze.

Their escape route was meticulously planned—a maze of back alleys and a stolen van parked a few blocks away. But even the best-laid plans are fragile under the weight of the unexpected.

The first crack appeared when the night guard, alerted by the faint hum of the plasma cutter, stumbled upon the scene. His flashlight pierced the darkness, illuminating Jacob and Henry like actors caught in the spotlight.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

Time seemed to splinter, each second stretching into an eternity. Henry lunged forward, delivering a swift punch to the guard’s jaw. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“Damn it, Henry!” Jacob hissed. “We’re running out of time!”

They bolted from the vault, their bags heavy with cash but their hearts buoyed by the prospect of success. The cool night air greeted them as they exited through the bank’s back door. Jacob’s mind was a whirl of calculations, but a triumphant smile lingered on his lips.

Then it happened.

As they climbed the chain-link fence separating them from freedom, Jacob sensed something was amiss. Henry, with his bag slung over one shoulder, hesitated at the top of the fence. He looked down at Jacob, who was halfway up.

For a moment, their eyes met. There was a shift in Henry’s gaze—a disturbing mix of fear and resolve.

“Henry, what are you doing?!” Jacob shouted, his voice a blend of panic and anger.

Henry’s hand reached out, but not to help. Instead, he grabbed Jacob’s bag.

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Henry said, his voice hollow and cold. “This is where we part ways.”

Before Jacob could react, Henry dropped down the other side of the fence and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the crushing weight of betrayal.

“Henry! You son of a…!” Jacob’s shout was drowned out by the approaching wail of sirens.

Desperation surged through him as he scrambled to climb the fence, but it was too late. Red and blue lights bathed the alley in an ominous glow, and a metallic voice barked orders through a megaphone.

“Freeze! Hands in the air!”

Jacob’s muscles tensed, his instincts screaming at him to run. But there was nowhere to go. Reality hit him like a slap—Henry hadn’t just taken the money; he’d left Jacob to face the consequences alone.

Slowly, Jacob raised his hands, the weight of defeat settling on his shoulders. Police officers surrounded him, their movements efficient and unyielding.

The cold bite of handcuffs dug into his wrists, a sharp reminder of his failure. But what stung more than the prospect of prison was the searing pain of Henry’s betrayal.

“You’ll pay for this, Henry,” Jacob muttered as the officers escorted him to the patrol car.

For Jacob, this night marked the end of one chapter and the cruel beginning of another. But what he didn’t know was that his story was far from over. The wheels of fate had already begun to turn, setting the stage for a journey that would transcend time and space.