A World Class Thief Vs. Hetalia

where the perfect plan goes to shit

"Dammit!" The ambulances colors were giving Matthew a small headache, and the yelling wasn't helping.

Stomping across the field in circles is their courageous leader, who right now he could swear he could see a vein pop out.

The plan was perfect, they spend years thinking of plans to capture the thief. Yet how did it derail into chaos so quickly?

HOUR TEN BEFORE BANK

Yao stared at the photo that they print out from the cameras, messy and a little blurry, but he really didn't care.

He took care of the outside distractions, meaning he and Ivan were the eyes and ears outside operations. Surveying, and making sure everything ran smoothly behind the scenes.

Then the lights went out, and everything went to hell.

Well, almost seeing as most of them were burnt out from sleep deprivation and drinking only off caffeine was expected to take some effect on them.

Guns were quickly drawn, but then again the lights returned to their power. Only now there was a note pinned in the map of New York.

It was smack on, some red strings and photos of the crimes from all over were knocked over. The little piece of paper was pinned directly on top of a bank.

"Dude the hell was that?! Is there is a ghost in here?!" Alfred pointed that the map, again Yao silently wondered why the hell he was even doing here.

Ivan, the fearless Russian, merely picked the post-it-note and read it out loud for everyone to hear the words engraved on it.

"1:30 am. Don't fuck up _Messenger"

"What kind of name is "Messenger"?" Alfred exclaims, but Yao is no fool. He can already see Francis and Matthew start to order the officers to sweep the area.

Because, whoever left that note, must have come from the inside.

"Are they trying to help us?" Is the common question they have been floating around. No one outside the task force knew the details of the cases they worked on.

No fingerprints or DNA was found on the piece of paper, as he predicted.

A small converse was held. They do their background, the was some suspicious things happen to the security around a few months ago.

But convincing their bosses was another thing. They weren't to keen on making a plan on a few hours to trap a world-class thief on a whim.

And he could not honestly blame them. He too was a bit cautious, this could be a trap after all. But Alfred and Arthur had a thing on convincing, even the most stubborn people, do things that don't want to.

So, here he sat outside the bank with a crank on his neck. It wasn't like in the western movies, where they only showed a scene to the action.

They spend hours, out here, like they didn't know if the thief would even show. So now he spends his Friday on the verge of sleep when movement finally was caught on the south side of the roof.

Team One, the one charged to get the arrest, silently went into positions. Team Two, those in charge of making sure the Thief didn't escape, reported from their portions.

Everything is set.

The video feed finally came in, and there in the open vault door, stood the phantom figure. The heavy set of protection made sure that if they were to get shot, it wouldn't kill them, but sure as hell pack a mean punch. And was that. . . A horse mask?

He held the paper in his fist. The managers and workers complained about the amount of time it would take to clean out the money up and then put it in a safe location. That or it would be potentially stolen.

The assassin looks half way to show some of the horse masks. Francis held back his laughter.

"Police! Put your hands up where I can see them!" Alfred yelled at him, the audio coming up a bit scratched.

"Color me impressive! How you pulled it?" That smug bastard sounded giddy! Did he not understand the gravity of the situation?

Arthur and Alfred moved in, trying to appear more united than they led on. "I said put your hands up!"

"You're annoying, did anyone tell you that?" He sounded in control, grounded, for a man in a horse mask.

"Shut it! At least I look professional!"

"Well, that's the trick, Alfred F. Jones, at least I walk away." Then the lights went out, cutting off the visible feed, leaving him and Ivan to relay on the audio alone. And all they could gear before Team Two moved in, was the laughter.