Smoke, Steel & Sisterhood”

The city breathed smoke and rain as Dakota eased the blue 2018 Charger out of the shadows near Union Station. The engine growled low, a beast beneath her fingers, the custom deck bumping through the speakers like a heartbeat. It wasn’t just any ride this was hers, the one she trusted to carry her through whatever hell came next.

Kansas City at night was a whole different beast, wrapped in its own secrets. Neon signs flickered above the damp streets, a mix of old jazz joints and new tech startups lighting the fog like a surreal dream. She loved the city’s edge half grime, half gold just like her.

Dakota lit a blunt, flicked the lighter with a calm flick of her wrist, and took a long drag. The smoke curled into the cracked window, mixing with the cool Missouri air. She exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the dim streets. Quiet, calm, but ready.

She didn’t speak much, and when she did, it was usually a joke. A bad one. But it was her way. Tonight, she had a job to do. Her phone buzzed with a text from Bliss: Meeting at 9. Don’t be late. Bring your A-game.

Dakota smirked, tapped the screen back with a one-word reply: “Ready.”

That was Dakota—the driver. The wheel woman. The silent storm. She could drive anything that had wheels, and not just drive it—she could *own* it. Forklift, motorcycle, whatever. And when the heat came down, she was the one who got everybody out, smooth and fast, no questions asked.

This wasn’t just some quick score either. They were planning something massive. The vault under Union Station was legendary supposedly impenetrable, guarded by lasers, biometric locks, and the latest in security tech. And it was stuffed with more money and diamonds than the city had ever seen.

The biggest heist in American history, and Dakota was at the wheel.


By the time she pulled into the lot behind the old warehouse on the edge of the Crossroads District, the sun was just a memory, the sky settling into a deep midnight blue. A few people milled about, but Dakota’s eyes zeroed in on the figures waiting near the rusted loading dock.

Bliss stood apart, cool and composed in her signature black leather jacket, sharp as a razor. Next to her was Zayla, fingers twitching like they were about to punch invisible keys in the air, the faint glow of her laptop screen reflecting off her rainbow braids. Lulu “Boom Boom” Gonzalez leaned against the wall, twirling a lit sparkler between her fingers with a laugh like a wildfire.

Toni was there too tall, strong, with dreads pulled back tight. Her gaze was sharp, scanning everything like a predator. Naima, with a smile that could disarm a bomb, stood chatting with Jin, who looked quieter but just as deadly.

One more figure stepped out of the shadows, a slim woman with tattoos crawling up her arms and a piercing gaze. That was Sam — the newest recruit, a master of security systems and surveillance. Bliss nodded toward Dakota as she approached.

“Glad you made it,” Bliss said, voice smooth but no-nonsense. “You’re gonna need that charger and those nerves tonight.”

Dakota nodded, tossing the blunt in a nearby trash can and cracking her knuckles. “Let’s make history.”

The crew gathered around an old folding table lit by a single flickering bulb. Bliss unfolded a blueprint of the Union Station vault, spreading it out with precision.

“This is it,” Bliss said. “Underneath the old train terminal. The vault’s not just secure it’s a fortress. Laser grids, motion sensors, biometric locks, and cameras everywhere.”

Zayla leaned forward, tapping at her tablet. “Security’s all digital, but I’ve been crawling the network for weeks. They’re running a next-gen AI system. It learns every time someone tries to get close. We’ll have a small window when they reset the system about thirty minutes.”

Lulu’s grin widened. “So, when do I get to blow stuff up?”

Bliss shot her a look but smirked. “Right after we get in.”

Naima flicked her hair, already running through a list of contacts and covers in her head. “We’ll need inside access. That’s where Jin and Sam come in.”

Jin nodded silently, while Sam flicked her comm device on and off with quiet focus.

“Dakota,” Bliss said, finally, “you’re our ace behind the wheel. Get us in and out. No hesitation. No mistakes.”

Dakota’s lips twitched into a grin. “You got it.”


The stakes couldn’t be higher. The vault beneath Union Station was rumored to hold over $80 million in untraceable cash and diamonds worth even more, all laundered through a network of corrupt politicians and businessmen. The mastermind behind it? A faceless billionaire tech mogul who hid in plain sight, his name whispered in the backrooms and boardrooms of KC.

But this wasn’t just about the money. One of them had a score to settle and the rest? They were in it for the thrill, the challenge, and the chance to rewrite the rules.

As the crew broke apart to prepare, Dakota stayed behind, staring out at the city skyline. The streetlights flickered and reflected off the wet pavement like stars fallen to earth.

She lit another blunt, smiled to herself, and said quietly, “Y’all ever wonder if squirrels judge us for walking upright?”

The laugh that followed was soft, but it was a start. The first night of a story that would burn Kansas City forever.


Kansas City was quiet in the early hours too quiet. The kind of quiet that made Dakota suspicious. She didn't trust silence. Silence was the space where bad things plotted.

Union Station towered above the city like a sleeping beast. Its massive stone columns held the weight of decades, and beneath it? A vault built during World War II, retrofitted, reinforced, and quietly filled with more secrets than the FBI.

Inside Bliss’s temporary HQ an abandoned art gallery on Vine Streetthey gathered again under low lights and heavy tension. The room still smelled of paint and bourbon. Walls were covered in printouts, blueprints, post-it notes, security footage, and red string connecting names like a murder board. Zayla called it The War Room.

Bliss stood by the center table, arms crossed, chin high. She didn’t have to speak to command the room her presence was enough. Everyone was in position, waiting for the deeper dive.

"We’re running out of time," Bliss said. There’s a shipment coming in Friday at 3 a.m. It’s our only window before they switch to a new security AI. Once it’s in place, even Zayla won’t be able to touch it.

Zayla raised a brow. You say that like it’s true. But yeah it’s true.

A low chuckle passed through the room. Dakota didn’t laugh. Her eyes were fixed on the corner screen looping real-time surveillance of the Union Station loading dock. The calm before the storm.

Toni leaned against the table, reviewing the building's foundation prints. "This vault? It's built into the limestone bedrock. There’s only one tunnel that leads under from the east. Everything else is sealed off."

Lulu whistled. "Boom-boom’s gonna have a tight squeeze."

"Too tight for a full blast. I can get us in, but it’ll have to be surgical," Lulu replied, pulling out a schematic and a stick of gum.

Naima adjusted her diamond studs. "What’s the plan for the guards?"

Sam answered, her voice smooth. "Two-man teams rotating every three hours. KC Private Patrol. We can intercept the rotation. Jin already cloned two badges."

Jin, always quiet, gave a small nod. She had hands like a magician, fast and precise. Her specialty? Forgery, lock-picking, facial recognition spoofs—basically, anything that required being invisible in plain sight.

Bliss continued. "The target vault is ten meters beneath the original train line. We'll enter through the maintenance tunnel beneath the old loading dock. Dakota will bring the van in—"

"Charger," Dakota cut in.

Bliss raised a brow. "Fine. The Charger."

Zayla smirked. "She’d marry that car if she could."

Dakota just shrugged. "She never cheats on me."

The room cracked up again, the tension thinning for a moment.

Backstory poured out between blueprints and strategizing. Everyone had their own reason for being here.

Lulu used to build IEDs in the desert before the military said she was too unstable to keep around. Zayla got caught hacking into a Pentagon server at sixteen. Instead of juvie, she got recruited by someone who promised her protection. When he ghosted her after a job went sideways in Berlin, she swore never to trust a suit again.

Naima was the daughter of a con artist. Learned to flirt before she could walk and scam before she could spell. She ran the soft side of every hustle—access cards, digital spoofing, and playing rich idiots like pianos.

Sam had been KC police. That’s how she knew the patrol schedules. She left after her partner took credit for her collar and left her hanging when things got dangerous. Since then, she operated in the gray.

And Dakota? Nobody really knew what brought her to the edge. But Bliss did.

Late that night, after the crew dispersed, Bliss and Dakota stood on the gallery roof, smoking in silence.

"You still in?" Bliss asked.

Dakota looked out over the city. "I was in the second I heard it was Union Station."

"You got history there?"

Dakota exhaled slowly. "My uncle helped build that vault. Told me stories as a kid. Said it was impenetrable. Said the only way in was if the walls trusted you."

Bliss grinned. "Then we better earn their trust."

The week blurred by in motion and shadow.

They mapped guard routes.
They ran dry runs.
They bribed a janitor.
They tested tools.
They even scoped out tunnel rats to make sure no local kids would stumble into something fatal.

Zayla created an algorithm that mimicked the vault’s AI behavior. Every day, they ran simulations, adjusting their timing to the millisecond. One screw-up, one glitch, and the whole city would wake up to a crater where Union Station used to be.

Dakota stayed in the garage. Modified the Charger with reinforced plating, built-in jammer tech, and secret compartments. She played loud music while she worked—SZA, Nas, Biggie, a little Jill Scott.

The night before the job, they met one last time.

Bliss said, "If any of you want out, now’s the time."

Nobody moved.

Dakota cracked her knuckles.

"Let’s go be legends."


The Job



Kansas City was sleepless.



Downtown buzzed under a quiet tension the city hadn’t felt in years. Union Station majestic, historical, once a beacon of the railway era had become the silent epicenter of what would go down as the most sophisticated and daring heist in American history.



And the night had just begun.


9:03 p.m. — Union Station Parking Deck

Dakota flicked the blunt out the window of her decked-out 2018 blue Dodge Charger and twisted her neck just enough to crack it. The LED lights under the body of the car shimmered against the pavement like an electric warning. She exhaled a thin cloud of smoke, eyes narrowed behind dark aviators.

She popped a beat into her earbuds. It was go-time.

"The Raven has landed," she muttered into the mic.

Inside Union Station, seven stories underground, a maze of security systems buzzed to life. Red lasers danced across a pressure-sensitive vault room while motion sensors calibrated to detect the slightest change in temperature or movement. The vault was not just locked; it was encased in military-grade concrete and surveillance tech designed by former NSA contractors.

And they were about to rip it off.

9:07 p.m. — Command Van, 3 Blocks South

Bliss stood in front of five monitors, fingers moving across a digital touchscreen like a conductor at the head of an orchestra. Her hair was pulled tight into a high knot, eyes laser-focused. She took a breath and spoke into her comms.

"Zayla, disable the elevators. We don’t need any tourists running into this shit."

Zayla’s voice crackled through, amused as always. "Already done, boss lady. Sucks to be a stair person tonight."

"Lulu, you're up in ninety. Get those charges placed precisely. We don't want collateral."

"You act like I don't romance my explosives," Lulu said, licking her thumb and adjusting her goggles. "This building about to hum like Sade."

"Toni and Naima, secure the perimeter. Anyone who doesn't belong gets the church-mother look until they turn around. Jin, you're on site with the badge. Get to the security booth."

They moved like liquid—one crew, nine stories, one plan.

9:20 p.m. — Upper Lobby

Jin strolled in wearing a security uniform perfectly tailored to her frame. Her ID badge scanned without delay—thanks to Zayla. She gave a casual nod to the real security guard on rotation.

"Quiet night?" she asked.

He grunted. "Tourists left early. One train stuck in St. Louis. Slow as molasses.

"Good," Jin said, already stepping behind the desk. In less than two minutes, she'd routed their camera feed to a three-hour-old loop.

Union tation just went blind.

9:34 p.m. — Vault Tunnel Access

Toni swung the maintenance door open with a grunt. Her leather gloves squeaked. Naima followed, wearing heels like she wasn’t about to trek through three levels of utility corridors.

"Remind me again why I gotta be the one crawling through this rat-hole?"

"'Cause I don’t fit in that tight-ass maintenance chute, queen," Toni replied. "You small, cute, and double-jointed. Squeeze your pretty self in there."

Naima huffed and got to work.

9:39 p.m. — Laser Grid Room

Lulu and Zayla stood before the red net of lasers. The room looked like a grid straight out of a video game. Lulu tapped her wrist to start her countdown.

"We got ninety seconds once I open that panel. You ready, ballerina?"

Zayla rolled her eyes. "Don’t let the braids fool you. I pirouette through firewalls."

The lasers dropped to standby for exactly 12 seconds. Zayla slid through the grid, twisted, and rolled like she had rubber joints. She reached the opposite wall and plugged in her device.

Accessing mainframe," she whispered.
9:44 p.m. — Street Level

Dakota revved the Charger, eyes glued to the screen mounted near the gear shift. The getaway clock was ticking.

"All units," Bliss said in a low, calm tone, "we breach in five."

10:00 p.m. — Vault Room

Boom.

The explosion was surgical. No rubble, no flame. Lulu’s design blew the lock from the inside out. The titanium vault door groaned open like an awakening beast.

Inside sat six stacks of steel crates. Naima popped one and whistled.

"Jesus."

Each crate was filled with raw, uncut diamonds. No serials. No origin.

"Get the carts," Bliss said. "Clock’s ticking."


10:13 p.m. — Loading Tunnel

Toni rolled three diamond carts down the tunnel while Naima and Lulu guided the others. Zayla sealed the vault behind them.

Like we were never here, she muttered.


Outside, sirens echoed in the distance. Bliss snapped her head toward the monitors.

ETA on patrols is under 4 minutes. Dakota, go!

10:14 p.m. — Train Platform Exit

The Charger peeled out of its underground hideaway, tires screaming as Dakota spun it in reverse, fishtailing before straightening. The crew jumped into the convoy van behind her.

Two unmarked police SUVs appeared in the rearview.

"Hold tight," Dakota grinned.

What followed was a ballet of chaos—Dakota whipping the Charger around blind corners, dodging trains, one tire temporarily airborne as she cleared a loading ramp. The cops couldn’t keep up.

She dipped down a construction zone, twisted into an alley, then launched the car into the back of a moving semi. The truck’s doors closed just as the cops rounded the bend.

Gone.

10:39 p.m. — Safe House

"To the queen of chaos," Bliss said, raising a glass.

They clinked tequila shots and burst into laughter. The diamonds glittered in the low light like trophies of war.

Dakota finally took her shades off. "Y’all ever wonder if squirrels got their own little internet?"

The crew exploded into laughter again.

They had done it. Nine women. No casualties. No trace.

The biggest heist in U.S. history.

And they weren’t done yet.

Chapter 4: The Heist

The cold air inside Union Station Kansas City felt different that night—like history was about to be rewritten. Above ground, the grand Beaux-Arts architecture stood proud and unsuspecting, with late-night travelers sipping coffee in polished lounges and security guards chatting idly at the main desk. No one had any idea that a group of nine women, hidden beneath the layers of polished marble and limestone, were about to pull off the most ambitious heist in American history.

9:41 PM.

Dakota pulled the 2018 decked-out blue Charger into position at the west side of the station’s underground loading dock. The engine hummed low, the sound somehow blending with the Kansas City night. She didn’t say much, just cracked her knuckles, popped a gummy, and tapped her fingers on the wheel to the beat of an old Scarface track. Her custom LED dash lit up in crimson.

“Y’all ever think pigeons got a union or somethin’?” she mumbled, chuckling to herself.

Zayla’s voice came through the comms. “You high already? Girl, stay sharp. It’s go time.”

“Sharp as a switchblade,” Dakota replied.

Inside the underground maintenance corridor, Bliss and Toni were already in motion. Bliss wore all black—tailored tactical gear and a headset that glitched once every minute, just enough to annoy Zayla back at the van. Toni, massive and calm, carried a duffel with their gear, her calm broken only when she nearly tripped over a bucket.

"Who leaves a mop bucket in a high-security corridor?" Toni muttered.

"Probably the same folks who think facial recognition and motion lasers are enough to keep us out," Bliss said with a smirk.

Naima was already in place. The inside woman for this portion of the job, she was in disguise—an elegant, crisp white spa uniform from SheLuxx, the wellness front housed in Union Station. The billionaire had leased the lower-level space for his spa and retreat—but it was a cover. The real secret was buried beneath it, behind biometric scanners, retina locks, and laser fields.

Naima had already turned the first key.

The biometric scanner flinched as her fake fingerprint passed through. She kept her breath even, walking with purpose, clutching a tray of lavender oils and towels. Two guards passed her.

“Evenin’,” one said.

Naima smiled. “Hope you boys stay hydrated.”

They chuckled. By the time they rounded the corner, she had slid a black tile open on the spa wall, revealing a narrow corridor.

Zayla clicked on.

All right. We’re green on corridor three. Bliss, Toni, drop to level four. Lulu, it’s your time.

Back in the tech van disguised as a taco truck, Zayla grinned behind mirrored sunglasses. Her screens glowed. One showed the station’s elevator feed; another showed heat sensors, and the third showed a high-res wireframe of the vault’s laser grid.

All right, Boom Boom, light it up.

Lulu "Boom Boom" Gonzalez had been quiet until now. That was rare. The Latina demolition queen was crouched in a small access tunnel below the vault—a tunnel no one had used since 1992. It took two months of recon just to find it. She clicked her detonator twice and whispered, “This one’s for Selena.”

Three micro-charges went off in sequence—no louder than a cough, but powerful enough to dislodge the steel casing around the magnetic locks on the subfloor.

We got a heartbeat, Zayla whispered. Boom Boom’s in.

"Boom Boom" slid through the steel cavity, wiggled out with her custom pouch of tools and explosives, and radioed: "Ten minutes. Maybe nine if the glue sticks."

Toni and Bliss had reached the central access shaft. This part was tricky—two guards posted near the station’s old elevator lift.

Toni smiled and stepped out.

"Hey," she called, waving a flashlight. "We got a spill. Like, Code Three. Might be bio."

Both guards groaned.

Again? Where?

By the locker room, Toni said. “Smells like someone poured goat milk on burnt plastic.”

While they turned, Bliss slipped past them like a shadow. Moments later, a knock-out gas canister clinked against the floor near the guards.

Toni grabbed a crystal from her pocket. “Mercury ain’t in retrograde no more.”

In a flash, the team assembled at the vault door. Bliss, Toni, Lulu, Naima, and Zayla on comms. Dakota kept the car running, smoke curling from her lips.

And then came Jin.

Jin had been invisible until now. She’d embedded with SheLuxx staff six weeks prior, pretending to be a supply chain intern. Her poker face never cracked, and her quiet made her more lethal than any weapon. She slid her card through the final scanner.

The laser grid activated. Red beams crisscrossed the hallway like something out of a sci-fi movie.

All eyes went to Bliss.

She turned to Jin. “You sure?

Jin didn’t answer. She just cracked her knuckles, took off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless black tank, and stepped forward.

She's really gonna do it," Lulu whispered.

Jin's movements were fluid. Dancer-like. She ducked, spun, rolled. Her breath was measured. Her arms and legs twisted in impossible ways. When she reached the end, she touched a wall panel. The lasers cut.

We’re clear," Zayla confirmed.

Inside the vault, they didn’t find traditional safes.

They found seven tall pods. Inside: cryptocurrency hard wallets, bearer bonds, untraceable diamonds, and cash—millions in it.

We got the egg, y’all, Naima grinned.

Then came the twist.

Sirens. Someone had triggered a silent alarm.

Zayla screamed through comms. "MOVE NOW. THREE MINUTES TIL RESPONSE."

Lulu tossed smoke bombs. Bliss carried two pods. Toni dragged the bags. Jin cut the lights.

Dakota fired up the Charger, now in full stealth mode. She pulled around to the north end dock.

Driveway’s open,” she said calmly. Let’s go, queens.”

One by one, they loaded in. The rear tires screeched. Dakota drove like the devil was playing shotgun.

Cops tried to box them in on Main Street.

Too slow.

Dakota flipped the Charger down an alley, hit a rail track, and popped back onto Broadway like she’d practiced the maneuver all her life.

The city lights blurred. Sirens faded.

The crew didn’t breathe until they hit the Missouri River.

Zayla’s voice came through.

Target cleared. News ain’t even got it yet.

In the silence, Dakota took a slow pull from her vape and exhaled.

Y’all ever notice the word 'stressed' is just 'desserts' backwards?

Laughter filled the Charger.

They were free. They were rich. And no one saw it coming.

Not even Kansas City.

Get Gone or Get Got


Kansas City never looked so beautiful—and so dangerous. The morning sun poured gold over Union Station like it hadn’t just hosted the most daring heist in American history. The streets outside buzzed with news vans, squad cars, helicopters overhead, and a growing sense of chaos. Inside, deep beneath the city, the crew was on the move.


Dakota slammed the Charger into reverse. It peeled backward from the subterranean vault’s hidden service tunnel, screeching around the corner of a forgotten maintenance corridor lit only by red emergency lights. Zayla, in the backseat, clutched her laptop and a black duffel of crypto hard drives. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, hijacking street cams and rerouting police frequencies.


We got two units coming south on Pershing and one more from Broadway,” she said. “They’re converging.

’m ‘bout to split their wigs, Dakota said calmly. Her eyes were half-lidded, like she’d just woken up from a nap, but her reflexes were razor sharp.


Can you not kill us before we cash the checks? Lulu muttered, holding a glitter bomb to her chest like a grenade.


Behind them, Bliss’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “Phase Two is green. Naima and Toni, status?”


Just left the roof, Toni grunted, hauling Naima through the fire exit. Smoke trailed from Naima’s wig, her cocktail dress torn at the hem.


“Don’t say it,” Naima panted.


I wasn’t, Toni lied.


I told y’all I didn’t want to play bait.


You said you wanted to wear something backless.


Backless and bait ain’t the same damn thing!


Their exit plan unfolded like a symphony. Each woman had a role, each movement rehearsed like choreography. Jin, disguised as a low-level security tech, slipped out through the staff garage and into a black utility van parked behind a bakery. She shed her jumpsuit to reveal biker gear underneath. Within seconds, she mounted a Kawasaki Ninja and disappeared into traffic.

Lulu and Bliss loaded into an unmarked tow truck idling behind Crown Center. A tarp-covered metal crate sat in the back—Bliss’s emergency plan. She flipped a switch, and the container’s sides dropped, revealing a fake police cruiser inside. Two mannequins in uniform sat in the front.

Ladies, meet Unit 404, Bliss said with a smirk.

This thing even drive? Lulu asked.

Not well. But we only need to look official for three blocks.

Dakota’s Charger emerged from the underground onto Grand Boulevard like a black bullet. She threaded traffic with impossible grace, missing bumpers by inches, cutting alleys and hopping curbs like the streets were hers—and they were. No one knew the city like Dakota.

They got choppers in the air, Zayla warned. I’m running false heat signatures, but we gotta get off main roads.

Dakota didn’t answer. She veered down a construction ramp, launching the Charger into a work zone. Dust clouded behind them. Jackhammers paused. Hard hats turned.


“Jesus Christ!” someone yelled.

"Move Bitch!” Dakota barked.

She tore through cones and metal barricades, took a hard left under a viaduct, then down a pedestrian tunnel.

Bliss’s voice came again. Change of plans. Cops are setting up checkpoints on all bridge exits. They’re locking the city down.


“Plan Delta?” Dakota asked.


Bliss hesitated. Yeah. Plan Delta.

Everyone knew what that meant.

They weren’t getting out of Kansas City today.

Jin ditched the Kawasaki in a pre-arranged garage near 18th and Vine. She switched to an electric scooter, zipped through a side street, and ducked into an alley bar run by a friend of her uncle’s. Inside, she went straight to the back room and opened a hidden trapdoor beneath a dusty pool table.


Inside was a ladder, a bolt locker, and a six-foot vertical tunnel leading into the underground maintenance tunnels.


Tunnel two is open, she radioed. “Meet at Vault Echo.


The crew’s secret wasn’t just planning—it was Kansas City itself. The original Union Station vault was only the bait. Beneath the city, an ancient maze of Prohibition-era tunnels, disused speakeasies, and collapsed streetcar lines created a subterranean map no law enforcement team could follow.

They didn’t just rob a vault.

They robbed the city.

Naima, Toni, and Bliss regrouped near the Crossroads District, while Dakota, Zayla, and Lulu entered the tunnels through an abandoned brewery in the West Bottoms.


It was here the second phase began.


Vault Echo wasn’t a place—it was a concept. An emergency fallback for stolen goods, gear, and hard IDs, pre-stocked six months before the job.


You get it.. Bliss asked Zayla as they unpacked in the low-lit brick chamber lined with waterproof crates.


All of it, Zayla confirmed. Crypto’s stored and scattered through 23 wallets. Cash is tagged but hidden. You’re gonna love this—we got enough to live off grid for three lifetimes.

And the girls? Bliss asked.


Each team member emerged through different tunnel entry points. Jin came last, her face dusty, her hands bloody from something no one asked about.

They had dogs, she said simply.

Naima touched her shoulder. You okay?

Not my blood.

Toni raised her eyebrows but didn’t press.

They sat for a moment, breath catching up with heartbeat. For once, the high of survival started to fade. The rush of millions gained was et with the silence of reality.


Then Dakota lit a blunt and broke it.

You ever wonder if earth is just a rich alien’s ant farm?


Everyone turned.


Zayla choked. “Wait, what?


I mean… why else we here? Building shit. Running round. Ants do that too. Maybe we entertainment.


The room broke into laughter.


You really wait until we’ve almost died to say that dumb shit? Toni said, shaking her head.


Dakota shrugged, puffed, and leaned back. “Time was right.”

As night fell over Kansas City, police doubled their presence. Drones, checkpoints, FBI analysts flew in from D.C. by private jet. They tore apart Union Station, but all they found was an empty vault, scorched wires, and a note pinned to the wall:


Wrong women. Right time.

—The Nine

They think we’re gone.

Dakota looked up from a plate of wings. Ain’t we?

Not yet.

Because there was one more job.

Smoke, Mirrors, and Missouri
The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but Kansas City was already buzzing. Union Station, the city’s historical crown jewel, stood as tall and proud as ever. Beneath its grand marble floors, however, something extraordinary was unfolding. Something illegal. Something brilliant.

Dakota sat in her 2018 blue Charger, the engine purring softly like a tiger just waiting for the order to strike. Her eyes, shaded behind reflective sunglasses despite the hour, scanned every movement in the rearview mirror. Decked-out wasn't even the word for her ride—this thing had been custom-tuned by a street racer out of St. Louis, bulletproofed by an ex-armorer from Chicago, and painted in a sleek, ghost-blue finish that looked black at night. It was her temple, her spaceship, her weapon.

Comm check, Bliss’s voice came through the earpiece.

Dakota tapped the side of her head. Driver’s ready.

The others chimed in, one by one: Zayla from the station’s surveillance room, Lulu in position with her demolition tools tucked inside a yoga mat bag, Toni posted near the underground maintenance hatch, Naima and Jin dressed as security officers inside, and newcomer Reina perched high above Union Station’s Great Hall, rifle in hand, eyes locked on every movement like a hawk on Red Bull.

"Ladies," Bliss said, her tone calm and commanding. "Game time."

Downstairs, in the forbidden zone under Union Station, the real vault waited. It wasn’t just any vault—it was originally constructed during Prohibition to house government bonds and priceless train cargo. Now, the billionaire tech mogul Logan Huxley had converted it into a state-of-the-art fortress for untraceable assets: diamonds, cryptocurrency backups, and unregistered bearer bonds. Worth over $500 million.

Bliss had spent nine months studying it. Plans hidden in zoning records, 3D-mapped recon missions, digital surveillance, and one very specific bribe to a maintenance contractor had revealed the vault’s one vulnerable window: a four-minute span during a weekly calibration test, where the laser grids reset.

That moment was coming—now.

"Go," Bliss whispered.

Jin and Naima stepped into the restricted tunnel, authentic ID badges swiped. Cameras turned slightly at Zayla’s command, looping footage for 12 seconds at a time. Lulu opened the vent hatch, sending her small drone flying into the laser grid chamber. It mapped the entire thing in real time, creating a 3D visual on Zayla’s screen.

Zayla bit her lip. That’s tight. But doable. Toni, you’re up.

Toni dropped into the underground corridor like a cat. Quiet, fast, and full of purpose. She placed magnetic mirrors at precise angles along the walls, fooling the laser system into thinking it was still seeing straight beams. The system didn’t blink. Neither did Toni.

Meanwhile, Dakota revved the engine. She wasn’t even inside yet, but her part would be the final play—the escape. And when that came, she needed to be ready to tear through downtown Kansas City like hell on nitro.

Inside the vault room, Naima and Jin finally reached the biometric chamber. A fingerprint, retina scan, and voice recognition.

Bliss had an ace. Zayla, cue the mimic.

One sec... got it. Playing now.

Through a high-fidelity speaker hidden inside Naima’s watch, the voice of Logan Huxley himself said, "Open vault access. Huxley. Biometric override."

Click.

The door slid open.

Inside: rows of black vault trays, diamond cases stacked like luxury chocolates. Cold crypto wallets blinked green. Naima inhaled. "Now this is what heaven smells like."

Back above ground, Bliss watched it all from her rented apartment half a block away, sitting in front of six screens and a touchscreen control pad.

Thirty seconds," she said.

Lulu inserted a silent charge. The vault’s secondary lock was time-based. It would reset if they didn’t override it quickly. Zayla was already working on that, her fingers moving like lightning.

I need more time," Zayla said.

You’ve got fifteen seconds.

Lulu smirked. "Then let’s stretch time.

She dropped the charge.

BOOM.

The shock was muffled but effective. The internal timing gears froze. It bought them another ninety seconds.

That’s it! I’m in! Zayla yelled.

The vault opened fully.

Naima and Jin worked fast, stuffing three diamond trays, four cryo-crypto boxes, and two untraceable gold bars into their insulated bags.

"Get out. Now."

The building shuddered. Sirens wailed. Zayla’s cameras blinked.

We got a response team, fast. KCPD and private security. Bliss, they’re onto us.

Dakota, Bliss whispered.

Dakota was already moving.

The Charger flew around the station, headlights off. Dakota took a ramp the wrong way, shot through a delivery tunnel, and burst through a parking barrier like it was paper.

The underground exit hatch hissed open. Jin and Naima popped out, bags slung across their shoulders. The others rendezvoused like clockwork.

"In!"

The Charger roared down Main Street.

Cops tailed them in SUVs, but Dakota had already planned every turn. She swerved between parked cars, slid into alleys, then launched the Charger over a sidewalk and into the hidden maintenance lane beside the Kansas City Streetcar tracks.

One cop tried to follow. His SUV bottomed out on the concrete dip and stalled.

Dakota didn’t speak. But she smiled.

Bridge ahead is blocked, Zayla warned.

Plan B, Bliss snapped.

Dakota spun the wheel. She swerved into the Crossroads Art District, zigzagging through mural-covered alleys and abandoned breweries. Lulu dropped a smoke bomb behind them.

Colorful as hell, she laughed.

Dakota flipped a switch. The Charger’s back bumper dropped a spray of oil. The pursuing vehicles fishtailed, slammed into poles.

They reached the backup point—a covered transport truck disguised as a meat delivery van.

All six women jumped out, tossed the loot inside, stripped their jackets, and took on new disguises. Bliss had calculated everything.

Dakota locked the Charger with one press. It beeped twice, like nothing had happened.

"Let’s go, queens," Toni grinned.

By nightfall, they were scattered. Zayla on a flight to Amsterdam. Jin sipping tea in Seoul. Toni and Lulu in Brazil. Naima boarding a yacht off the coast of Italy. Bliss disappeared.

And Dakota?

She was parked outside of a food truck in Westport, Kansas City. Hoodie up, blunt lit, watching the late-night crowd stumble out of bars.

Her phone buzzed.

Message from Bliss: $14.2 million transferred.

She took a hit, smiled, and finally said out loud, "Y’all ever think maybe pigeons are just government drones that got tired?"

Nobody around her understood the joke. But somewhere out in the world, eight other women were laughing.

And the biggest heist in American history was done.


Epilogue: Queens in the Wind

Six months after the heist at Union Station, the nine women were ghosts—legends. No arrests. No suspects. No trail.

Dakota sat on a sun-bleached balcony in Montego Bay, Jamaica, her 2018 royal blue Charger parked down the street, clean and untouched. She lit a fat blunt, took a pull, and stared out at the ocean.

"Y'all ever think dolphins are just wet dogs with degrees?" she muttered.



The bartender blinked at her. Dakota smiled. She didn’t need a crowd. She had her millions and peace.


Bliss now ran a sleek nightclub in Berlin, a front for high-end jobs nobody would ever tie her to. She drank champagne alone, scanning her encrypted tablet, already planning a silent corporate takedown in Zurich.


Zayla lived off-grid, deep in the French countryside, her compound loaded with custom security. She livestreamed as a fake white tech bro named "Brad," giving crypto advice. Her real identity was more secure than ever.


Boom Boom moved to Puerto Rico and opened an all-women stunt team. She still played with explosives—but legally now. Sort of.

Toni had bought a quiet yoga retreat in Sedona. Her days were crystals, silence, and the occasional bar brawl when she got bored.

Naima She disappeared into high society, married a French billionaire with a yacht, and let everyone think she was a reformed socialite. Only Bliss knew she still picked pockets for fun.

Jin worked as a weapons specialist for hire in Seoul. Word was, she took out a trafficker using only a ceramic tea cup.

Keiko, their new recruit, had returned to Tokyo and turned her pole-dancing studio into a high-end acrobatic spy training program.

Brie, the acrobat who danced through lasers under Union Station, was now a Cirque du Soleil star in Vegas. She slipped money to single moms in trouble every month. Quietly.

They were gone, but not forgotten.

And never caught.




Prologue

The Tenth Queen

Underground bunker in Kansas City, two weeks before the heist.

Unknown to the rest of the crew, Bliss had recruited a ghost—a shadow from her military days. Code name: Raven.

Raven was silent, off-books, and brilliant at one thing: surveillance.

While the girls handled the laser vault and public distractions, Raven had tapped every KCPD channel, rerouted satellites, and spliced their digital trail clean.

Nobody ever saw her.

Nobody ever knew.

She was paid in untraceable diamonds and a favor from Bliss: when Raven calls, Bliss answers. No matter what.

One day, Bliss woke up to a single text:

It's time. Round 2.

Prologue

Location: Seoul, South Korea

The drone footage replayed on the screen.

A woman. Masked. Agile. Fast. Slipping into a state-of-the-art data vault. Infiltrating a black site.


You see that move?

That ain’t no ordinary thief, the agent said.


The camera panned, freezing on a figure perched above a laser-protected vault.


The man in the dark suit narrowed his eyes. He tapped the screen. The freeze-frame zoomed in.


There. The blur of her jacket.


#BlazzUp


Get me Langley. And Interpol.