Heroes and villains, we are all somewhere in between.

Since the dawn of time, there was always a constant battle between good and evil. A fight that nobody has a hand in yet has the power to choose which side to win and take control over the other.

The line between them was very thin; confusing even at some points. Some people were born in light and fall to darkness. And others were born in darkness and fail to see the light.

But even people who were full of darkness still had a conscience. And at some point, they come to find that their conscience had made the decision to wake up from its deep slumber, encouraging them to go to war to reach that light. A war in which they were both the soldier and the enemy.

So they keep waiting for the perfect chance to start over; doing whatever it might take for them to find their way to the other good side of the hard equation of life. So they could finally make things right.

People always told you that it was never too late to change. But just like most things in life, it was easier said than done.

For me, I knew for sure that I was never a hero, but I still refused to see myself as a ruthless villain.

I have been walking down the wrong path since I could remember. I have been raised on breaking and not abiding by any rules, and that was exactly what I continued to do throughout my whole life.

My parents met in Europe while trying to steal the same pigeon's blood ruby. They fell in love and became the best partners in crime; literally and figuratively. After a while, they were gifted with me and my brother, but that didn't make them change their way of living. Eventually, my brother and I got dragged into the life of crime too.

I grew up to be a professional thief and con artist.

Some people in our circle liked to say that the con was a rush; a kind of addiction that was too hard to resist. And I lived to see that it was so true. I tried to stop many times, telling myself that I was better than this. But I always ended up taking the same wretched road.

Nevertheless, a part of me really wanted to stop—the soldier part. But that part never seemed to be armored enough to win the war. However, I had hope that maybe this time, it would.

I was getting sick of a life that was full of lies and deception. I was deeply thinking of starting over and quitting the life of crime, and this time, it really seemed genuine. I didn't want to live in paranoia and fear for the rest of my life. The fear of losing everything, the fear of getting close to anyone, and of course, the fear of getting caught at any time and spending the rest of my life behind bars.

I wanted to start everything over; to build a new life of my own. A life where I wouldn't be obligated to watch my back and live in fear all the time. I wanted to have a real career and do something with my art history major. Art has always been my passion and I figured out that working in the art industry and creating my own art would be way better than stealing famous artworks.

I wanted a second chance in life. I wanted to throw everything that happened in the past behind my back and to start fresh, but I wasn't sure if things would go my way.

Life was never supposed to be easy.

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'I wanna wake up, in a city that doesn't sleep. And find I'm king of the hill. Top of the heap'

I could hear Sinatra's deep, sweet voice as I thought about the city I adored with all my heart. There was something magical about New York; something fascinating. Once someone sat a foot in New York, simply no place else in the world would be as good to them as the city that never sleeps.

My parents were always on the move and we never stayed in one place for too long that we always forgot where home was. Actually, to put it more right, we never had a place that we could call home.

But New York always felt like the closest I could get to home, and I was always happy here. Maybe because it was the city where I was born.

So of course, I was beyond satisfied when my brother and I decided to settle in New York for a while. After all, it was always the perfect city for everything—criminal plans included.

My brother and I have been always a team, we didn't have many friends while growing up, so we were each other's best friends. And we grew up to be the perfect partners in crime; in a very literal way. We were always mistaken to be twins as we have the same deep icy blue eyes and the same dark brown hair. But Eric was two years older than me; I was more mature, though.

Disappointing Eric was never on my list of the things I wanted to do, so it was a bit tough when I had shared my plans of quitting the life of crime with him. As expected, he wasn't very enthusiastic about it at first, because he didn't want to lose his long-term partner. But eventually, he gave in to the fact that it was my life and my choice after all.

However, he wanted me to have closure by joining him in one last heist...

"Come on, join me one last time," Eric demanded, giving me his puppy eyes look. "Consider it your resignation mission."

"That sounds very tempting," I said, sarcasm dripping off my tone.

"It is. Believe me." Eric grinned.

I narrowed my eyes at him and gave him a mischievous smile. "Show me our target and your plan, then I will consider if it's worth it."

His grin grew wider as he grabbed some blueprints. "This is the blueprints of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They're going to have a Van Gogh artwork exhibit this week," he said, the smirk not leaving his face. "Well, I know how much you love Van Gogh, so I thought you would be interested."

On second thought, it was really tempting. I looked at the blueprints with obvious interest before I asked. "What's our target?"

Eric grabbed his laptop and typed something before turning the screen toward my direction. It had a picture of the Corridor in the Asylum painting by Van Gogh.

"Well, that's one hell of a painting," I admitted, admiring the painting and looking at it in awe. I knew that it had a haunting history. Van Gogh painted it when he was in the asylum, twelve months near the end of his life. And he sent the unusually large and colorful painting to his brother Theo, to give him a picture of his surroundings.

"Yeah, it's also worth four million dollars at least," Eric stated. I was sure he was looking at the painting in a kind of interest very different from mine. "It's very desired around the black market."

"Okay, you have piqued my interest." I crossed my hands and looked at him thoughtfully.

"I have already hacked into their security system, so we won't have any trouble with the surveillance cameras or the security alarms." Eric grinned, proud of his own handiwork. "But the exhibit is going to be located in a very secured room. The room is like a huge safe, so you have to crack the combination in order to get in."

Well, I really did love Van Gogh, and it was so hard to resist. Con was really an addiction. "I'm in," I decided. "Maybe it will be my perfect last score."

Eric gave me a devious smirk, and we shared a knowing look...