Children. Innocent, sweet, perhaps a little annoying. Criminals. Thieving, fast, intelligent and certainly bad.

'Amora Vlora Lyn and Missy Trinity Dillian,' blared the loudspeakers, to the lavishly dressed crowd. Heads turned from conversations with upper class acquaintances, plump lips left champagne glass rims, in expectation.

Lights shimmered and danced off the stark white walls and reflected from the magnificent chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The orchestra struck up a catchy entering promenade, and two small figures appeared at the end of the luxuriously decorated catwalk.

Hands clapped in polite but enthusiastic applause as the two petite, lithe figures strutted down the catwalk, beaming their million dollar smiles at the crowd.

'They're quite a pair, are they not?' remarked a smartly dressed man to his stunning companion. The thin blonde woman only smiled minutley, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

The pair bowed and curtseyed as the crowd showered them with love and admiration. Here were the two most successfull young people in all time. Only eleven years old each, and almost ruling the fashion and showbiz scene with their charm and appeal.

'Thank you so much,' said the smaller of the pair in a voice that sounded like singing.

'It's such a pleasure to be here tonight,' added the other, who was taller and with thicker, darker hair.

A television reporter sprang up behind them and thrust his microphone in their faces. 'How does it feel, Amora, to be here today opening this new downtown gallery, full of famous artwork worth billions of dollars?'

'Amazing,' the tall dark one gushed, batting her eyelashes at the cameras. 'It's such a pleasure.'

'Didn't she just say that?' hissed the same man in the smart suit. His blonde companion, again only smiled blandly at him.

The reporter straightened up and began talking to the cameras. Missy kept her smile on full blast, but her baby blue eyes flickered towards the lithe blonde woman momentarily, with a small nod.

Amora glanced over two, and smiled even more brightly. One of her alabaster hands rose to wipe away a strand of hair off her forehead, and at the exact same time, she winked.

Instantaniously, there was a devastatingly large crash as a flashy silver mercedes crashed through the huge plate glass windows. People screamed, and champagne glasses flew as chaos ensued for the upper class New Yorkers.

Durin the panic, the girls slipped quietly into the crowd, smug smiles on their faces. They were out of the back door and in the waiting limosine by the time the driver emerged from the car.

The crowd, terrified and paniced froze as the locks clicked open on the doors, and the door swung outwards. There was a laugh, high pitched and tinkling, as an eight year old girl clambered elegantly out of the plush leather interior.

Shooting a smile at the shell shocked crowd, she motioned behind her, a signal for the first raid to begin.

The End

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