She lingered in shadow, hidden from view by a concrete pillar. Brows knit with apprehension, stomach rolling with what she assumed were butterflies. Unseen and anonymous, a few feet from the entrance of a squat three storey building, that she found plain and ugly and intimidating.
She closed her eyes and mentally ran through her preparation, something that had been drummed into her from an early age.
Shoes for running. A quick getaway was important. Beaten up Converse doing the job nicely.
An appropriate disguise. The key was to not look like yourself, to be someone else. Red hair piled up, held with hair sticks, not her usual ornate daggers. Skintight stonewash jeans, a flowery blouse. Understated. Normal.
The goods close. They hung heavy in a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.
The out. Most important, her brother taught her that. She had blueprints and studied them for weeks. The exits highlighted in her mind.
She had never been caught, didn't have a record. She'd had Lenny to thank for that. Her breath caught in her throat. He was dead. He wouldn't be coming back. She blinked back tears and for a second she was that scared little girl again, one who needed her brother to take care of her.
She took a calming breath, heart full of resolution and opened her eyes; unprepared for the sudden brightness and the concrete concourse in front of her now heaving with people.
This was the big one, but it was not grand theft. It was a con and the victim was herself. Fear crossed her face, then her expression hardened as she stepped into the throngs of people. Could she con herself into thinking that she could be someone else? Not for the money, but for Lenny.
A change of career, big brother's last wish according to Mick. He had told her in his usual blunt way, then disappeared again. She hoped he didn't mind her borrowing his name.
Always keep is simple. Use your first name, modify the truth rather that outright lie. Or you will get caught out.
Keep to public spaces. Hide in plain sight.
So there she was, standing in the glare of the building, looking up at the capital letters carved into the stone above the doorway.
Central Gotham University.
She swung her bag over one shoulder, trying to look like she belonged, that she as was self assured and knowledgable as the students who were heading into the concrete monstrosity, chatting with their friends. Her confidence wavered; in her previous life, it would have been seen as weakness. In this life, she didn't care.
A guy stepped out of the door way and glanced in her direction. Tall and clean shaven, wearing skinny jeans, a red checked shirt and brown boots. Completely different from the men she frequently conversed with. He held a clipboard, eyes, flicking from her to the list then back again.
"Lisa Rory?" He said as he stepped closer, appraising her appearance. His mouth curved into a smile. "I'm Damon. Please follow me."
All he could see was a woman with a bag full of books and a laptop, eagerly waiting to study four years of Criminal Psychology. He would never know her past or about the fake grades to get her through the door. The fees fully paid up thanks to the Snart retirement fund, the scientist boyfriend in Central City - well not yet, but Cisco could be convinced. That she was bereaved and abandoned, trying to be a good person. After years of living with criminals and rogues, she could pass with top grades. Get a job. Change her life. All she had to do was keep going. This was how she was going to remember him.
Plastering a smile on her face she followed Damon inside the building, she would make sure that she would fit right in.