Chapter 91 - Shadows in the Flooded Deck
Croft didn't even flinch at the sight of my muzzle. He merely smiled with the condescending pity of an attorney addressing an unruly tenant.
"Julian," Croft murmured. "Look at your weapon. Check the breach indicator."
My finger tightened on the trigger, but before I could squeeze, the thermal sensor on my optic flared violent amber. The rifle’s electronic firing pin engaged a magnetic lock, completely deadening the trigger mechanism.
"The Obsidian network controls all military-grade ordnance linked to this sector," Croft explained casually. "Arthur designed the safe-zones to prevent mutiny. You are holding twenty pounds of useless alloy."
Before I could drop the rifle and transition to my sidearm, Augustus moved with speed that defied his age and mechanical chassis. His cybernetic fist lashed out, catching me across the chest plate. The kinetic force lifted my boots completely off the grating, throwing me fifteen feet back into the bulkhead.
I hit the steel wall hard, the breath ripped violently from my lungs as black stars burst across my vision. My combat armor cracked under the localized pressure, sending burning agony through my cracked ribs.
"Julian!" Richard screamed.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Croft give a soft, dismissive command: "Vent Sector Three. Let the ocean scrub the remnants of the failed lineage. Bring the boy’s bloodline cipher to the bridge."
"Wait!" Eleanor shrieked from the floor, clutching her bloody, mangled hand against her chest. "Harrison! We had an agreement! My fifty percent! The offshore accounts!"
Croft stopped, turning his head slightly without turning his body. "Eleanor. A parasite does not negotiate terms with the host. You served your purpose the moment you unlocked the outer ring. Goodbye."
Augustus slammed his palm against the auxiliary control console.
A deafening siren wailed, accompanied by the mechanical roar of hydraulic valves tearing open. Far below our feet, the deep-sea intake conduits exploded into action. The floor beneath us tilted sharply at a ten-degree angle as thousands of gallons of icy Atlantic seawater surged through the primary drainage ducts.
The mercenaries opened fire on the ceiling fixtures, severing the emergency cables. The primary blast doors began to slide shut, separating the inner crypt from the submersible docks.
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Croft and Augustus vanished behind the descending ten-ton blast shield, leaving Eleanor, my dying father, and me trapped in a rapidly flooding steel tomb, surrounded by the black, crushing dark of the Atlantic abyss.
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