Chapter 12 - Sub-Level Bloodbath
The metal security door parted. Two sentries standing outside in the concrete corridor barely had time to turn before Silas struck.
He didn't fire a single bullet. The carbon-fiber blades sliced through the gloom in silent, fluid arcs. The first guard went down with a severed carotid; the second was caught around the throat and snapped against the concrete before he could reach his radio.
Silas dragged both bodies inside the elevator, stripped their keycards, and motioned for Clara to follow.
They moved through the labyrinth of white-tiled corridors beneath the Citadel. The facility hummed with high-voltage electricity and the smell of ozone. At every intersection, Silas cleared corners with predatory lethal precision, disabling cameras with a handheld frequency jammer.
They reached the heavy vault doors of Sector Four. Beyond the reinforced glass of the control room sat David Vance, tied to a metal chair, blood dripping from a split lip. Standing behind him was Arthur Moretti himself—a sixty-year-old billionaire dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, surrounded by four armored bodyguards.
David raised his bruised face, his eyes locking onto Clara through the glass. His mouth opened in silent agony.
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"He told me you wouldn't let her get taken, Silas," Moretti’s voice crackled through the intercom speaker above the door. "He had such faith in you. What a shame that faith will cost all three of you your lives."
Behind Silas and Clara, steel blast doors slid shut, sealing the corridor completely.
