Three Square MealsChapter 107: Hiding In Plain Sight... free porn video

John’s mouth fell open as he stared at the images the Vulkat had taken of the salvaged Thrall ship components. He felt an eerie kind of click as Dana named each of the forbidding black objects, her words resonating in his mind.

“They’re standard issue in all Thrall vessels!” he blurted out, his eyes widening as he stared at the ship’s equipment. “I know what they do!”

“Yeah, me too,” Dana confirmed in a hushed voice. “The schematics just popped into my mind...”

He glanced her way and gestured for her to proceed. “Go ahead, you’re better at explaining tech than I am.”

Everyone in the room was now alert and watching the redhead intently

She pointed at the image of a broad onyx sphere that was about twice as big as the Vulkat scientist studying it. “That’s a Null-Inertia Gyroscope ... it’s like a highly-advanced inertial dampener.” She moved on to the spiral-ridged cylinder below it. “A Zero-Point Regulator makes ship guns more energy efficient.” Her hand drifted to the right, pointing at a much larger black object, the hexagonal prism dwarfing the arachnid researchers that had gathered around it. “If we build a Solid-Phase Shield Matrix, we’ll have hard shields, and the-”

“Woah! Stop a second!” Calara blurted out, waving her hands to interrupt the redhead. “Hard shields? As in ... impenetrable?”

“Yeah,” Dana murmured, meeting the Latina’s shocked gaze. “Missiles and torpedoes can’t penetrate solid-phased shields.”

Calara rocked back, clearly stunned at the thought. “That renders centuries of ship-combat doctrine obsolete!”

“What do you mean?” Sakura asked, surprised by the Latina’s visceral reaction.

“Missiles and torpedoes have numerous disadvantages: they’re relatively slow, can be shot down, take up considerable storage space, and have to be resupplied ... What makes them useful is that they can penetrate shields, making them a threat to even the most heavily-shielded vessel. If Dana’s right, and I have no reason to doubt her, then hard shields just rendered missile tech obsolete ... which means bombers are equally redundant.”

“Even the Maliri use torpedo bombers,” Irillith said quietly. “They caused significant destruction to the Kintark capital ships in the Battle for Terra.”

John nodded, recalling the climactic moments of that epic fight. “Yeah, I remember. As soon as our side gained strike craft supremacy, the battle was basically over.”

“Does this mean that Progenitors don’t use fighters in their Thrall fleets?” Jade asked, looking cautiously optimistic.

Calara hesitated as she considered her question. “As unlikely as it seems, that might well be the case. If these ‘hard shields’ make a ship impervious to missile or torpedo attacks, they’re not going to use bombers against other Thrall fleets. Similarly, non-Thrall strikecraft become even less of a threat, so why bother employing fighter squadrons to protect against them?”

“We might find answers in the Vulkat archive,” Irillith quietly added. “At least once we’ve finished translating their language. If we’ve got records analysing a wrecked Thrall destroyer, it stands to reason that the Vulkat might have destroyed smaller vessels, so there might be data on salvaged corvettes or strike craft.”

“I haven’t seen anything yet!” Faye chirped, before gesturing at the holographic image. “But I’m only half-way through the archive at the moment.”

“Thanks, Faye,” John said, with a smile. “So that just leaves one last item on your list, Sparks...”

Calara turned to look at Dana again, a hungry gleam in her eyes. “Oh yeah! Tell me about Tachyon Lances!”

The redhead’s eyes glazed over as she reviewed the schematics emblazoned in her mind. “It’s a highly-evolved version of a Maliri Nova Lance. The principles are similar, but Tachyon Lances are far more sophisticated and much further along the same kind of tech path. For example, the charging capacitors are radically advanced and the weapon’s much smaller too, only ten-metres-long instead of thirty.”

“Actually, I think it might be the other way around, with Nova Lances being a devolution of Tachyon Laser technology,” Tashana suggested, looking thoughtful. “Considering how old these images are, it’s highly likely Tachyon Lasers are the original. After Mael’nerak left Valada with his Thrall fleet, perhaps the Maliri tried to replicate Thrall tech with their own crude imitation?”

Dana nodded as she thought it over. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Whoever came up with Tachyon Lances understood the physics behind the technology on a whole new level.” She frowned as she continued, “Unfortunately, there isn’t any data on the damage potential of Tachyon Lances, so we’ll have to build one and field test it.”

“Can we?” Calara asked, leaning forward with anticipation. “Build one, I mean?”

Dana grimaced as she studied the schematics. “It’s built out of a similar kind of mystery metal as the stuff used in the Quantum Flux Cannon, which I’ve still got no idea how to replicate. The black armour on Mael’nerak’s ship is similar, but far more refined. I can see references to something called a ‘Soul Forge’ in the construction notes on the schematics, but I’ve no idea what the fuck that is...”

“It sounds ominous, whatever it is,” Tashana said quietly, glancing at John. “Does that name seem familiar to you?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” he replied, drawing a complete blank. “And it’s not setting off any memories.”

Giving them a helpless shrug, Dana said, “Maybe Progenitors use this Soul Forge thing to crank out Thrall ships?”

Perhaps Mael’nerak’s Soul Forge is located on Kythshara? Edraele suggested. If a Progenitor’s Throne World is his powerbase, then it seems likely that the source of his Thrall Fleets would be located on that world. It would also explain why such a device has never been discovered ... at least to my knowledge.

The girls looked thoughtful, listening to Alyssa as she relayed the Maliri Matriarch’s telepathic observation.

“Are we sure Kythshara even survived the war with Ranagon?” Alyssa asked, looking doubtful. “He was going around obliterating Gaia-class planets...”

“There was no mention of Kythshara or Mael’nerak’s Throne World being destroyed in the video files Tashana recovered from Valada’s server,” Faye informed them. “I’ve also not heard any references to a Soul Forge.”

Jade was quiet as she said, “The throne room we saw when Mael’nerak freed the Nymphs was located on Kythshara. I don’t remember the control room we saw in the later videos, but I expect that was located on his Throne World too.”

Irillith’s eyes brightened. “The last time we saw Mael’nerak was in that control room! He broke the bond to Valada then left on his suicide mission to end the war. We know Valada survived, so it seems highly likely Kythshara did too!”

“We’ve got to find that place,” John said, darting a pensive look at Tashana. “When we get back to Maliri Space, we need to dig up whatever we can find from old Thrall sites; there must be some kind of clue...”

She gave him a wry smile. “Last time, my field research team consisted of just one person. With all of you assisting, we’ll be able to scour every inch of those sites. I’ll be amazed if we don’t uncover something interesting; whether or not it’s data on Mael’nerak’s throne world ... we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Calara glanced at Dana again. “We’re getting a bit sidetracked ... You didn’t really answer my question earlier; can you build a Tachyon Lance?”

The redhead thought about it for a moment, then gave her a tentative nod. “It’ll be my own hybrid version, using Crystal Alyssium instead of the black metal, but I reckon I could put one together.”

“How about ... forty of them?” Calara asked, then held her breath as she waited for an answer.

Dana looked at her askance, then her eyes widened in surprise. “You want to replace all the Photon Lasers and the Heavy Quantum Guns!”

The Latina’s expression was one of barely-controlled excitement. “They’re the same size, so they could use the same hard-point! If we can build enough of those Zero-Point Regulators, we should have plenty of power ... right?”

The redhead tapped a finger on her chin as she mulled it over. “Yeah, I guess ... in theory.” She winced as she added, “But you’re planning on refitting the Invictus before we take on the Kirrix, aren’t you?”

Calara didn’t back down from Dana’s troubled gaze. “Yes, exactly.”

“Is that even possible, Sparks?” John asked, brushing his fingers through Dana’s auburn hair. “We’ve only got two days ... We can’t afford to lose any time before we start liberating the border worlds, the clock’s ticking for any infested civilians.”

She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. “Just let me think a minute...”

A hushed silence descended in the room, no one wanting to disturb her.

“It might be possible,” their Chief Engineer finally conceded. “But we’re going to have to work our asses off for the next two days. I’d need to make a start on the schematics right now, make all the necessary modifications, then start replicating all the required components. I’ll need everyone’s help to assemble them, but I’m also going to need some serious psychic shaping ... maybe as much as fifteen times to give us enough heat resistance to stop the barrels melting.”

John shared an apprehensive glance with Alyssa, who grimaced at the prospect.

“I think we’re in for some pounding headaches...” she said, looking glum.

He put his arm around the blonde and gave her a supportive squeeze. Smiling at Dana, he said, “We’ll do our best.”

Dana gave John an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more than a load of ifs, buts, and maybes.”

“I can give you some installation times,” Faye piped up. “Assuming you make the weapon mounts on the Tachyon Lances compatible with our existing turrets, it’ll take my boys 126 minutes to swap them all out. I’ve already started manufacturing parts for another set of twelve maintenance bots, and I should be able to build them all before we arrive on the Outer Rim; in which case you can halve my estimates!”

“So we’ll only need an hour for the refit,” John said, glancing at Calara. “Maybe we should arrange a rendezvous with Admiral Zelig’s fleet while we upgrade our guns? They’ll be close to the border by the time we catch up to them and I’d like to speak to him before his fleet engages the Kirrix.”

“It would be sensible to coordinate our battle plans,” the Latina immediately agreed.

Alyssa had a grim smile on her face as she nodded her approval. “I also need to scan Zelig and check if he’s a bad guy. If we do need to execute him, it’ll be better to get that over with before the Terran fleet engages the Kirrix.”

“Can you discuss that with Lynette, please?” John asked, glancing at the blonde. “We’ll need to handle something like that tactfully ... I’d like to have her approval before we start with summary executions.”

The blonde shrugged. “Lynette knows the score; she wants all the bad apples eliminated. I’ll have a chat with her and confirm it though.”

Dana let out a rueful sigh. “We’ll probably have to forget about the Mass Fabricator upgrades for now. The rest sounds like a good plan, assuming I can alter the Tachyon Lance schematics fast enough to give us time to build them.”

Rachel slid an arm around her lover’s waist. “I can schedule out all the tasks for you and try to make the construction as time-efficient as possible.”

“Thanks, babes, that’d be awesome,” the redhead said giving her a look of relief.

“Are the Zero-Point Regulators an internal or external component?” Rachel asked, her mind already ticking over.

“Internal ... we can install them near the Power Core without dropping out of hyper-warp,” Dana explained.

The brunette nodded. “In that case, perhaps you should work on those first?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dana stretched and cracked her knuckles. “Well, I better get started...”

John looked at her with concern. “It’s midnight ... Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to tackle the schematics after you’ve slept, when you’re well-rested?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” she replied with a dismissive wave. She wiggled her eyebrows and added, “But I’ll definitely need to be kept topped up ... so I can stay focused.”

He laughed and pulled her into a hug. “Just give me a couple of hours to recover. Calara and Sakura wore me out.”

“Get some rest,” she purred, gazing into his eyes. “I want some loving before you stuff me full of cum...”

John realised she was asking for the kind of intimate coupling that he’d mentioned after his close call on the Astral plane. Dana nodded when she saw that light of understanding in his eyes.

“Wake me whenever you’re ready,” he said, before giving her a tender kiss.

The redhead nodded enthusiastically, then bounded out of the room.

The well-worn tunnel was gloomy and oppressive, pale red light casting a sinister crimson pall over the rocky walls. The disconcerting flickering made it look like the tunnel was a fiery descent into hell, the shadows dancing as if possessed by evil spirits. The lightshow was powered by the Diablos’ backup generator, a luxury only the richest of gangs and the mine owners could afford. Karron’s aging fission plant had been destroyed days earlier, the invaders wasting no time in shutting power down throughout the bulk of the hollowed-out asteroid.

Fat Tony remembered the day, two years earlier, when Sparks had first unveiled the infernal light effects. He’d cheered along with the rest of the Diablos, knowing no other gang on Karron had anything near so spectacular; it was like a declaration of his gang’s increasing prestige. Now he just wished she’d left the fucking lights alone ... he was scared enough already.

“Dios perdoname...” his companion muttered piously under his breath, as he had done repeatedly for the last two hours.

Tony glanced at his fellow gang member in irritation. “It’s way too late for that, Emil. You’ve done a lotta nasty shit over the last ten years ... you think God’s gonna give a fuck about you?”

“Fuck you, man!” Emilio snarled, his eyes darting anxiously towards the ceiling. “You shouldn’t say the Lord’s name in vain!”

Snorting with nervous laughter, Tony shook his head and glanced down the corridor again. “You ... a believer ... never wudda thought I’d see the day.”

Emilio grabbed his arm, his expression worried. “Just coverin’ my bases, man. You should-”

They both froze as they heard an unfamiliar high-pitched sound, a bit like a laser, but the noise had a sharper edge to it. There was no mistaking the shrill screams that echoed down the tunnel immediately afterwards, the agonised shrieks sending a shiver of fear down Tony’s spine.

“Fuck me...” Emil muttered, his eyes widening with fright.

The sound of running footsteps reached their ears and half-a-dozen pale-skinned men ran around the corner, sprinting for the Diablos base. Only two of them wore the distinctive red jackets of the Diablos, the rest wore the pale blue of the Steel-Wraiths.

Tony stared at them in shock, reflexively raising his heavily customised chrome sub-machine gun and pointing it at the rival gangers. He darted a glare at the Diablos ganger leading the group of terrified men. “Choppy, what the fuck are you thinking?! Pitbull will lose his shit!”

“Tell him what went down!” Choppy Bob snapped, glancing at the closest of the Wraiths.

“The fucking bugs ... busted into our base and shot my guys, but they weren’t killing no one,” the Wraith gasped as he panted for breath, running a hand over his tattooed head. “Only us four managed to get away!”

“Tony, the gang shit don’t matter no more,” Choppy Bob hissed under his breath, darting a worried glance back down the tunnel. “We gotta stick together ... I ain’t gettin’ assfucked by no bug!”

Fat Tony only considered it for a couple of seconds, long enough to hear the scuttling sound of insectoid feet approaching the bed in the tunnel. “Fuck it, get in here...” he said, beckoning the group back to the huge reinforced door.

They rushed inside, then Emil slapped his hand down on the big red button high on the wall. There was a tortured groan of poorly maintained hydraulics and the enormous reinforced door rolled into place, the rust-red teeth slamming home with a deafening rumble. For the first time in over twenty years, the entrance to the Diablos base was left unguarded as the men ran deeper into the fortress.

Over the sound of the running group’s footfalls, Tony heard heavy crates being shifted around as they jogged towards the central cavern. He knew Pitbull, the Diablos’ leader, was making preparations to defend the base ... he just hoped it was going to be enough. Running into the big room, Tony saw several heavy machine gun nests set up to create a crossfire, with men hauling crates full of ammo into position. Pitbull was overseeing the defences, the tall, barrel-chested man towering over his wiry gang, the spiked collar around his thick neck glinting in the light.

“Boss, we’ve got incomin’!” Tony called out as he skidded to a halt. “Bugs ... sounded like a fuckton!”

Pitbull turned around to face him, his bushy eyebrows climbing as he set eyes on the four men wearing light blue jackets. “What the FUCK?!” he roared, reaching for his flamethrower. “You let motherfuckin’ Wraither fucks in MY base?!”

“Boss, stop!” Tony yelled in desperation. “There’s only four left ... the whole gang’s been wiped out!”

The Steel-Wraiths cowered in fear, Pitbull’s psychopathic rages legendary throughout Karron. Realising that his life was hanging by a thread, their tattooed leader dropped to his knees, hands clasped in front of him as he begged, “We’re fucked! All the gangs are! The Bugs cleaned out the Hab-zones near the spaceport, now they’re coming for us! Please, man, I’m beggin’ you. We’ll help you defend your turf!”

Pitbull glared at them for a moment, then jutted his chin to the right. “Lose the jackets...”

The four gang members nervously did as they were asked, tossing the blue leather in the direction the Diablos’ leader had indicated. When he levelled the flamethrower at their gang-colours, they quickly scrambled out the way. Long tongues of flame incinerated the jackets, leaving an acrid stink as the artificial leather began to burn.

“Don’t fuck up, or I’ll roast your ass,” he snarled, before turning to look at Choppy Bob. “What’s the news?”

The Diablos ganger toyed nervously with the handle of the meat-cleaver sheathed at his waist. “It’s real bad, Boss. Like the Wraither said, the Bugs are moppin’ up. I got as far as Sub-Level 12 in Sector 4 before I had to come back, place was crawlin’...” His face was stricken with fear as he continued, “The Diamond-Talons, the Crypthunters, the Pale-Warriors ... all just gone ... bases busted open and not a fucker in sight.”

Tony caught Pitbull’s eye and stepped aside, beckoning him over. “Boss ... maybe we outta think about runnin’? We could fall back to the deep mines...” he said in a furtive whisper. When he saw the Diablos’ leader bristle, he carried on in a rush, “We’re not defendin’ our turf against a gang, or even some tightass T-Fed fucks...” He leaned in and hissed, “It’s the fucking Kirrix! You’ve ‘eard what they do to people!”

Pitbull clenched his jaw shut, darting a glance down the tunnels towards the main entrance. For the first time in the twelve years that Fat Tony had known him, he actually saw a flicker of fear in the gang leader’s eyes. Then just like that it was gone. “We fight,” he growled.

Dramatically punctuating his decision, a booming crash thundered through the tunnels, the dreadful boom instantly silencing everyone in the Diablos base. As the echoes rolled around the chamber, gangers darted fearful looks at one another, knowing what they’d soon be facing. After a few interminably long seconds another rolling crash reverberated through the tunnels, the violence of that noise making more than one cold-hearted criminal jump out of his skin.

“Move it!” Pitbull roared, glaring at his frightened gang. “Everyone get in position!”

Pale-skinned men scrambled to follow his orders, hiding behind the barricades, manning the belt-fed machine guns, or running up the ramps to the barriers lining the upper levels. All the while, that steady pounding thumped away at the entrance to their base, with the relentless beat of a metronome. Suddenly, the pounding boom was followed by a ponderous crash, and every person there knew what that meant.

Just like in the tunnels outside, Tony heard the strange rustling of many feet approaching their position, long before he set eyes on one of the dreadful alien invaders. The sound made his skin crawl, setting off that instinctive sense of disquiet when in the presence of an otherworldly predator. The Kirrix announced their arrival with the shrill sound of a weapon being fired and a sickly green energy discharge blasted across the room, blowing a chunk out of the opposing wall.

“Eat this, motherfuckers!” Pitbull snarled, his scarred face twisting into a feral grin.

He stabbed his thumb down on the remote in his hand and a series of powerful explosions rocked the base, sending tremors through their feet. Four of the five tunnels belched out choking clouds of dust, followed an instant later by a storm of pebbles and even a few dismembered Kirrix limbs. That just left the central tunnel on the ground level, which led into the perfect killzone in front of the wall of Diablos guns.

The gang cheered and whooped, high-fiving each other as Pitbull blew the tunnels. Thousands of tons of rock had just flattened what must have been scores of Bugs, dealing a crippling blow to the invaders. Any Terran-led force would have immediately retreated to lick its wounds, but the Kirrix were another matter entirely. Their soldiers in the central tunnel didn’t even flinch and continued marching onwards, more of them firing into the chamber.

“Open fire!” Pitbull yelled, initiating a lead tsunami.

Tony aimed his submachine-gun at one of the Kirrix soldiers marching towards them in the tunnel ahead. The alien soldier was wearing ochre body armour, and the red dot from his laser targeting scope flickered as it washed over the creature’s torso. Squeezing the trigger he let fly a burst of caseless rounds, then watched in disbelief as they bounced harmlessly off the muddy-yellow carapace.

“Gimme Fed-killers!” he called out in a panic, ducking behind the barricade and ejecting his magazine of useless bullets.

A young initiate ganger hauled over an ammo crate with a big red X marked on the front, then dumped it on the ground next to Tony. He thumped the release button, unlocking the lid, then grabbed a handful of the SMG-sized magazines. Tony shoved a few in his jacket pocket, then slid the mag into his weapon.

Beside him, the 50 cal pintle-mounted machine guns opened up on the invading soldiers. High-calibre rounds punched holes through the insectoid soldiers in sprays of sticky green blood, leaving their ochre armour looking like mouldy Swiss Cheese. To Tony’s mounting horror, those severely injured soldiers kept advancing, even when they’d had chitinous limbs blown off by the mounted machine guns. Although the Kirrix were marching in tightly-packed ranks, bullets that ploughed through the front ranks had been robbed of their force, so bounced harmlessly off the soldiers in the rear.

More of the Kirrix troops were fanning out into the room, the answering volleys of green bolts from their neutron rifles growing in volume. The initiate who had brought the crate of armour-piercing ammo was shot in the leg as he tried to run back for another crate, his strangled scream the opening stanza in a chorus of agony. The ganger operating one of the machine gun emplacements was hit in the shoulder, the man falling onto his back and thrashing on the floor. His face twisted in a rictus of pain as he clutched at the ugly wound, oblivious to all else except the jagged lances of agony shooting through his body.

Aiming at another insectoid soldier, Tony placed the laser sight over its inhuman face and pulled the trigger. This time bullets punched through the armoured faceplate and made a wet rattling noise as they ricocheted around inside the Kirrix soldier’s skull. It topped over lifelessly, falling flat on its face, six limbs twitching as the insect spasmed in its death throes.

“Shoot them in the head!” he called out, quickly aiming at another.

The Diablos tried to adjust their aim, but the 50 cal machine guns weren’t that accurate, and only the wealthiest of the gangers could afford laser scopes. Pitbull leapt over the barricade with a defiant bellow, his flamethrower held in a tight grip. He unleashed a torrent of flames over the Kirrix troops, swathing over a dozen in a sheet of fire. Normally that was the prelude to shrieks of agony and the smell of charred flesh, but the Bugs ignored the flames, switching to aim at the huge Diablo leader with their menacing weapons. Green neutron bolts blasted out, hitting him in the right arm and both legs, Pitbull’s challenging cry turning to a warbling shriek of pain. He collapsed on the ground, vomiting violently as his body was overwhelmed with agony.

To see their unstoppable leader brought low sent a wave of panic through the rest of the Diablos. The four Steel-Wraiths went down in a flurry of green energy bolts, their tormented cries joining those of the red-jacketed gang members.

“Fuck this!” Tony yelped, feeling icy fingers of terror clawing at his heart. He lurched away, running from the barricade towards the tunnel at the rear of the room.

Emil’s eyes widened as he saw his friend flee in fear. He half-rose to follow him and called out, “Tony! Wait for-” His startled cry twisted into a tortured scream as he was shot in the back, needles of pain dropping him to the floor beside the convulsing Wraithers.

As Fat Tony fled for his life, terrified screams rang in his ears ... from men he’d known for most of his life that were closer than brothers. Tears of shame rolled down his cheeks as he abandoned them, but as much as he hated to flee like a coward, he knew that staying would only mean an agonising death sentence.

Bursting into the next room, Tony darted a fearful glance over his shoulder and saw the Kirrix had reached the barricades now, the defenders all but routed. The high-pitched sound of neutron blasts drowned out the sporadic bursts of submachine gun fire. He had just reached the tunnel opposite when Choppy Bob staggered into the room behind him, his pale face ghostly white as he clutched at his wounded arm.

“Help me, Tone...” he pleaded, stumbling forward on shaky legs.

Fat Tony skidded to a halt, racked with indecision as he glanced backwards. Loyalty to his blood-brother warred with his sense of self-preservation, but before he could make that choice his fellow ganger screamed as he was shot in the leg and sent sprawling to the floor.

“I’m sorry...” Fat Tony gasped, then ran for the tunnel.

He ran towards the cleaner section of the base that led to Pitbull’s personal quarters. All his lieutenants knew about the emergency escape tunnel and when Tony rushed into Pitbull’s dimly-lit bedroom, he was relieved to see the secret tunnel still lay undisturbed. As he stepped foot into the room, he was grabbed by pale hands, terrified faces looming out of the dark.

“Tony! Take me with you...” Kelli begged him, the pretty young brunette a member of Pitbull’s personal harem.

Perl hung onto his left arm, her normally-immaculate blonde hair a dishevelled mop. “Please ... I’ll do anything you want!”

He stumbled as they clawed at him in their desperation. “Get the fuck offa’ me!” he snarled, trying to shake them off.

“I don’t wanna die!” Kelli screamed, her eyes like saucers.

“Alright, alright!” he snapped, finally tearing himself free. “The bolt hole ... it’s our only way outta here!”

The two women looked at each other in confusion, then watched him with wide eyes as he ran around the big bed to the corner of the room. He dashed up to the archaic machinery embedded in the wall, reaching for a concealed button behind a rusting brace of pipes. As soon as he pressed it, there was a hiss and the front panel of a large power-coupling cabinet popped open.

He waved the girls over. “In here ... move your ass!”

They nodded, quickly following his orders and diving through the secret door into the narrow pitch-black tunnel beyond. Tony glanced across the bedroom at the door to Pitbull’s private vault, feeling a pang of regret at leaving the small fortune in cash and precious metals he knew lay inside. He sharply reminded himself that it was better to be poor and alive than rich and dead, then followed the two girls into the tunnel. Carefully pulling the door shut behind him with a reassuring clunk, Tony found himself praying that concealment would prevent the Bugs catching them, where the reinforced entrance had spectacularly failed. The trio stumbled along in the darkness for a dozen metres, blindly feeling their way ahead with wavering hands.