Chapter 6 - The BreachThe red emergency lights hummed softly in the subterranean bunker, casting long, sharp shadows across the banks of computer monitors. On the central display, exterior security feeds showed the aftermath of the assault: the modernist kitchen was completely destroyed, blown-out glass frames framing the howling storm outside, and armed figures in tactical gear were methodically sweeping the wreckage of the upper floors.
“They’re using thermal breaching charges on the main vault seal,” Roman said calmly, his fingers flying across a secondary control pad. His voice didn't betray a single ounce of panic, which somehow made the situation feel ten times more terrifying.
I stood by the steel workbench, struggling to strap the heavy tactical vest over my sweater. The ballistic plates felt like a lead anvil against my ribs. Beside me, Titan sat completely motionless, his dark eyes fixed on the reinforced steel door, his tail giving a slow, steady thump against the rubber floor mat.
“If they breach the door, we’re dead in five seconds,” I pointed out, stating the obvious with a tremor in my voice.
“Only if we wait for them to come to us,” Roman replied. He pulled a compact, suppressed submachine gun from a rack, checked the chamber with a crisp, mechanical click, and handed it to me handle-first.
I stared at the weapon like it was a venomous snake. “I don't know how to shoot a gun.”
“It’s simple. Point, pull the trigger, and don't let go until the threat stops moving,” Roman instructed with chilling practicality, guiding my trembling hands to grip the stock properly. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
“I run a pet supply store, Roman! I clip poodle toenails and hand out chew sticks!”
“And tonight, you survive,” he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned right through the fear.
Before I could argue further, a dull, concussive boom echoed through the bunker walls. The steel vault door vibrated violently, a shower of sparks and white-hot slag spraying inward from the upper hinge as a thermal lance began eating its way through the six-inch alloy.
Roman didn't hesitate. He walked over to a secondary control panel on the far wall and flipped a heavy brass toggle switch.
Hiss.
A section of the back wall—camouflaged as a utility rack filled with spare server drives—slid open smoothly, revealing a dark, damp concrete tunnel sloping downward into the cliffside.
“The emergency egress tunnel,” Roman said, gesturing toward the opening. “It leads out to a private cove half a mile down the rocky shoreline where a hull-craft is docked.”
“And the drive?” I asked.
Roman reached down, retrieved the titanium flash drive from the central console, and slid it securely into an internal pocket of his suit jacket. “We take it with us. They want the data? They’ll have to chase us into the Atlantic.”
“Go,” I told Titan, snapping my fingers softly.
The massive Cane Corso didn't need to be told twice. He trotted into the dark tunnel without hesitation, his heavy claws clicking against the concrete.
Roman stayed back for a final second, pressing a sequence onto the master console. “I’m setting the estate’s secondary core to self-destruct on a five-minute timer. When they breach this room, they’ll get a very unpleasant surprise.”
“You’re blowing up your own house?” I asked, my jaw dropping.
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“It’s insured,” Roman replied dryly. “Move.”
We dived into the dark tunnel just as the steel vault door blew inward with a blinding flash of white light and a deafening roar of fire.
