Chapter 12
The heavy steel vault door slammed shut with a definitive, hydraulic thud, the automatic deadbolts sliding into place with a series of mechanical clicks that sounded like a death knell. The emergency lighting flickered once, twice, and then went entirely black, plunging the sub-basement into absolute, suffocating darkness.
"What did you just do?" Vance yelled, scrambling to his feet in the dark and slamming his palms against the cold steel of the vault door.
"I didn't touch anything!" Miller’s voice snapped back from across the room, the sound of her tactical boots scraping against the concrete as she drew her sidearm. "It's an automated remote lockout. Sterling must have overridden the sub-level grid from the main security console upstairs."
Marcus pulled out his phone, tapping the screen to activate the flashlight app. The harsh LED beam cut through the dust-filled air, illuminating the rows of endless steel shelves and, at the far end of the room, a massive ventilation shaft covered by a heavy iron grate.
"There has to be another way out," Marcus said, keeping his voice steady as he swept the light across the walls. "This is a municipal archive built during the Cold War. It's designed to withstand structural collapse."
"It's also designed as a containment cell," Vance muttered, his breathing growing shallow as the lack of fresh air began to make itself felt in the enclosed space. "If Sterling locked down the sub-level, he's probably routing sewer gas or carbon monoxide into the intake vents to clean the slate permanently."
Marcus didn't waste time arguing. He sprinted toward the far end of the vault, his boots splashing through a shallow puddle of standing water that had accumulated near the base of the back wall. He reached the ventilation grate and tested the bolts. They were rusted solid, painted over with layers of lead-based institutional grey.
"Miller, give me your multi-tool," Marcus called out over his shoulder.
Miller hurried over, sliding the heavy-duty titanium blade across the concrete floor. Marcus caught it, jammed the tip into the rusted seam of the bottom bolt, and began to leverage his weight against the handle with both hands. The metal groaned, screeching in protest as the old paint chipped away in heavy flakes.
"Hurry," Miller urged, sweeping her flashlight beam back toward the heavy vault door. A faint hiss was audible now—a thin, steady stream of white vapor curling under the bottom seal of the door.
May you like
"Gas," Vance choked out, coughing violently as he dropped to one knee, pressing his sleeve against his mouth and nose.
Marcus threw his entire body weight against the multi-tool. With a loud pop, the bottom bolt sheared off entirely. He jammed the blade into the top bolt, sweat stinging his eyes as the sweet, sickly-sweet odor of chemical sedative began to mix with the damp air of the vault.
