Chapter 9
The heavy thud of tactical doors slamming shut echoed off the concrete walls as a dozen heavily armored figures poured out of the SUVs, their weapons raised and pointed directly at Marcus.
"Drop the weapon! Hands on your head!" a modulated, robotic voice bellowed through a tactical bullhorn.
Marcus stood frozen in the blinding glare, the cylindrical container heavy in his grip. He looked from Sterling—who had casually lowered his pistol and slipped it into his jacket pocket—to the advancing wall of tactical gear. The trap had snapped shut with terrifying efficiency. Sterling hadn't just corrupted the local police; he had co-opted the federal response unit before Marcus even made it out of the culvert.
"Don't do it, Marcus!" Vance shouted, finally kicking the burlap sack off his head. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, but his gaze was sharp and desperate. "They'll execute you right here and call it a resistance incident!"
"Shut him up," Sterling commanded softly to the nearest tactical operator.
With a brutal shove, the operator slammed the butt of his rifle into Vance's shoulder, sending the older man crashing back against the wooden pallet.
Marcus felt a surge of hot rage override his fear. He twisted the top safety seal of the container, a sharp hiss of escaping pressure filling the damp air as the internal green LED light flashed from solid to a frantic, blinking red.
"Back off or I drop the valve!" Marcus screamed, his voice cutting through the roar of idling engines. "I mean it! The transmission is already buffered. One second more and it uploads globally!"
The advancing tactical unit froze instantly, their weapons still leveled at his chest, but their movements hesitating at the command of their team leader. Sterling’s calm demeanor flickered for a fraction of a second, a muscle twitching near his right eye as he realized Marcus wasn't bluffing.
"You're destroying your own life to prove a point, Marcus," Sterling said, stepping forward with his hands raised placatingly. "There's no safe harbor for you after this. Even if it uploads, our legal firewall will block the IP route within seconds. You'll spend the rest of your natural life in a supermax black site."
"At least the truth will be out there," Marcus replied, his thumb pressing down harder on the release valve. The red light accelerated its flashing sequence, emitting a high-pitched, steady whine.
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"Upload at 98 percent," an automated voice chimed faintly from deep within the metallic cylinder.
Sterling’s hand darted inside his jacket with unnatural speed, but before he could clear leather, a deafening explosion shattered the quiet of the loading bay. The heavy glass windows of the archives building shattered inward, raining a cascade of crystal shrapnel across the concrete.
