The Clerk
The submarine tilted sharply downward. A klaxon blared.
“DIVE, DIVE, DIVE,” the intercom barked.
The deck angled hard. I stumbled, fighting for footing.
From the corridor behind me, heavy footsteps — three armed sailors, Adrian’s loyalists, raising rifles.
“Kill her,” Adrian ordered, his eyes locked on the rising bar. “We’re going deep.”
I threw myself sideways as the hallway erupted in gunfire, sliding behind a heavy bulkhead, bullets sparking close to my face.