The perimeter of the cargo hold was divided into three defensive layers.
The outermost layer was the general transit zone.
The middle layer served as a temporary staging area for special cargo.
And deep inside was the highly restricted Sanctum Vault.
With each inward layer, the security clearance escalated.
The patrol route assigned to Jerrick happened to skirt the outer perimeter of the Sanctum Vault.
This was good news.
At the very least, it seemed the ship's arrangement had inadvertently given him a chance to get closer to the Obsidian Sun's core assets.
Jerrick's face remained impassive as he folded the map away.
With just one look, he had memorized the camera layouts, blind spots, ventilation shafts, elevator overrides, emergency evacuation routes, and backup power grids.
Every detail was locked in his mind.
The director offered a final warning. "Mr. Fenris, there is an independent sensory grid near the Sanctum Vault. Any unauthorized approach will trigger the alarms."
"I trust your men know how to follow the rules."
Jerrick's disguised face, with its rugged Central European features, carried a heavy, oppressive weight. "We're paid to do a job. I know the rules."
The director chuckled and nodded. "Naturally, Project Zero-Transit trusts Mr. Fenris's mercenaries. After all, you run the premier security contracting firm overseas."
Jerrick raised a hand, cutting off the flattery.
He turned expressionlessly to face his eight men. "From this moment on, we take control of the patrol zones. Two-man teams."
"Memorize the routes. Don't touch the cargo. Don't ask about the cargo. Don't break formation."
"Understood?"
The orders were crisp, without a single wasted word.
The eight mercenaries responded in unison, "Yes, sir."
The next second, they scattered.
Moving in pairs, they infiltrated their designated sectors.
The director watched them go, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
They truly lived up to their reputation as the top security contractors.
Professional, efficient, and disciplined.
Compared to those ragtag mercenaries who only cared about the paycheck and sought side hustles the moment they boarded, Fenris's crew was significantly more reliable.
"I'll leave this area in your capable hands, Mr. Fenris." The director
didn't linger after a few partine
words he turned and left
The corridor quickly descended into silence.
Jerrick stood at the entrance to the Sanctum Vault's outer passageway.
Ahead of him was a heavy, black metal door.
There were no serial numbers on its surface.
Only a tiny black raven emblem stamped beneath the biometric lock.
Jerrick's eyes darkened.
His sister was probably still asleep at home right now.
When she woke up, she might be furious, blaming him for acting
his own. She might even give et
him
the cold shoulder for days.
None of that mattered.
As long as she didn't have to step foot into a place like this.
As long as she didn't have to witness the filth of the Obsidian Sun with her own eyes.
That was enough.
Sleep well, Serena. Your brother will handle everything you want done.
The Predator's Den.
This area was fundamentally different from the others.
The lighting was murky, and the
was thick with smoket
the metallic tang of blood
There was even a harsh, chemical sting of certain narcotics mixed in.
Assassins and bounty hunters, their faces obscured by masks and cowls, clustered in small groups.
Some leaned against the walls, cleaning their firearms.
Some sat with their heads down, sharpening blades.
Some meticulously checked their gear.
Others lounged by the railings, chugging booze.
Many brazenly sized up every newcomer who boarded.
A few were scrolling through the dark web terminals, checking the latest bounty
boards.
And tonight, there was only one name dominating the chatter in the Predator's Den.
Serena Lancaster.