Chapter 67 - The Lioness Infiltrates
The lower intake vents of *The Leviathan* churned with freezing, churning sea foam as Julian and I latched our magnetic ascent grapples onto the hull. Dressed in tactical wet suits, we scaled the slippery iron side of the floating fortress under the roar of a raging Atlantic squall.
Using a plasma torch, Julian cut through the heavy titanium grating of an auxiliary cooling pipe. We slipped inside, crawling through the narrow, steam-filled ventilation ducts until we dropped silently into the lower sublevel of the vessel: the bio-research containment deck.
The interior was stark, sterile, and flooded with blinding fluorescent white lights—a grotesque contrast to the dark, stormy sea outside. Glass observation labs lined the wide corridor, displaying biometric monitors, gene-sequencing centrifuges, and rows of cryogenic containment pods.
"Vault is down corridor Bravo-Four," Julian whispered through our encrypted comms, scanning the corridor around the corner with a miniature fiber-optic camera. "Two static guards at the heavy vault door. Biometric iris scanner. Armed with fully automatic carbines."
"I've got left," I signaled silently. "You take right."
We rounded the corner like phantoms. Before the guards could even raise their weapons, Julian’s suppressed sidearm coughed twice. My blade found the soft tissue of the second guard's throat, pinning him silently against the steel wall before his radio could broadcast an alert. We dragged both bodies into an empty supply closet.
"Severed retinal bypass initiated," Julian muttered, plugging a portable hacking rig into the iris scanner while using a handheld optic replicator to project the deceased guard's credential codes.
*BEEP. ACCESS GRANTED: SECTOR DELTA BIO-VAULT.*
The heavy blast door hissed open, releasing a cloud of chilled vapor. In the center of the vault, suspended in a cylinder of illuminated cryo-fluid, sat a sleek, brushed-aluminum briefcase containing three vials of iridescent golden liquid—the Primordial Neutralizer.
"We have it," Julian breathed out, stepping forward to retrieve the case.
"Did you really believe it would be that simple, Clara?" a cold, mocking voice echoed through the vault speakers.
The reinforced steel door behind us slammed shut with the deafening force of a guillotine.
From the shadows of the upper observation balcony, an older man in a bespoke tailored suit looked down at us, flanked by six private security operatives. His face was weathered, distinguished, but his pale eyes gleamed with the unmistakable madness of unchecked power.
"Director Vance," I whispered, every drop of blood in my body turning to ice as I recognized the patriarch who had vanished from my family's life fifteen years ago.
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"Hello, my darling niece," Director Vance smiled, resting his manicured hands on the bulletproof railing. "Thank you for bringing the final genetic key directly to my doorstep."
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