Dr. Victor Corvo unbuckled the brass straps of his heavy morgue satchel with the calm, deliberate elegance of a mortician preparing a midnight wake.
Ten paces away on the red quarry tiles, the six Spark-Hounds crouched low. Their copper grounding-strap spines twitched with rhythmic, three-thousand-volt discharges that filled the air with the sharp, eye-watering stench of vaporized sulfur and ozone. Each time their porcelain jaws snapped together, a spray of blue electrostatic sparks scattered across the floor like broken glass.
The lead hound took a slow, metallic prowl to the left. Its two open copper induction-coil eyes glowed with pale corona luminescence, tracking the pulsing rhythm of Julian Vance’s racing pulse.
Above the center of the room, the hydraulic guillotine blade gave another shuddering drop, its shadow creeping over the electrified mesh of Faraday Fault-Cage #01.
The red timer display flickered:
05 MINUTES ... 42 SECONDS ...
05 MINUTES ... 41 SECONDS ...
“Victor! Mac!” Elena Rostova’s voice rang out from inside the Faraday cage, tight and urgent.
