The biometric telemetry for Asset Vane didn't just flatline. The corporate System actively deleted his ID from the active roster, treating the Platinum-tier specialist like a corrupted file.
Commander Kaelen stood perfectly still in the center of his Mobile Command Unit. The air conditioning hummed, circulating air that smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone.
On the holographic table in front of him, floating in crisp, high-definition blue light, was the delayed feed from a P.A.C.I.F.I.C. recon drone sweeping the 101 Highway.
The targets were already gone.
The multi-ton repulsor-transport was upside down. The heavy reinforced doors were blown off their hinges. Vane's tactical armor was crushed, his chest cavity caved in by a massive blunt-force strike. Kross was slumped inside the hull, his neck bent at a mathematically impossible angle.
There was absolutely zero thermal trace of the prisoners.
