the smuggler’s bible

Hamlet

The first man inside doesn’t realize the trouble he’s in. He lingers in the doorway, backlit, scanning the room. The muzzle flash surprises him. His gasp turns into a choking cough as blood sprays across his mirrored faceplate, a black smear under the strobing emergency lights.

“More are on the way, but there’s a gap,” Horatio says. “Slightly better than even odds if you stay in the seam and move quickly.”

“This uniform—” Hamlet starts. Then: “Those fucking adders.”

“Insufficient query.”

“Forget it.” He reaches for the dead man’s assault rifle. “Tell me where to find Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”