the smuggler’s bible

Hamlet

Inside past the airlock, the admin building is just like he’d expected. Perfect. They wouldn’t have picked it otherwise. Tall columns peppered around the foyer ascend into shadow, and Hamlet’s footsteps echo on the plastic tiles. Everything flows toward the central staircase. It’s elegant and utilitarian—a meat grinder.

Beyond that, all the sightlines he would pick for an approach work even better for anybody who has a trigger finger and the patience to sit quietly in the dark for a few minutes.

“At least it won’t be too easy,” he says, pulling his coat open and drawing his gun.